After what felt like an eternity, the negotiations finally ended. Li, still kneeling with newfound determination, felt the pain coursing through his body begin to numb. Pain was a reminder that he was still alive. Accepting whatever fate awaited him, he lay there, waiting for the final verdict.
The sound of calm footsteps echoed from the cave's center, each step bringing Yun’s presence closer. The overwhelming aura of the Sword Celestial loomed over Li like a shadow, heavy and oppressive.
Yun stood before him, his cold eyes gleaming with a rare hint of satisfaction. "I’m in a good mood today," he said, a note of uncharacteristic joy in his voice. "So, let me give you a piece of advice."
Li, fully aware of the rarity of a powerful cultivator offering guidance to someone as insignificant as himself, focused every ounce of his attention on Yun’s words.
Yun nodded slightly, approving of Li’s response. "A cultivator’s demeanor often reflects the path they are destined to walk. Scholars have debated this for centuries, and many believe it’s the influence of the great dao that shapes our minds and character. The great dao nurtures those with potential, guiding them along their destined path. Take me, for example," Yun continued, his tone measured and precise. "As a sword cultivator, I am bold and direct, in both battle and speech. When I invited that guest here, I knew he needed a talented formation specialist. I struck first, leaving him no time to prepare, and as a result, I secured the best terms. My nature shaped the negotiation."
Li’s eyes widened with understanding, the lesson resonating deep within him.
Yun continued, his gaze never wavering from Li. "Now, consider yourself. You possess a natural ability to analyze situations, to understand which words test, which words please, and which words gather information. These skills come to you instinctively, don’t they? You weren’t taught these things."
Li’s surprise was evident. It was true—no one had ever guided him in these matters. His life had been consumed by studying formations, following the example of his ancestor.
"Is the great dao of formations influencing me?" Li asked, his voice filled with awe.
Yun’s nod was one of approval. "Yes. A sheltered youth like yourself has been nurtured by the dao of formations. Formation cultivators are known for their keen vision and profound understanding of both human nature and the environment. Think about it—formations require knowledge of multiple cultivation systems. You need to know which formations complement each other and which conflict. Without this understanding, how could you even dream of setting a formation? This mindset shapes the way you handle yourself in the world."
A chill ran down Li’s spine. "But aren’t cultivators supposed to subdue the heavens? Are you saying the heavens predetermine our paths and mold our minds to serve its will?"
Yun had anticipated this question. "Celestial cultivators reached their heights by accepting the blessings of the heavens while retaining their sense of self. There’s nothing wrong with analyzing every challenge you face, but you must not become reliant on the dao’s guidance. Learn when to act against your nature. As a swordsman, I can’t rush into every challenge head-on. Similarly, relying solely on your intellect won’t always save you. Know when to sheathe your abilities, and when to unleash them with decisive force."
Kneeling there, Li’s eyes grew brighter with each word, his natural intelligence absorbing Yun’s teachings like a sponge.
"Such comprehension," Yun thought, though his expression remained impassive. "As expected of a sage’s lineage."
With a swift motion, Yun tossed a small rope sack in front of Li. "This is the deposit from our generous guest earlier. Leave the cave. Han is waiting for you outside."
Li’s hands trembled as he picked up the sack, his mind still processing Yun’s lesson. The impact of those words was profound, shaping his resolve in ways he hadn’t anticipated. Dragging his bloodied form toward the exit, he made a pitiful sight, but each step was firm, reflecting his growing inner strength.
As Li left, Yun watched him go, a fleeting sense of regret crossing his mind. "I should have charged a higher price," he muttered, the weight of lost opportunity hanging in the air.
Stepping out of the cave, Li’s body quaked as he was hit by the sudden shift in environment. He gasped, drawing in the air like a drowning man finally breaking the surface.
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Han stood nearby, observing Li’s miserable figure. Behind the lenses of his spectacles, a flicker of pity crossed his eyes, but he made no move to assist. Some lessons, Han knew, needed to be etched into the soul through pain; without these, survival in the harsh world of cultivation was impossible.
Yun’s cold voice echoed from within the cave. "Han, from today onward, Li is your official adoptive son. Take him to the nearest celestial sect and enroll him as an inner disciple."
A wooden hammer token flew out from the cave’s darkness, which Han caught with ease. The sudden adoption of Li didn’t faze him in the slightest; he remained stoic, his large hand closing around the token as if it were just another duty to fulfill.
Yun’s voice continued, measured and authoritative. "You will be his dao guardian for the next fifty years. Ensure he advances to a ascendant Qi cultivator. If you succeed, I will personally petition the Celestial Court to approve your cultivation ceremony."
