The Azure Empire, Yanwu City. Even in a capital famed for its towering spires and the shimmering aura of cultivated qi, the sky, it seemed, still insisted on behaving quite ordinarily. A truly monumental rainstorm was descending, a theatrical display of lightning, thunder, and water that promised to rearrange the city's less sturdy roof tiles.
Li Xuan, proprietor of a rather unassuming establishment that offered everything from bespoke teas to surprisingly accurate folk remedies, stood by his doorway. He listened to the insistent patter of raindrops, each one a neat, individual drumbeat against the aged eaves of his shop. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaped him. Such weather was, predictably, not conducive to walk-in consultations, nor did it encourage patrons seeking custom-blended herbal concoctions. One might think that individuals capable of channeling the very essence of the heavens could, at the very least, persuade a few clouds to disperse. Alas, even the most formidable cultivators, for all their grand pronouncements, seemed to accept the whims of atmospheric pressure with surprising docility. Certainly, a perfectly ordinary man like Li Xuan, who considered coaxing a stubborn teapot to whistle a noteworthy achievement, could do little but observe.
He had been an observer in this grand, mystical realm for twenty years now. The Azure Empire, with its undercurrent of qi cultivation and its occasional, baffling displays of martial prowess, was a far cry from the quiet humdrum he’d once known. He had, in his younger, more naive days, entertained the notion of becoming a cultivator himself. A brief, rather comical series of attempts had quickly disabused him of this fantasy. His body, it turned out, was remarkably resistant to absorbing any form of spiritual energy, preferring instead to metabolize plain noodles and the occasional cup of oolong. In a world where qi adepts were lauded, he was, by all accounts, merely a well-meaning fixture on the sidewalk, entirely unqualified to even squint at the starting line of true cultivation. A profound lack of aptitude, one might say. Or, as he gently put it to himself, simply 'unremarkable.'
Curiously, an odd 'inclination,' which he privately referred to as his 'system of acquired interests,' did accompany him. This peculiar internal ledger didn't offer him powerful cultivation techniques or ancient mystic spells. Instead, it nudged him towards decidedly unconventional, often mundane, pursuits. Painting and herbal healing were, he supposed, fairly respectable. But then there were the others: 'metal shaping' (he made surprisingly sturdy teapots), 'dietary wellness' (his pickled vegetables were divine), and 'minor prognostication' (he could tell you, with uncanny accuracy, when your next delivery of tofu would be late). All of these he practiced with a quiet, persistent diligence, simply because they seemed to fill the hours.
With no intrepid seekers of obscure tinctures braving the deluge, Li Xuan indulged in a gentle yawn. He turned his thoughts to his internal 'ledger,' a purely mental exercise, of course. His internal record read, rather bluntly:
“Custodian: Li Xuan.”
“Cultivation Path: Unattempted (Current Status: Leisurely Observation).”
Li Xuan pursed his lips. This was, after all, rather old news. He mentally crossed out the entry, finding its continued presence entirely superfluous.
He scrolled further down the mental panel, surveying the list of his 'acquired interests,' which, he reminded himself, offered precisely zero assistance in ascending the fabled tiers of qi cultivation.
Calligraphy, Painting, Herbal Healing, Metal Shaping, Minor Prognostication, and ‘Personal Maintenance.’ The last was really just a collection of stretching exercises and mindful breathing techniques his 'inclination' had provided, supposedly to 'enhance bodily resilience.' He'd practiced them diligently, finding they made him feel marginally less stiff after a long day of brewing. Beyond that, their utility remained, to his mind, utterly negligible.
All of his 'interests' were, according to the 'inclination,' designated as having reached the highest possible tier: 'Exemplary.'
Li Xuan harbored a quiet, persistent suspicion that his internal 'inclination' was, in fact, possessing a rather dry sense of humor. Because true 'exemplariness,' as any honest street vendor would tell you, fundamentally depended on one's cultivation base.
Consider, for instance, the legendary Qi Masters who entered the Dao through painting, effortlessly conjuring breathtaking landscapes imbued with the very essence of nature. Or the Calligraphers whose strokes contained profound truths, capable of illuminating the mind with a single character. Those who genuinely peered into the threads of destiny could unravel the past, present, and future, deciphering the mysteries of life and demise. And the true Physicians, with their mastery of elixirs, could, quite literally, snatch a soul back from the brink.
These were grand, awe-inspiring feats, entirely beyond the grasp of mere mortals. Because only cultivators, with their internal reservoirs of qi, could achieve them. And Li Xuan, regrettably, could not.
