The morning sun painted the sky in soft hues of orange and pink as Shen Ling stepped onto the damp soil of his farmland. His hands, rough and calloused from years of labor, gripped the worn wooden handle of his plow. This was his life.
The simple, repetitive act of tilling the earth was all he had ever known. While the noble sect disciples trained in martial arts and soared through the skies on flying swords, he was here, breaking his back under the scorching sun, struggling to survive.
He let out a sigh, wiping the sweat from his brow.
"Shen Ling! Hurry up!" an elderly voice called from the dirt path leading to his small plot.
Turning his head, he saw Old Man Wu, one of the village elders, walking toward him with an anxious look. The wrinkles on his face were deeper than usual, and his frail hands trembled slightly.
"The Ironwood Sect is coming for their tax collection today. You haven't paid yet, have you?"
Shen Ling frowned.
Ironwood Sect. The so-called "protectors" of their village.
In truth, they were nothing more than glorified bandits—cultivators who extorted farmers for food and resources while offering no real protection.
"I don't have enough this time," Shen Ling admitted, gripping the handle of his plow tighter. "The harvest was poor."
Old Man Wu sighed heavily. "Then you'd best prepare yourself. The sect enforcers don't take excuses lightly."
Shen Ling remained silent. He knew what that meant.
Every few months, the Ironwood Sect would descend upon the village, demanding payment in the form of grain, livestock, or even people. Those who failed to meet their demands were beaten, thrown out of their homes, or worse—taken away to work as slaves in the sect's mines.
He had seen it happen before.
And now, it was his turn.
The Arrival of the Sect
By midday, the Ironwood Sect enforcers arrived. A group of five cultivators, clad in dark brown robes, marched into the village square. Their leader, a tall man with a hooked nose and narrow eyes, smirked as he scanned the gathered farmers.
"Listen up, peasants!" he barked. "You know the rules. The sect provides protection, and in return, you pay tribute. Those who fail to meet their quota… well, you know what happens."
The villagers stood in tense silence. They had no choice but to comply.
Shen Ling watched as one by one, his neighbors stepped forward, handing over sacks of grain, bundles of herbs, and even livestock. Some gave everything they had, their faces pale with despair.
Then, it was his turn.
The hooked-nose enforcer sneered at him. "Shen Ling, the infamous farmer. Where's your tribute?"
Shen Ling tightened his jaw. "I don't have enough this time."
The enforcer's smirk widened. "Oh? Then perhaps we'll take something else." His gaze drifted toward Shen Ling's small cottage. "How about your house? Or maybe… your life?"
The other enforcers laughed cruelly.
Shen Ling's fists clenched. He could feel the villagers' eyes on him, filled with pity and fear. They knew he wouldn't be able to fight back. He was just a farmer. No cultivation. No power. Nothing.
The enforcer stepped forward, raising a hand to strike—
But before he could land the blow, a sudden golden light flashed in the distance.
A faint humming sound filled the air, like the whisper of an ancient force awakening. The enforcer paused, turning his head toward the source.
Shen Ling felt his breath catch.
Deep within the forest, just beyond the edge of the village, something was calling to him.
Something ancient.
Something powerful.
The Forbidden Ruins
That night, while the village slept, Shen Ling moved.
Guided by the strange pull in his chest, he followed the faint golden glow through the dense trees. The deeper he went, the heavier the air became, thick with an energy unlike anything he had ever felt.
Then, he saw it.
The Forbidden Ruins.
A massive, crumbling structure of black stone, covered in vines and age-old carvings, loomed before him. The villagers had always spoken of this place in hushed whispers.
"A cursed place."
"A graveyard of forgotten cultivators."
"No one who enters ever returns."
Yet, despite the warnings, Shen Ling stepped forward.
Inside, the air shimmered with golden particles. Strange symbols pulsed on the walls, and at the center of the ruins lay a floating orb of pure, radiant energy.
The moment he laid eyes on it, his entire being trembled.
It was alive.
It was waiting for him.
Drawn by an unseen force, he reached out.
The instant his fingers brushed the surface—
Boom!
A torrent of raw, primordial energy exploded into his body.
His vision blurred. His veins burned. His mind filled with ancient knowledge beyond mortal comprehension.
He could feel it.
The flow of Qi. The rhythm of the world. The limitless ocean of power surging within him.
He gasped, falling to his knees. His body, once frail, now pulsed with an overwhelming energy. His cells trembled, absorbing Qi at an impossible rate—faster than any cultivator in history.
The golden light faded, and the ruins fell silent.
Shen Ling stared at his trembling hands, his heart pounding.
Something inside him had changed.
Something new had awakened.
And nothing would ever be the same again.
The era of Shen Ling had begun.