The sect city did not sleep.
Lanterns burned along stone streets carved with spiritual runes, their light reflecting off jade signboards and weapon stalls. Cultivators moved through the night in quiet urgency—some returning from missions, others rushing toward opportunity.
For them, this place was a node of fate.
For Wu, it was a test.
The Gates That Did Nothing
The outer gates of Falling Sky Sect towered above the road—massive stone pillars etched with layered detection formations. They screened for hostile intent, hidden cultivation, false identities, and forbidden auras.
Wu walked forward without hesitation.
The formations rippled faintly.
Then… nothing.
No resistance.
No warning.
No acknowledgment.
A gate disciple frowned, sensing the ripple.
"Did you activate something?" he asked his companion.
The other shook his head. "No. Maybe a fluctuation."
Wu passed between them.
Neither saw him.
Not because he was invisible—but because the formations had nothing to register.
They searched for qi.
Wu had none.
They searched for intent.
Wu carried no killing will.
They searched for fate anchors.
Wu had been erased.
The sect gates, designed to judge all who entered, simply… let him through.
Inside the Machine
The inner city was louder.
Courtyards filled with disciples sparring under moonlight. Pillars engraved with merit rankings. Mission boards glowing softly with updated notices.
Wu walked through it all, observing.
Cultivation here followed strict hierarchy:
Outer Disciples — expendable, ambitious
Inner Disciples — talented, protected
Core Disciples — groomed
Elders — entrenched power
He recognized the structure instantly.
Different world.
Same game.
What interested him was not strength—
But reaction.
The Recruitment Hall
The Falling Sky Sect accepted new disciples monthly. Mortals, rogue cultivators, and wanderers lined up to be tested.
Wu joined the end of the line.
A mortal youth glanced at him.
For a moment, the boy's eyes slid past Wu—then snapped back, confused.
"Sorry," the boy muttered. "Didn't see you there."
Wu inclined his head slightly.
The boy frowned again, an inexplicable unease crawling up his spine.
Something about this stranger felt… unfinished.
Spirit Root Testing
At the front, elders presided over the testing platform.
A crystal pillar measured spiritual roots—metal, wood, water, fire, earth, or variants. Bright colors flared as candidates placed their hands upon it.
Cheers erupted.
Groans followed failures.
Wu stepped forward.
The elder overseeing the test—a middle-aged man with sharp eyes—paused.
He frowned.
"There's… no reading," he said slowly.
The crystal pillar remained dull.
Not dim.
Inactive.
"That's impossible," another elder muttered. "Everyone has at least a trace."
Wu waited calmly.
The first elder tried again, injecting more spiritual energy into the formation.
The crystal pillar cracked.
A thin fracture spiderwebbed across its surface.
Silence fell.
The elder withdrew his hand sharply.
"…Next," he said after a moment.
Wu was waved through.
Murmurs erupted behind him.
"No root?"
"But the crystal broke?"
"Was that a defect?"
Wu moved on without comment.
He had not failed.
The system simply did not know how to classify him.
Assigned to the Lowest
Wu was given the worst possible status.
Outer disciple.
No background.
No root.
No expectations.
A wooden token was tossed onto the table.
"Dormitory C," the registrar said without looking up.
"Manuals are self-selected. No complaints."
Wu accepted the token.
Perfect.
Dormitory C
Dormitory C sat near the edge of the sect—old stone buildings, thin spiritual density, ignored by elders. It housed failures, late bloomers, and those expected to leave quietly.
Wu entered without resistance.
Inside, several outer disciples looked up.
One laughed. "Another mortal?"
Another frowned. "Something feels off…"
Wu took the empty bed near the corner.
He said nothing.
That night, as the others cultivated, Wu sat cross-legged, eyes half-closed.
He did not absorb qi.
Instead, he observed.
Qi flowed into others.
It avoided him.
Like water refusing oil.
First Disturbance
Three nights later, trouble found him.
A group of outer disciples surrounded his bed.