There were ten revered tiers of cultivation, beginning with the nascent 'Qi Initiation,' progressing through 'Foundation Weaving,' 'Core Formation,' 'Spirit Embryo,' 'Transcendence,' 'Soul Division,' 'Harmonization,' 'Trial Ascension,' 'Grand Attainment,' and culminating in the revered 'Supreme Sage.' A Supreme Sage could, it was rumored, merely frown and alter the course of a river. A Qi Initiator, on the other hand, could, with considerable effort, probably light a rather stubborn lamp.
From the moment his peculiar 'inclination' manifested, Li Xuan had, for a brief period, envisioned himself progressing through these tiers. He had dedicated himself to meditation and energy absorption, only to find himself, after weeks of diligent practice, still firmly rooted at the absolute zero point – not even a tremor of Qi Initiation. Eventually, a sensible resignation had settled upon him. He quietly accepted his genetic predisposition for ordinariness and, with a shrug, redirected his efforts into perfecting his various 'interests.' They were, in the grand scheme of the Azure Empire's martial pursuits, rather inconsequential. What a mortal could achieve, even the most junior of Foundation Weaving cultivators could replicate a million times over, with considerably less effort and far more dramatic flair.
Thus, Li Xuan had settled on the rather sensible path of operating his small multi-purpose studio. Among his 'exemplary' skills, he found herbal healing and tea brewing to be the most practical. Mortals, after all, continued to suffer from common colds and required good tea to contemplate their various, less dramatic, predicaments. He earned a modest sum, enough to keep his small studio stocked with rare teas and his own cupboards comfortably full. He had, as he often reminded himself, let go of any grand ambitions. Perhaps he truly couldn't cultivate; it was simply his lot. And there was a certain quiet dignity in acknowledging one's limitations.
But even on such a relentlessly damp day, Yanwu City wore an undeniable, almost belligerent, festive air. Through the sheeting rain, one could discern the faint shimmer of spiritual light, projected by unseen formations, and the ostentatious glow of silken lanterns, adorning thoroughfares and grand estates alike. It was, undoubtedly, a wedding of considerable consequence, a defiant declaration of merriment against the elements.
“Ah, a wedding in such a deluge,” Li Xuan mused to himself, a dry chuckle escaping his lips. “One would think even the powerful might defer to the weather, but perhaps prestige trumps practicality.”
“Doctor Li, you received the invitation for the wedding, too, yes?”
The voice belonged to Merchant Jin, whose silk and spice stall sat conveniently next to Li Xuan's studio, perpetually emitting the scent of exotic peppers and hopeful enterprise.
“Indeed, Merchant Jin, I did,” Li Xuan replied, reaching into the voluminous sleeve of his simple, charcoal robe. He extracted a rather lavish, blue and crimson invitation, embossed with the stylized sigil of a soaring crane – the mark of the illustrious House of Wen.
The impending nuptials, it turned out, involved the eldest scion of the House of Wen, currently regarded as the preeminent family within Yanwu City's merchant-noble circles. Their influence, while not extending to the highest echelons of cultivation, was considerable within the imperial capital. A wedding of their eldest son was, naturally, an event demanding grand ceremony. The elaborate invitations, Li Xuan suspected, were less about genuinely welcoming every recipient and more about a casual display of their reach, perhaps offering a casual meal to those of less exalted station.
Curiously, the bride was from the House of Lian, a family many times grander than the House of Wen, possessing ancient lands and a formidable history of qi adepts. Li Xuan found the arrangement rather peculiar. It struck him less as a harmonious union and more as a rather unsubtle transaction, almost as if a daughter was being offloaded for an inexplicably low price.
“The House of Wen’s celebration is tonight,” Merchant Jin continued, waving his own identical invitation with gusto. “If Doctor Li is free, perhaps we could venture forth and partake in their considerable feast together?”
Li Xuan offered a polite, regretful shake of his head. “Ah, Merchant Jin, I shall have to decline. Such grand affairs are best left to those with the appropriate station, or perhaps, the appropriate protection from falling roof tiles. You go, by all means, and tell me of the finest delicacies upon your return.” He genuinely didn't care for such ostentatious displays, especially not when they involved endless small talk and the inevitable clinking of wine cups.
Then, Li Xuan’s casual gaze, honed by years of observing subtle shifts in tea leaves and the minute variations in human expressions, snagged on something unusual. His eyesight, despite his mundane pursuits, remained remarkably keen.
Through the torrential rain, which by now seemed intent on entirely submerging the lower districts of Yanwu City, a solitary, profoundly sorrowful figure moved. She drifted with a peculiar, unsettling inertia, less like a person walking and more like a fragment of discarded silk carried on a currents. Upon closer inspection, it was unmistakably a woman. Her features, even softened by the downpour, were delicate, almost ethereal. Yet, there was an unmistakable chill about her, a profound sense of isolation that even the teeming rain could not entirely obscure.
