The city's morning rush flowed around Michael like a river he was always trying—and failing—to swim against. Cars honked, people rushed by with heads down, and overhead, the glass towers of the metropolis caught the pale dawn light, reflecting endless ambition and progress.
But for Michael Carter, today was just another day filled with whispered judgments and cold shoulders.
At Cloud Mist High, cultivation wasn't merely a skill—it was currency, status, and survival. Everyone polished their aura, refined their qi, and chased advancement like a drug. And Michael? He was the world's slowest, weakest cultivator—Earth Rank F, the bottom rung on the ladder.
He shuffled through the crowded hallway, his worn schoolbag hanging low on one shoulder. Whispers trailed after him like shadows.
"Still hasn't broken through…"
"What a disappointment."
"Does he even deserve to be here?"
Michael's gaze dropped. He'd heard it all before—often from his sister.
Mu Yanling, his younger sister by blood but miles ahead in everything that mattered, was the academy's golden prodigy. Peak Earth Rank A at fifteen, sharp-tongued, and colder than winter frost. To her, Michael was a stain on their family's honor—a constant embarrassment best ignored.
At school, she never spared him a glance.
At home, silence was her only acknowledgment.
And tonight was no different.
---
After school, Michael sat alone on a bench near the academy's training grounds. Around him, students sparred and practiced, their cultivation auras flickering brightly, illuminating their determination.
He traced the cracks in the concrete with a finger, thinking about the second letter—the one he'd tossed in the trash.
"The time to accept your destiny draws near."
He didn't believe it.
Power wasn't something that chose him. Not him. Not the weakest student in the entire academy.
A cold breeze swept past, carrying the faint scent of sandalwood and incense. Somewhere in the distance, cultivation chants echoed softly.
But none of it reached him.
Michael sighed, rubbing his bruised ribs from yesterday's encounter with Tony Chen—the academy's arrogant prodigy who seemed to delight in humiliating him.
The fight hadn't been about strength, or cultivation—it was about dominance. Tony had wanted to make sure everyone knew Michael was weak.
And Yanling? She'd watched from a distance, expression unreadable, and walked away without so much as a word.
Because to her, Michael wasn't worth the effort.
---
That night, Michael sat in his small, cramped room, surrounded by worn cultivation manuals and tattered notes.
His phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number:
"Fate isn't kind to the unprepared. You can reject the mantle, but it won't reject you."
Michael stared at the screen, the weight of loneliness pressing on him.
No allies.
No guidance.
Just silence.
He folded his hands, closing his eyes.
If power was waiting for him, it was hidden behind a wall of doubt and fear.
And if his own blood considered him a disgrace, what hope did he have?
The first bell echoed through the halls of Cloud Mist High, signaling the start of another grueling day. Students hurried to their classes, robes rustling and cultivation manuals clutched tightly in their hands.
Michael Carter shuffled into the cultivation classroom, taking his usual seat near the back. His black hair fell messily over his eyes, and the faded patches on his robes barely concealed the countless repairs from months of wear.
The room was filled with murmurs about yesterday's skirmish between Michael and Tony Chen. Some pitied him, others whispered harsh judgments, but most simply watched with detached curiosity.
Master Wei, their cultivation instructor, stood at the front — a stern figure with a sharp gaze that could slice through pretenders and geniuses alike.
"Today, we focus on Qi Meridian Refinement," Master Wei announced. "A foundational technique. Without a clear flow of qi, your cultivation will stagnate."
Michael's heart tightened. This was the topic he had been struggling with for months.
He opened his manual, trying to visualize the ancient diagrams of energy channels winding through the body like a river system.
The classroom fell silent as Master Wei demonstrated the movement of qi with a slow, precise motion. His aura pulsed faintly, a soft glow emanating from his palms.
"Focus on your breath," Master Wei instructed. "Let the qi flow naturally. Forcing it will cause harm."
Michael closed his eyes, attempting to feel the invisible currents within.
Minutes passed like hours.
A sudden sharp pain stabbed through his chest.
He gasped, opening his eyes to see a few students smirking.
"Looks like Carter's qi channels are still clogged," someone whispered.
Tony Chen, seated near the front, caught Michael's eye and smirked triumphantly.
"Maybe try breathing, not choking," Tony called out, loud enough for the class to hear.
Master Wei's gaze flicked toward Tony with a warning glance.
"Enough."
Michael clenched his fists, swallowing his embarrassment.
The lesson continued, each student taking turns to demonstrate the qi flow. Some performed flawless techniques, their auras bright and stable.
Michael's attempts remained clumsy and weak.
---
After class, the courtyard buzzed with activity. Groups practiced weapon techniques, formation spells, and meditation.
Michael found a quiet corner near the old stone well and sat down, pulling out his cultivation manual again.
As he flipped through the pages, he caught sight of Mu Yanling walking confidently across the courtyard, surrounded by admiring students.
She didn't notice him.
He lowered his gaze, the distance between them feeling wider than ever.
A sharp voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Still struggling, huh?"
Michael looked up to see Li Mei, a classmate who had shown a rare kindness. She held a simple wooden fan and smiled gently.
"Don't be discouraged," she said softly. "Qi Meridian Refinement is tricky for everyone at first."
Michael nodded slowly.
"Thanks, Li Mei."
She glanced toward the courtyard center.
"There's a tournament coming up. It might be a chance to test yourself."
Michael's stomach tightened.
Competing with his weak cultivation? It felt impossible.
But maybe... just maybe, it was time to try.
---
That evening, Michael returned home, his body aching but his spirit restless.
On his desk lay another letter, unsigned and unsealed.
He stared at it, the mystery deepening.
The city lights flickered outside, and somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of cultivation chants floated through the night.
Michael took a deep breath.
Tomorrow, the real challenge began.