In the Sunstone Sect, prestige was measured in light. Disciples were judged by the brilliance of their spiritual roots—Sunfire, Golden Light, Blazing Jade—all affinities that drank in the world’s rich, light-aspected Qi. They lived on the sun-drenched slopes of Dawnbringer Peak, their techniques painting the sky with fire and golden lances of energy. In this world of incandescent glory, Li Chen was a living shadow.
At his Awakening Ceremony, when the clan prodigy Yao Tian had awakened the legendary Sunfire Root, bathing the hall in warmth and light, Li Chen had awakened the Shadow Root. A hush had fallen over the assembly. The diagnostic crystal, which should have glowed, had instead turned a murky, light-devouring black. The Shadow Root was a curse, a one-in-a-million mutation that made it nearly impossible to cultivate. It could only absorb Umbral Qi, a rare and feeble energy found only in the deepest darkness, an energy that was considered impure and corrupt.
At seventeen, after years of trying, Li Chen was still stuck at the first stage of Qi Condensation. Even the sect’s servants had a higher cultivation. He was a walking stain on the Sunstone Sect’s reputation. His existence was a cycle of chores and contempt.
The primary source of his daily torment was Yao Tian himself. Blessed with talent, looks, and power, Yao Tian saw Li Chen’s presence as a personal insult.
“Look, the ghoul is out in the sun,” Yao Tian’s voice, loud and mocking, echoed across the Outer Court training grounds. He stood surrounded by admirers, his red and gold robes immaculate. “Shouldn’t you be hiding in a hole somewhere? I’m surprised you haven’t faded away.”
Li Chen gritted his teeth and continued his task: refilling the water vats for the kitchens. The midday sun felt like a physical weight on his shoulders, making him feel weak and drained. His Shadow Root recoiled from the brilliant light, making even the simple act of breathing feel laborious. He ignored the jeers, knowing that any response would only invite physical abuse.
“Hey, I’m talking to you, shadow-trash,” one of Yao Tian’s lackeys sneered, kicking a bucket from Li Chen’s hands. Water splashed across the dusty ground, a precious resource wasted.
Li Chen stopped, his knuckles white. He looked up, his dark, quiet eyes meeting Yao Tian’s arrogant gaze. In that moment, a flicker of something cold and deep in Li Chen’s eyes made Yao Tian pause. It wasn’t fear or anger. It was a silent, unnerving patience.
Yao Tian’s smirk faltered for a second before returning, wider and crueler. “Feeling defiant, are we? Your continued existence here is an act of generosity. Don’t forget that.” He turned to the supervising Outer Court elder. “Elder Feng, this disciple is lazy and sullen. Such an attitude is a rot in our sect. He needs a task befitting his nature.”
Elder Feng, who had no love for the sect’s only failure, nodded readily. “Li Chen. The Northern Punishment Cell needs to be scrubbed. It has been sealed for a decade. Go and clean it. Do not come out until it is spotless.”
A wave of murmurs went through the other disciples. The Northern Punishment Cell was the deepest, darkest part of the sect, carved into the very root of the mountain. It was a place of absolute darkness, where light had not touched its stones for centuries. It was a place where they sent disciples to break their spirits. For Li Chen, it was meant to be a special kind of torture.
Li Chen simply bowed his head. “Yes, Elder.”
He picked up his bucket and walked away, the laughter of Yao Tian and his followers chasing him like a pack of hounds. He didn’t care about the humiliation. As he descended the winding stone steps into the mountain’s belly, away from the oppressive sun, he felt a strange sense of relief. The air grew cooler, the light faded, and the shadows deepened. Here, in the encroaching darkness, his body felt… better. The weakness receded, and the oppressive weight on his soul lifted.
He reached the final door, a massive slab of iron-bound rock. The guards unlocked it with a groan of rusted metal, revealing a void of absolute, ink-black darkness. They handed him a bucket of water and a brush.
“No lanterns allowed inside,” one guard grunted. “The cell is for punishment, not comfort.”
They shoved him in and sealed the door behind him. The sound of the heavy bolt sliding home echoed in the crushing silence. Li Chen was plunged into a darkness so complete it felt solid, a darkness that would drive most men mad. But for him, it was like coming home. In this pitch-black silence, his Shadow Root quivered, not with fear, but with a strange, starved eagerness. For the first time in his life, it felt like it could breathe. And in the center of the cell, something was calling to it.