Their leader sneered. "You've been sitting there for days doing nothing. No cultivation. No effort."
Wu looked up.
"What do you want?" he asked calmly.
"To see what you're hiding," the disciple replied, drawing his blade.
Killing intent flared.
The others stepped back instinctively.
Wu did not move.
The blade descended.
When the World Corrects Itself
The sword stopped mid-air.
Not blocked.
Not resisted.
It simply… failed to continue.
The disciple's face twisted in confusion.
"What—"
Wu reached out and tapped the blade with two fingers.
The metal rusted instantly—centuries passing in a breath—before collapsing into dust.
The disciple stumbled backward, screaming.
"What are you?!"
Wu stood.
The air in the room warped.
Not violently.
Subtly.
The disciples' instincts screamed.
They fled.
By morning, rumors spread.
A cursed disciple.
A broken artifact.
A room that felt wrong.
Elders investigated.
They found nothing.
The Elder's Gaze
But not everyone failed to notice.
Elder Qin, a Foundation Establishment realm cultivator, stood atop a pavilion overlooking Dormitory C.
He frowned.
"That area feels… light," he murmured.
His divine sense swept the dormitory.
It slid past Wu.
Elder Qin stiffened.
"That shouldn't be possible."
For the first time since returning—
Someone had noticed the absence.
Wu's Understanding
Wu sat alone that night.
He had learned enough.
His power could not be used carelessly.
Not because Heaven would punish him—
But because reality would destabilize.
The Void did not fight.
It erased.
Too much, and the world itself would respond.
He clenched his hand slowly.
"I need limits," he murmured.
The Void Seed pulsed in agreement.
A Decision
Wu rose before dawn.
He left Dormitory C and walked toward the outer training grounds.
If he wished to remain hidden—
He would need to appear weak.
To fail convincingly.
To cultivate… incorrectly.
A smile touched his lips faintly.
He had once been mocked for being powerless.
Now—
Power was the thing he had to restrain.
And somewhere high above—
Heaven turned another page,
unaware that one line was missing.
Chapter 10 – The Art of Failing
Morning bells rang across the Falling Sky Sect, deep and resonant, echoing from pavilion to pavilion. Disciples stirred from meditation, sleep, and restless anticipation.
Today was Outer Disciple Assessment Day.
For most, it was an opportunity.
For some, a judgment.
For Wu, it was a necessity.
The Training Grounds
The outer training grounds sprawled across a wide plateau carved into the mountainside. Stone platforms floated at varying heights, connected by narrow bridges and runic anchors.
Formation circles glowed faintly beneath the stone, reinforcing the grounds against destructive techniques.
Hundreds of outer disciples gathered, murmuring quietly.
Wu stood among them.
Unremarkable.
Unnoticed.
Exactly as intended.
An elder stepped forward—tall, robed in grey, his cultivation firmly at late Foundation Establishment. His gaze swept the crowd with practiced indifference.
"Today's assessment will determine resource allocation," he announced.
"Those who perform well will advance.
Those who fail will be… reconsidered."
A pause.
"You will demonstrate combat ability, qi control, and resilience."
Wu lowered his eyes.
Combat ability, he could not show.
Qi control, he did not possess.
Resilience…
That one was dangerous.
First Trial – Qi Projection
Disciples were called one by one to project their qi into a formation slab, measuring purity and density.
Bright flashes followed the talented.
Dull glows followed the mediocre.
Wu stepped forward when his name was called—spoken hesitantly, as if the registrar still found it strange.
He placed his palm on the slab.
Nothing happened.
The formation hesitated—then dimmed further.
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
"No qi at all?"
"Is he even a cultivator?"
"How did he get in?"
The elder frowned, injecting more energy.
The slab flickered… then cracked faintly before stabilizing.
The elder withdrew his hand sharply.
"…Zero," he said stiffly.
"Move on."
Wu stepped back.
He had failed perfectly.
Second Trial – Combat Demonstration
Pairs were drawn at random.
