The sun lazily spilled golden hues over the mountain peaks, bathing the Clear Heavens Sect in a tranquil glow.
The sect was perched high above White Feather Town with its jade-tiled rooftops and cloud-kissed courtyards emanating an ancient beauty. Mist coiled around the mountain like a celestial guardian, hiding the sharp cliffs below.
Stone paths, worn smooth by centuries of footsteps, weaved through mythical gardens, tranquil ponds, and sky-high pagodas.
A young boy swept one of those paths. His broom moved with exaggerated elegance as though it were an ancient weapon of great power.
Lin Raosheng, a sixteen-year-old rail thin boy, wore the standard gray robes of the sect's servants. Though plain and frayed at the edges, he wore them with a certain flair, rolling up the sleeves as if preparing for a grand duel.
His perpetually messy dark hair, caught stray rays of sunlight, while his bright eyes betrayed a mischievous spark. His face, lean but undeniably handsome, carried a faint smirk—his signature expression.
It was as if the entire world were a joke he hadn't finished telling.
He sighed dramatically before pausing to lean on the broom as though it were a cane. "Ah, the life of a cultivator! Swinging brooms instead of swords, sweeping away dust instead of demons. Truly, the heavens have blessed me."
Nearby, two junior disciples strolled past. Their pristine azure robes swished with every haughty step.
One of them, a broad-shouldered boy named Fang Wei, sneered. "Look at him, pretending to be something he's not. Stick to your broom, Lin, and leave the heroics to real cultivators."
Lin's smirk widened. "Don't worry, Brother Fang. I'll leave the heroics to you. Someone has to stay alive to sweep up the mess after your glorious battles."
The other disciple snorted, trying and failing to suppress a laugh, while Fang Wei scowled and stormed off.
Lin shook his head, returning to his sweeping with a grin. He had learned long ago that humor was his armor, even if it sometimes got him into trouble.
A soft voice interrupted his thoughts. "Brother Lin, you shouldn't provoke them like that."
Lin turned to see a young woman approaching. Her movements were as graceful as the breeze that stirred her pale lavender robes. Sister Yue, one of the few sect members who treated him kindly, had delicate features framed by silky black hair tied in a simple braid.
Her soft amber eyes carried a mixture of warmth and worry. The earthy scent of herbs wafted gently through the air from the small basket in her hands.
"Ah, Sister Yue, my guardian angel in lavender," Lin voiced while sweeping into an exaggerated bow. "But if I didn't provoke them, I'd have to sweep in silence. And where's the fun in that?"
Yue sighed before her lips curved into a faint smile. "One day, your sharp tongue will get you into real trouble."
"It already has," Lin gestured at his broom. "Behold my punishment: a lifetime of sweeping."
Yue laughed softly while shaking her head. "Just... try to stay out of trouble. The sect elders are watching everyone closely with the upcoming event."
Lin's brows arched. "Ah, yes, the grand event. A parade of powerful cultivators showing off their shiny treasures and smug faces. Can't wait to sweep their shoes."
As Yue walked away, Lin glanced at the mist-covered mountains in the distance.
His smirk faltered for a moment. Somewhere beyond those peaks lay answers to questions he'd carried for years—about his mother, her death, and the cruel mystery of why her spirit never appeared to him.
He clenched the broom tightly as a strange yet familiar ache in his chest rose. He wanted to find out what happened but he didn't have the power to.
But then, as always, he pushed down the ache, letting humor carry him forward. "One day, I'll trade this broom for a sword," he muttered. "Or maybe just a fancier broom. Who knows?"
With a dramatic spin of his broom, Lin resumed his sweeping.
Lin Raosheng moved through the misty paths with broom in hand and his robes fluttering in the breeze as he hummed a cheerful tune.
He paused at the training grounds, where dozens of disciples practiced synchronized sword techniques. Their azure robes shimmered under the morning light as they executed powerful swings, causing the qi in the surroundings to gather.