Han, a man whose massive frame had seen countless battles, bowed lower than Li would have thought possible, his entire body trembling with barely restrained excitement. "As you command, Leader Yun!" he nearly shouted, his voice thick with a reverence born from ambition.
For a senior Qi practitioner, the opportunity to become a celestial cultivator was the ultimate prize, requiring approval from one of the four great factions. These ceremonies were reserved for the elite—those dragons and phoenixes who had risen above the masses through sheer will and power. To be chosen for such a ceremony was to ascend beyond mortality, to step into the realm of celestial cultivators. The lowest celestial cultivator wielded power that hundreds of Qi practitioners combined couldn’t match. Li understood Han’s fervent reaction completely.
Aware that Han would now dedicate himself entirely to this task, Yun’s cold voice returned to Li. "Your past is severed. The Xuan lineage is no more."
Li remained expressionless, unflinching in the face of Yun’s harsh decree. His lack of reaction surprised Han, who found himself impressed by the boy’s growing mental resilience.
"You will now be known as Li Han. Relying on the glory of past generations is not the path of a true cultivator. Venture forth and carve your own destiny." With this final proclamation, Yun’s presence receded into the depths of the cave.
As Yun’s aura faded, Han straightened, moving to Li’s side. With surprising gentleness, he lifted Li’s arm, supporting the boy’s frail, bloodied form. The scene might have resembled a father helping an injured son, but Li knew better. Han’s concern was not for him but for the reward he represented. Keeping his face impassive, Li solidified a crucial lesson in his mind: Feelings are fleeting, but tangible benefits ensure loyalty. With this understanding, he allowed himself to relax, conserving his strength.
As they began their journey down the winding corridor, their footsteps echoed in unison. Both understood the nature of the bond that now tied them together—a bond forged not in affection, but in necessity and ambition.
Having returned to the cave where he first awoke, Han gently laid Li's weakened body on the meditation mat, placing the small sack beside him with a careful motion.
In his usual monotone voice, Han spoke, "Rest and prepare yourself. We leave in 12 hours at dawn." With that, he exited the cave, his footsteps echoing through the empty space, leaving Li alone with his thoughts.
Lying on the mat, Li stared up at the cave ceiling, his mind adrift. "A celestial sect inner disciple, huh?" he murmured, exhaling a breath heavy with the weight of his past and the uncertainty of his future. His thoughts turned to what he knew of celestial sects.
Celestial sects were renowned institutions scattered across every cultivation planet, responsible for identifying and training mortals with potential, guiding them along the path of cultivation. These sects taught a wide range of disciplines—combat, alchemy, formations, refinement, beast taming—everything a cultivator needed to thrive. For any mortal with even a shred of talent, being accepted into a prestigious sect was the ultimate dream, a gateway to power and survival. Without proper guidance, cultivation was a dead-end road; progress required constant learning, inspiration from others, and peers to challenge and surpass. To attempt to become a senior Qi cultivator without these elements was sheer folly.
Li had once harbored dreams of joining a sect, but his ties to the Xuan family had always held him back. A cultivation family operated differently from a sect; descendants of high-ranking celestials had no shortage of resources or guidance. The family’s priority was to mold its descendants into loyal cultivators, servants to the family’s cause, rather than allowing them to be snatched up by sects, where the four great factions would have first claim on any promising seedlings.
Reflecting on this, Li couldn’t help but recall his days in the family residence. Every member of the Xuan family carried a deep-seated pride, a disdain for the sects that offered paths to greatness to anyone with potential. They revered the achievements of their ancestors while failing to produce a celestial cultivator for centuries. Unlike his kin, Li had never shared their blind loyalty; his innate intelligence allowed him to see the Xuan family’s decline from an outsider’s perspective, even as he lived within it.
"Looking back now, the well was poisoned from the start," Li thought, his newfound clarity revealing the truth of his family’s downfall. The Xuan family had fallen from greatness, clinging to their past glories while ignoring the harsh realities of the world around them. A family without celestial cultivators was a relic of a bygone era, a shadow of its former self. His father’s stubborn, fierce expression flashed in his mind, a final testament to their collective delusion.
Slowly, Li opened his eyes, now clear and unperturbed. He spoke softly to himself, "The past is the past. Clinging to it will only drag me down." As the words left his lips, his shoulders felt lighter, as though an unseen burden had been lifted. In that moment, Li knew he could never return to being Li Xuan. From now on, he would be Li Han , an unaffiliated cultivator with no ties to his fallen lineage.