Wu's opponent was an outer disciple named Han Zuo—broad-shouldered, early Body Tempering peak, known for bullying weaker disciples.
Han Zuo grinned when he saw Wu's name.
"Looks like I got lucky."
They stepped onto the platform.
A protective barrier shimmered into place.
"Begin."
Han Zuo attacked immediately, qi surging into his fists.
Wu moved.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Delayed.
He let the punch graze his shoulder, absorbing the impact with a subtle collapse of structure rather than resistance. The force dispersed harmlessly, but Wu staggered backward dramatically.
The crowd laughed.
Han Zuo pressed the attack, emboldened.
Wu retreated clumsily, misstepping, breathing unevenly.
Another strike landed.
Wu fell to one knee.
The elder's brow furrowed.
Han Zuo raised his fist again—too eager.
Wu shifted just enough.
Han Zuo overextended.
His own qi destabilized.
He stumbled and crashed face-first into the platform.
Silence.
The barrier faded.
The elder hesitated.
"…Han Zuo loses," he said reluctantly.
Laughter erupted—mixed with confusion.
Wu bowed slightly and limped away.
To most, it looked like luck.
To a few, it looked… wrong.
The Watching Eyes
Elder Qin observed from a distant pavilion.
He had not planned to attend the outer assessment.
Something had drawn him here.
He narrowed his eyes.
"That disciple," he murmured. "He moves like he doesn't belong in his body."
His divine sense brushed the platform.
It slid past Wu again.
Elder Qin's fingers tightened on the railing.
"Impossible…"
Third Trial – Endurance
The final trial was brutal.
A pressure formation activated beneath the grounds, simulating the crushing force of a high-level beast's aura.
Disciples were required to endure as long as possible.
Many fell within seconds.
Some lasted minutes.
Wu stepped into the formation.
Pressure descended instantly.
Stone cracked.
Qi flared across the grounds as disciples resisted.
Wu did not resist.
He allowed the pressure to pass through him.
The Void Vessel adjusted
infinitesimally, redistributing stress into nothingness.
Wu stood calmly.
Too calmly.
Minutes passed.
Disciples collapsed one by one.
Sweat soaked robes.
Bones trembled.
Wu remained standing.
The elder's face darkened.
"This is enough," he snapped, signaling the formation to end.
The pressure vanished.
Wu exhaled softly—then deliberately stumbled, coughing, as if only now feeling the strain.
A few disciples stared at him, unsettled.
"That… didn't make sense," someone whispered.
Results
By noon, rankings were announced.
Wu was placed near the bottom.
Low qi score.
Unrefined combat.
Inconsistent endurance.
A liability, not an asset.
Perfect.
He received minimal resources—barely enough to survive.
Dormitory C.
Again.
Wu accepted without protest.
Consequences
That night, whispers followed him.
"He's strange."
"He shouldn't have won that fight."
"The formation didn't crush him."
Wu ignored them.
He sat cross-legged in his room, hands resting loosely on his knees.
The Void Seed pulsed steadily.
Too close, he thought. I almost stood out.
He adjusted inwardly, imposing stricter limits on his interaction with reality.
Less presence.
More delay.
He would have to train himself to be weak.
Elder Qin Decides
Elder Qin stood before the outer records late that night, reviewing assessment data.
His eyes lingered on Wu's name.
Zero qi.
No root.
Yet abnormal endurance.
"This doesn't add up," he muttered.
He closed the record.
"Watch him," he instructed a shadowed attendant.
"Quietly."
The attendant bowed and vanished.
Wu's Resolve
Wu lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
He had survived death.
He had survived erasure.
Now he faced a subtler challenge.
To exist among mortals…
Without reminding the world that he was wrong.
"I will master this," he said quietly.
Not cultivation.
Not power.
But restraint.
Outside, clouds drifted past the moon.
And far above them all—
Heaven remained unaware that one of its greatest threats
had just learned how to lose.