Lin leaned on his broom, watching with a grin.
"Well," he muttered softly, "if synchronized sweeping ever becomes a sect requirement, I'll finally have something in common with them."
Behind him, a translucent figure appeared—an old man in ancient robes.
His beard flowed like wisps of smoke as he spoke. "Boy, your commentary would be more useful if you actually had the skill to back it up."
Lin smirked, keeping his voice low so no one overheard. "Master Xie, if I wanted advice on sweeping, I'd ask. But thanks for the unsolicited wisdom."
The spirit huffed and vanished just as Lin moved on, whistling as if he hadn't been talking to thin air. A group of disciples glanced at him from the sideline with wart expressions.
"There he goes again," one whispered. "Talking to himself like a madman."
"Just ignore him," another replied. "He's just the cleaner."
Lin caught their words but didn't react.
Instead, he grinned. "Ah, the joys of being labeled insane," he murmured to himself. "Truly, I am blessed."
---
Next, he wandered into the beast-taming grounds, where the roars and growls of spirit beasts filled the air. Handlers wrestled with unruly creatures, while a few disciples cautiously approached their own beasts.
Lin's gaze drifted to a familiar figure perched on the fence as he paused. It was a spirit woman with wild hair and an amused smirk.
"Morning, Miss Yuan," he muttered under his breath. "Still enjoying the show?"
The spirit laughed softly. "Far better entertainment than your sweeping."
Lin chuckled but kept his voice low. A passing disciple shot him a confused look. "Talking to yourself again, Lin?"
"Just planning my sweeping strategy," Lin said with a straight face. "Gotta keep the dust on its toes."
The disciple rolled his eyes and walked away while muttering about Lin's peculiar behavior.
---
Lin continued to the pavilions, where the scent of ink and parchment filled the air. Disciples inside debated over scrolls. Outside, a ghostly scholar floated near the window, adjusting his spectral spectacles.
"Still debating the meaning of qi, are we?" Lin whispered, careful to keep his voice low.
The spirit nodded sagely. "Indeed. A topic far beyond your comprehension."
Lin grinned. "Don't sell me short. I'm an expert in the mysteries of how to use a broom."
The spirit chuckled and vanished into the pavilion. A nearby disciple glanced at Lin, frowning. "What are you muttering about, Lin?"
"Reciting poetry," Lin replied with a perfectly serious tone. "Care to hear my latest verse?"
The disciple snorted and walked away, leaving Lin to his sweeping.
Lin continued to move from place to place within the sect, sweeping and occasionally bumping into spirits. From the cultivation grounds to the sect leaders pavilion to other locations.
By the time Lin Raosheng finished sweeping the last of the sect's courtyards, the morning mist had begun to dissipate, revealing the full splendor of the Clear Heavens Sect.
The jade rooftops sparkled under the sunlight, and the sounds of disciples training and beasts roaring filled the air. Lin leaned on his broom, letting out an exaggerated sigh.
"Another morning of glory and dust," he muttered while gazing at the towering mountains surrounding the sect. "What a life."
He let out a sigh after recalling that he had to repeat this in the evening as well.
As Lin sat on a nearby stone bench with his broom resting across his lap, his smirk faded, and his thoughts drifted to the past.
Lin Raosheng had always been able to see the spirits of dead beings. He never knew why but his mother apparently made it seem normal.
He had never known his father. His mother was a quiet and kind woman who had raised him alone in White Feather Town. Despite their modest life, she had always encouraged Lin to see the humor in the world, even when times were tough.
But those memories felt like a lifetime ago. When Lin was nine, his mother died in what the townsfolk called a freak accident. They said she had slipped and fallen into a ravine while gathering herbs. But Lin knew better. He had been there—too far away to help but close enough to hear her last words.
Her weak and trembling voice still haunted him. "They found me... Don't tell anyone you can see spirits..."
Those cryptic words had stayed with him. It was a message that hinted at something far more sinister than an accident.