Chapter One: The Prisoner Who Doesn't Cultivate
"If I'm to cultivate anything… let it be forgetting."— Shen Wei
Have you ever woken up not in your bed, not even in your home, but inside a hole—surrounded by the snores of thirty criminals, with a rat relieving itself on your foot?
I have. This morning. For the fiftieth time.
My name is Shen Wei, born without any spiritual roots in a world where lacking qi is like being a headless chicken trying to fly. And because I'm a particularly useless chicken, I ended up here—inside the Iron Sect's prison. A place with no keys, because no one bothers unlocking a cell for the dead.
"Wake up, philosopher!"
That's Zhao Gu—my cellmate. A man with a moldy beard and a face like a bloated frog. Claims he's the rightful heir to the Heavenly Dragon Throne. He was imprisoned for stealing high-ranking officials' socks.
"Zhao," I groaned, "if you say 'Heavenly Dragon' one more time, I swear I'll strangle you with the sock you stole."
He laughed like someone who owned the stars. "Ah, such fire! That's the spirit of cultivation! Fury in the chest, threats on the tongue!"
He was amusing. But my heart wasn't in it. Every day I felt like I was drifting—like a rat searching for a single grain of rice in an abandoned temple. No path. No power. No hope.
Only… that wall.
The back wall of our cell. Cracked. Ancient. Covered in scratches no one cared to read.
Until yesterday.
I was killing time, as usual, scraping at the stone with my nails (a prison hobby), when I noticed one brick felt… softer. I pushed it. A faint click. A small hidden panel creaked open, revealing a stone slab etched with strange symbols.
Carved into it were words that seared into my chest:
"The path cannot be seen, heard, or touched. Cultivation begins when you let go of the weights."
I blinked. Zhao Gu squinted at me.
"Another secret to immortality, eh? Careful, Wei. People die from reading too much."
But I was already reading.
And I understood.
This wasn't a path like the others. No qi. No talent required. No demonic bloodlines or ancient swords whispering secrets.
I stared at the words etched into stone, not with awe—but confusion. "Let go of the weights"? Was this a joke? In a world where strength came from devouring pills, taming beasts, or fusing with ancient bloodlines, this path asked for something else entirely. No stages. No qi. No lightning tribulations. Only one rule: if I wanted to ascend, I had to descend—into myself. Cultivation, for me, wouldn't be about becoming more. It would be about becoming less.
Only one requirement:
Let go.
The first test came the next day:
Ambition.
Since I was a child, I dreamed of being something. Anything. A sect leader. A savior. Even a powerful street performer with magic dancing skills.
But all those dreams clung to me like burrs in the skin.
That morning, I sat before the wall, staring at the carved words. I whispered to myself:
"Can I dare… to be nothing?"
When I said it, something heavy slipped off my back.
For a moment, I felt like I could breathe. Truly breathe.
That was how I shed my first weight.
"You look pale, Wei. Saw a ghost?"
Zhao Gu peeked over.
I grinned.
"No. I saw myself."
He scratched his nose. "If you ever meet me, don't introduce me to him."
I laughed.
Then turned back to the wall.
For the first time… I felt like I was truly cultivating something real.