Before the rooster crowed, before the sky even considered turning pale, Xiao Xuan jolted awake to the sharp clang of a handbell reverberating through the cold walls of the laborers' quarters. The cold bit through his robe like fangs, but he didn't hesitate. He was up before most, his mat neatly rolled and his face splashed with water from a chipped basin. There were no luxuries in Ironwood Sect for people like him.
A plain robe marked his place. A wooden token hung at his waist — servant rank. Below even outer disciples. Just a step above stray dogs.
His first task was menial but essential: hauling water from the distant spring to the outer kitchen. The buckets were heavy, the path steep, and the cold morning air stung his lungs with every breath. He made six trips before the sun had risen, each one burning his shoulders and stiffening his legs.
He passed other laborers — veterans with practiced rhythm, efficient, silent, unsmiling. They offered no comfort. There was no camaraderie in low places, only survival.
By the time the drills began in the main courtyard, Xiao Xuan had finished sweeping three stone corridors and mopping the side pavilion. He didn't pause. Instead, he crept toward the wall separating the servant zone from the training ground. With a practiced quiet, he climbed to his favored perch — a gap behind a broken pillar.
Below him, outer disciples shouted in unison, fists and feet slicing through the air. The instructor, a Core Condensation cultivator with a strict mouth and sharper eyes, paced like a hawk. He corrected mistakes with curt words and painful strikes. One boy was knocked to the ground for losing balance in the "Cloud Serpent Step."
Xiao Xuan watched like a starving man at a banquet. He memorized their stances, counted their steps, traced every breath cycle. His Earth-born mind, trained in logic and systems, saw through repetition what others performed by instinct.
He scribbled notes every night: combinations, weaknesses, predicted corrections. He even began mimicking stretches at dawn before chores. Though his body lacked Qi, his memory and focus had no rival.
One night, he added a new page:
Inner Focus Training :
=> Observe without blinking Hold breath during disciple sparring Match posture silently in isolation
=> Each evening, he meditated. Not to gather Qi — he couldn't — but to focus. On breathing. On memory. On will.
He became invisible to the sect, yet never missed a motion.
He endured. He watched. He learned.
And with each passing day, he climbed. Quietly. Patiently. Unseen.
Just the way he needed.