Chapter 1 — The Useless Adopted Son
Azure Wind City basked in the early morning sunlight, yet the outer courtyard of the Li Family mansion was filled with whispers that carried an unmistakable sting.
"Still zero at sixteen years old?"
"He really is trash."
"Why did the Patriarch even bring him back?"
Li Yunxiao, standing at the edge of the crowd, did not raise his head. The murmurs, the laughter, the contempt—all of it had become background noise to him over the years. His gaze remained fixed on the worn stone tiles beneath his feet.
Sixteen years ago, he had been discovered at the gates of Azure Wind City, wrapped in tattered cloth, barely breathing. No one knew his origin, and for a brief moment, some had believed he was a hidden genius left to fate. But the years had proven otherwise.
The Li Family cultivated the Azure Wind Profound Art, a basic foundational technique, suitable for most mortal families. Even children younger than him had reached the first layer of the Profound Sky Realm, a milestone Li Yunxiao had not even glimpsed.
"Profound strength test… zero."
The elder's cold voice cut through the courtyard.
The words landed on him like a hammer. He did not flinch; he had heard them a thousand times before.
Li Yunxiao's hands were calloused from chores he performed daily: chopping wood, carrying water, and cleaning the courtyards while others refined their bodies in the sacred halls of the family. He had learned long ago that survival came before pride. Strength was the only language that mattered in this world.
As he bowed to pick up a fallen stone for practice, his thoughts wandered. The other disciples had their veins flowing with profound energy. Their breathing synchronized with their bodies, their movements fluid and precise. Li Yunxiao had nothing. Not even the faintest sensation of power.
Yet… there was something unusual about him that no one noticed.
Though he had failed to awaken even the first layer of his profound veins, his body healed at an astonishing rate. Cuts and bruises disappeared overnight. Muscles and bones mended with unnatural speed. It was as if the body itself refused to fail completely, keeping him alive for some purpose even he did not understand.
He had no master. He had no memories of his parents, no dreams of power or glory. He only had the daily grind, the humiliation, and the relentless hope that someday—somehow—he could walk the path of the cultivator.
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