She walked alone, a ghost amidst the downpour, her steps aimless, her gaze distant, as if the path beneath her feet had simply ceased to exist. This was Bai Ailin, once the shining prodigy of the venerable House of Lian, a cultivation genius whose name was whispered with awe across the Azure Empire. Young talents had bowed before her, and countless others had admired, envied, or simply aspired to her radiant potential.
And now, she was naught but a commodity, traded by her own family, dispatched to Yanwu City, and betrothed to the eldest scion of the House of Wen. She lowered her head, the rain mingling indiscriminately with the hot, bitter tears that streamed down her face. The irony was a cruel blade in her heart.
Everything had begun a mere three months prior. During a perilous exploration of a hidden imperial secret realm, she had been secretly afflicted by an insidious poison, introduced by a shadowy, evil cultivator. Her family, with their vast resources, had spared no expense, summoning renowned physicians and alchemical masters. The immediate effects of the 'Shadowblight Toxin' had been countered, but the damage was irreparable. Her 'Qi Channels,' the very conduits of spiritual energy, were utterly devastated. What remained of the toxin continued its slow, merciless work, steadily eroding her cultivation. There was no cure, not truly. Her body had, in a twisted embrace, fused with the remnants of the poison. To extract it now would be to tear the life from her, an impossibility. The Shadowblight Toxin, if it did not kill outright, was a far more vicious torment: it stripped a person of their cultivation, systematically dismantled their foundation, and left them an empty, powerless husk.
“Since you have become… diminished,” her father’s cold, echoing words returned to her, “you may as well contribute something more tangible to the family.”
This marriage was, in essence, a farce. The whispers of a genius's fall were often accompanied by the delighted applause of the envious. The House of Wen, for all its Yanwu City prominence, was but a fraction of the grandeur of the House of Lian. Yet, to persuade the Wen family to accept the contract of 'marrying a crippled daughter at a nominal price,' the House of Lian had, humiliatingly, even provided a dowry of significant sums.
And when she had finally arrived at the House of Wen, the eldest son – a mediocre playboy whose cultivation had barely scraped 'Core Formation Second Level' – had actually had the audacity to look upon her with disdain! How the times had truly changed, and how utterly pathetic she had become.
At eighteen years of age, she had stood at the revered 'Spirit Embryo Fifth Level,' a talent so profound that perhaps only three or four others in the entire Azure Empire could rival her. Now, she had been brutally cast from that lofty altar. Her cultivation, in a mere three months, had plummeted back to the 'Qi Initiation Eighth Level,' and even that meager remnant was still ebbing away. Even now, the simple act of standing in the rain, something she would once have dismissed with a casual flick of her hand, left her shivering with a profound, bone-deep weakness. Her very life force felt like a guttering candle.
Three months ago, a casual stroke of her sword could have cleaved the very rain curtain itself. Now, her fingers, clenching the familiar hilt of her soft sword, felt agonizingly weak. She barely had the strength to even unsheathe it.
“Damn the Heavens,” she whispered, her voice a ragged sigh, quickly swallowed by the roaring rain. “Why do you toy with me so?”
“I will not accept this… I will not accept this!” she cried out, her defiance utterly lost in the maelstrom.
Suddenly, the prospect of death, once a terrifying unknown, felt strangely unburdening. Perhaps… perhaps it would be better to simply let her life end here. Rather than endure the humiliation of a forced marriage to the vacuous dilettante of the House of Wen, it would be far preferable to…
Her gaze dropped to the hilt of the sword clutched in her hand. Her eyes, once brilliant with ambition, now held a cold, resolute light. Her fingers, trembling slightly, began the slow, agonizing process of drawing the blade from its sheath.
However, at that precise, suspended moment, a voice, gentle and unexpectedly clear amidst the furious downpour, reached her ears:
“Young lady, might I inquire why you choose to walk alone on such a thoroughly inclement road?”
Bai Ailin flinched, spinning around with a gasp. Before her stood a young man, his simple charcoal robes unadorned. His eyes, she noted with a pang of something she couldn't name, were remarkably clear and dark, like pools of still autumn water, radiating an unexpected warmth and a guileless purity. He held a simple paper umbrella, its oiled surface steadfastly repelling the torrent, creating a tiny, incongruous island of dry air around them. Her initial panic, a reflex born of her former status where no man dared approach unbidden, quickly gave way to a bewildered fascination. In this chaotic, miserable moment, a complete stranger had simply appeared, offering nothing more than a few gentle words and a fragile paper umbrella.