Elder Ma, his face flushed red, frowned deeply and raised his voice.

  “Elder Li, does our Xuanfrost Sect’s thousand-year reputation truly need to be lowered to this extent? Making an exception to shelter the life of a mere mortal child? If word spreads, won’t we become a laughingstock?”

  Elder Sun, who had been resting with closed eyes, slowly opened them. His gaze was calm, yet carried an unquestionable chill.

  “Elder Ma, since the Sect Master has entrusted these mundane matters to us, they must be resolved thoroughly. This child’s temperament already shows signs of extremity. If another incident occurs and his parents spread claims that our Xuanfrost Sect ‘drove a rejected child to death,’ rumors will proliferate. What would truly suffer then is our foundation for recruiting talent and our reputation. Tell me—would that humiliation be more dignified than making an exception? If you are willing to bear all future criticism and consequences alone, then I shall withdraw from this matter.”

  The hall fell into an awkward silence.

  Zhou, the deacon in charge, quickly stepped in to mediate.

  “Please calm yourselves, Elders. All decisions are for the sect’s benefit. In my view, a compromise would suffice. We can temporarily accept him as a nominal disciple and place him in the menial service division for tempering. After ten years or so, if he still shows no affinity for cultivation and no spiritual roots manifest, we simply send him home. This resolves the immediate issue, prevents future trouble, and grants him a ‘status.’ To outsiders, we may claim that the Xuanfrost Sect is benevolent and does not extinguish one’s pursuit of the Dao. Would that not serve all sides?”

  Elder Li, dressed in fine brocade, set down his teacup and spoke leisurely.

  “If this precedent is set, what if future rejected candidates imitate this behavior and threaten death at every turn?”

  Zhou smiled faintly, clearly prepared.

  “This incident serves as a reminder. Henceforth, before sending away any failed candidates, inner disciples may apply a Calming Mind Technique to ease their intense disappointment, planting the thought that ‘life is precious and the road ahead is long.’ As for Yun Che… Matters have already reached this point. Accepting him poses no real harm. A mere nominal disciple, performing tasks like sweeping and hauling water—at worst, it is only one more mouth to feed.”

  Aside from Elder Sun, the other elders cast Zhou a meaningful glance and said nothing more.

  Zhou maintained a courteous smile but inwardly thought, Yun Che, this is as far as I can help you. As for that piece of Cold-Pattern Mystic Iron your fourth uncle Yun Qingmo sent… I will accept it without ceremony. Curious, indeed—a mere mortal wanderer managing to obtain such a material infused with faint Ice-Soul qi…

  He did not know that the egg-sized, dark-blue iron block—cold to the touch—had been acquired by Yun Qingmo years ago from a destitute border merchant by chance. Sensing its unusual chill, Yun Qingmo had kept it treasured ever since. This time, for his nephew’s future, he reluctantly offered it, not truly understanding its value to cultivators.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Thus, an oddly obtained piece of metal subtly pried open a sliver of an elder’s resolve at a critical moment, quietly altering Yun Che’s fate.

  When news of this reached Yun Che—recovering in the guesthouse—he could hardly believe it. After enduring life and death and struggling in despair, he had ultimately been accepted into the Xuanfrost Sect in such a manner: not through merit, but as an act of convenience—a solution to trouble—as a nominal disciple.

  Two days later, aided by medicinal elixirs, most of his injuries had healed. He escorted his parents—who repeatedly urged him to “cherish this opportunity and obey the immortals”—to the mountain gate. Watching their retreating figures, seemingly younger, filled with pride and hope, Yun Che felt a tangle of emotions. Yet warmth rose within him, and he silently vowed to walk this path earnestly.

  That fragile spark, however, was quickly doused by cold reality the moment he turned back toward the future arranged for him.

  He was led to a drab building at the sect’s edge, responsible for assigning menial labor to nominal disciples. A thin young man in yellow robes lounged against a chair, openly sizing Yun Che up with disdain. He snorted.

  “So you’re Yun Che—the one who ‘proved his resolve by jumping off a cliff’ to sneak into Xuanfrost Sect?”

  Yun Che glanced at him, lips pressed tight, remaining silent.

  Annoyed, the youth sneered.

  “Listen carefully. Starting tomorrow, you report here at dawn sharp. Your job is hauling water from Chilly Gloom Pool

  in the back mountain and filling ten Ice-Stone vats behind the dining hall. Miss one, no food that day. Fail the quota for seven days straight, and I’ll report you for laziness and have you expelled. This is your clothing and your wooden ID. Nominal disciples wear gray—don’t think about other colors until you strike gold.”

  He tossed a gray robe and a crude wooden tag onto the floor and closed his eyes, dismissing Yun Che entirely.

  Yun Che bent down, picked them up, dusted them off, and asked quietly, “Where do I live?”

  Without opening his eyes, the youth replied lazily, “Head north until the end. Show your tag to whoever’s in charge.”

  Only after Yun Che left did the youth mutter, “Dragging down our menial division with such trash…”

  Following the directions, Yun Che walked north. Most disciples he passed wore gray, moving briskly with indifferent expressions—some hauling loads, others gripping brooms. Fatigue and numbness lingered on their faces. They rarely spoke, and when eyes met, they quickly turned away.

  At a secluded area stood rows of low, gray-tiled houses—more crowded, equally oppressive.

  After handing over his tag, Yun Che was assigned a room. Inside, the space was cramped, reeking faintly of mold and dust. Two crude wooden beds and a rickety table filled the room—worse than his home in Xitou Village.

  He sat on the bed, thoughts churning. Xuanfrost Sect… I’ve finally entered.

  Yet this place bore little resemblance to the immortal sanctuary of his imagination.

  Night fell quickly. A thin gray-robed youth stumbled in, collapsed onto the opposite bed, and fell asleep almost instantly.

  Hunger gnawed at Yun Che. He took out the roasted sweet potatoes his mother had left behind.

  The youth stirred, sniffed the air, and sat up abruptly.

  “Uh… can I have a piece? Even one bite?”

  Yun Che tossed him two.

  The youth devoured them ravenously, gulped water, then sighed.

  “Thanks, brother. Name’s Zhang Hu. And yeah… everyone knows you now.”

  Yun Che smiled bitterly and said nothing.