Liu Chen's fingers trembled as he traced the cultivation formation etched into the stone floor of the Nine Suns Academy's testing hall. The golden lines should have pulsed with power at his touch—that's what the instructors had said would happen for those with talent. Instead, they remained dull and lifeless, like everything else he'd tried in his three years at the academy.
"Time's up, trash." Wang Hao's sneering voice cut through the silence. The young prodigy stood at the entrance of the hall, his white robes immaculate, the golden sun emblem on his chest gleaming in the morning light. "Some of us actually need to practice here."
Liu Chen kept his head down, hiding the familiar burn of shame behind dark bangs that had grown too long. He'd come early, hoping to practice in solitude before classes began. But of course Wang Hao would be here—the pride of the third-year disciples never missed a chance to remind Liu of his place.
"I still have ten minutes allocated," Liu said quietly, forcing his voice to remain steady. He had memorized the practice hall schedules, claiming the earliest morning slot that no one else wanted. It was the only way he could train without an audience.
Wang Hao's laugh echoed off the hall's stone walls. "Allocated? To you? The only thing you're doing is wasting valuable cultivation resources." He strode forward, each step radiating the confident grace of someone who had never known failure. "Do you know how much sacred energy these practice formations consume? It's wasted on someone who can't even sense basic fate lines."
Liu Chen's jaw clenched. He did know—he'd spent countless nights studying the theory, understanding exactly how the formations worked. The knowledge only made his inability to use them more frustrating. Every student at the Nine Suns Academy was supposed to be able to see fate lines, the glowing threads of destiny that permeated reality. Even the weakest disciples could manipulate them to some degree, drawing on their power to begin walking the path of cultivation.
But Liu Chen saw nothing. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how many nights he spent practicing the visualization techniques, the world remained stubbornly mundane to his eyes.
"I said move, trash." Wang Hao's foot connected with Liu's side, not hard enough to leave a bruise but with enough force to send him sprawling. "Or do I need to help you understand your place again?"
The threat hung in the air, heavy with memories of past "lessons." Liu Chen's fingers curled against the stone floor, but he forced them to relax. Fighting back would only make things worse. He'd learned that the hard way during his first year, when Wang Hao and his followers had caught him practicing alone in one of the remote courtyards. The beating had left him with three broken ribs and a crystal-clear understanding of the academy's unofficial hierarchy.
"No need, Young Master Wang." Liu Chen pushed himself to his feet, keeping his movements deliberate and non-threatening. "I was just finishing anyway."
He gathered his worn practice manual and the jade meditation token that marked his practice slot. The token had been a gift from Elder Sun, the only instructor who still showed him any kindness. "Keep trying," the old man had said, pressing the jade into Liu's palm. "Fate works in mysterious ways."
Fat lot of good that had done him. Three years of trying had only proven what everyone else already knew—Liu Chen was worthless, a mistake in the academy's otherwise impeccable recruitment record. He could still remember the day he'd arrived, one of fifty new disciples chosen from thousands of applicants across the Nine Suns Empire. They'd all shown promise, the ability to at least glimpse the fate lines that governed reality.
All except him. His "talent" had vanished between testing and admission, like morning dew under a harsh sun. Some whispered that he must have cheated somehow, though no one could explain how one might fake the ability to see fate lines. Others suggested his talent had been stolen or sealed away by some enemy of his family—not that Liu Chen had any family left to have enemies.
"That's right, know your place." Wang Hao moved to the center of the formation Liu Chen had just vacated. The lines blazed to life at his touch, filling the hall with golden light. "And Liu Chen? Don't bother coming back tomorrow. I've decided to take this time slot for my morning practice. Someone who can actually use it properly."
Liu Chen's steps faltered for just a moment before he continued toward the door. It wasn't fair. None of it was fair. But he'd learned long ago that fairness had nothing to do with fate.
The morning sun had barely crested the academy's eastern wall as he emerged from the practice hall. The massive structure of white stone and gold trim rose like a mountain before him, its nine spires reaching toward the heavens. Each spire represented one of the nine cultivation paths taught at the academy: Fate Seeing, Fate Weaving, Fate Breaking, and so on. Liu Chen had once dreamed of climbing them all.
Now he could barely look at them without feeling sick.
He turned away from the main academy buildings, taking the worn path that led to the outer disciples' quarters. As a third-year student who had yet to advance beyond the most basic level, he wasn't even afforded the dignity of living in the main dormitories. Instead, he shared the cramped outer quarters with first-year students who hadn't yet proven their talent.
Most of them would move to better accommodations within months. Liu Chen remained, year after year, watching others advance while he stagnated. Even the servants treated him with barely concealed disdain, knowing he was one step away from being expelled and sent back to whatever nameless village had produced such a worthless cultivator.
The familiar weight of despair settled over him as he walked, but something else stirred beneath it. A quiet anger that had been building for three years, fed by every sneer and dismissal. He was tired of being worthless. Tired of being nothing.
His feet carried him past the outer quarters, toward the small meditation garden hidden behind the dormitories. Few students knew about it—the garden was old and poorly maintained, its stone benches cracked and its paths overgrown. But it was quiet, and the twisted old tree at its center offered shade for reading.
The garden had been his sanctuary since his first month at the academy, when he'd stumbled upon it while trying to find a place to hide from Wang Hao and his cronies. The ancient tree at its heart was said to be older than the academy itself, its gnarled branches reaching out like protective arms. Some said it was a failed attempt at growing a World Tree, one of the mystical plants that connected different realms of existence. Others claimed it was simply an ordinary tree that had absorbed too much cultivation energy over the centuries.
Whatever its origin, Liu Chen found peace beneath its twisted limbs. He settled at its base, pulling out his practice manual. The pages were worn soft from countless readings, the margins filled with his own careful notes. He might be worthless at practical cultivation, but theory was something else entirely. He understood the principles better than most of his year-mates—not that it did him any good.
"One more time," he whispered, closing his eyes. "Just one more time."
He began the breathing exercises, trying to clear his mind as the manual instructed. In theory, fate lines were easiest to see in a state of perfect calm. They existed everywhere, connecting all things, guiding the flow of destiny itself. Even the simplest cultivation technique required the ability to see and manipulate these lines.
The morning breeze rustled through the old tree's leaves, carrying with it the distant sounds of the academy coming to life. Soon the practice halls would be full of disciples, all of them advancing, growing stronger, while Liu Chen remained trapped in place, unable to take even the first step on the path to power.
For what felt like the thousandth time, Liu Chen reached out with his senses, searching for even the faintest glimmer of the power that came so easily to others. For a moment, he thought he felt something—a whisper of sensation, like spider silk brushing against his consciousness.
Then pain exploded behind his eyes, and the world went white.
The last thing he heard before consciousness fled was the sound of breaking branches above him, and a strange whisper that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once:
"Oh, little blind one. What interesting threads you've tangled."
Then darkness claimed him, and Liu Chen knew no more.