In the afternoon of Qingyang City, sunlight spilled through the clouds onto the bluestone streets, yet it could not pierce the gloom in Chen Fan's heart. He huddled in a corner outside the mountain gate of Xianyun Sect, his coarse clothes covered in patches, utterly out of place among the well-dressed youths waiting to have their spiritual roots tested.
"Next, Chen Fan!" The Xianyun Sect disciple in charge of testing spiritual roots called out expressionlessly, his tone carrying a trace of barely concealed contempt.
Chen Fan took a deep breath and clenched the smoothed copper coin hidden in his sleeve—his late mother's only keepsake. Step by step, he walked forward and placed his hand upon the Spirit Testing Stone, which emitted a gentle white glow.
Second after second passed, yet the Spirit Testing Stone showed no reaction at all, remaining that monotonous white. A burst of laughter and chatter immediately rose around him.
"I told you. How could some poor brat who can barely afford to eat possibly have spiritual roots?"
"What a waste of time. Is an immortal sect a place someone like him can enter?"
"Without spiritual roots, he'll be nothing but a mortal for the rest of his life, destined to struggle at the bottom."
Those piercing words stabbed into Chen Fan's heart like needles. His face flushed crimson, and his nails dug deeply into his palms, yet he forcibly held himself back. The disciple conducting the test impatiently waved a hand. "No spiritual roots. Get lost. Stop being an eyesore here."
Chen Fan silently turned around and left the Xianyun Sect's mountain gate step by step amid everyone's mockery and disdainful gazes. He wandered aimlessly down the streets, their words endlessly echoing in his mind, along with his mother's frail yet hopeful voice before her death. "Fan'er, Mother knows you've suffered, but you must live well. Maybe... maybe one day, you'll finally rise above it all."
Did having no spiritual roots truly mean he could only be bullied for a lifetime, with no day of ever rising above it all? Chen Fan refused to accept it. He shook his head hard, a flash of stubbornness crossing his eyes.
Night gradually fell. Chen Fan arrived at a secluded ruined temple outside the city, his shelter these past few days. Just as he was about to gather some dry grass to spread over the ground, he suddenly heard faint groaning from outside the temple.
His heart tightened. He carefully walked to the temple entrance and, by the moonlight, saw a middle-aged man in black martial attire lying on the ground. Blood continuously seeped from his chest, and his breathing was faint. The man gave off an aura utterly different from that of immortal cultivators—an imposing, powerful aura that belonged to the fleshly body.
Chen Fan hesitated. Since childhood, he had been taught not to meddle in others' business, especially in these chaotic times, when a moment's carelessness could bring disaster upon him. Yet as he looked at the man's pained expression, he recalled all the injustices he had suffered. In the end, compassion overcame fear in his heart.
He hurried to the man's side and asked softly, "Uncle, are you all right?"
The middle-aged man slowly opened his eyes, vigilance flashing through them. Then, seeing Chen Fan's pure and concerned gaze, his guard gradually faded. He said weakly, "Little brother, I... I'm badly injured. Could you help me find some water?"
Chen Fan hurriedly nodded and ran toward a nearby stream. Using the chipped bowl he carried with him, he scooped up a bowl of water and carefully fed it to the middle-aged man.
After drinking the water, the middle-aged man's breathing steadied somewhat. He looked at Chen Fan, a complicated expression appearing in his eyes. "Little brother, thank you. I see that your bones are extraordinary, yet you seem burdened by troubles difficult to put into words?"
Chen Fan gave a bitter smile and told him how he possessed no spiritual roots, had been rejected by the immortal sect, and had suffered every kind of bullying.
After hearing him out, the middle-aged man fell silent for a moment before suddenly saying, "So what if you have no spiritual roots? Cultivating immortality is not the only path. In this world, there is another road—far more difficult, yet also far more defiant of heaven's will: the martial path!"
"The martial path?" Chen Fan froze. He had never heard of such a path.
"That's right, the martial path." A glimmer flashed in the middle-aged man's eyes. "The martial path does not cultivate spiritual energy, only the self. By tempering the body, gathering Internal Energy, and breaking the limits of life again and again, even a Mortal Body can wield power that shakes heaven and earth, and even... slay immortals!"
Chen Fan's heart jolted. Slay immortals? Those two words stirred towering waves in his heart. He looked at the middle-aged man, his eyes filled with longing. "Uncle, is what you said true? Can I... can I cultivate the martial path too?"
The middle-aged man nodded. "Though you lack spiritual roots, your temperament is tenacious, and your bodily aptitude far surpasses that of ordinary people. You are excellent material for cultivating the martial path. I am a Martial Venerable at the end of his road. This time, I was ambushed, and my lamp is out of oil, my strength exhausted. I am willing to pass my martial inheritance to you. Are you willing to set foot upon this martial road where nine deaths await for every life?"
A Martial Venerable! Though Chen Fan did not know what realm a Martial Venerable represented, he could sense from the man's words that it was an exceedingly powerful existence. Without the slightest hesitation, he dropped to his knees and kowtowed three times before the middle-aged man. "This disciple, Chen Fan, greets Master! I beg Master to impart the martial path to me. This disciple will certainly cultivate with utmost diligence and never betray Master's expectations!"
The middle-aged man revealed a gratified smile. He extended his hand and injected a stream of warm Internal Energy into Chen Fan's body. At the same time, passages of martial cultivation methods and combat techniques flowed into Chen Fan's mind—Burning Heaven Art, a cultivation art that recorded the supreme mysteries of the martial path.
"The Burning Heaven Art has nine levels, corresponding to the nine great realms of the martial path: Acquired, Innate, Grandmaster, Martial Venerable, Martial Saint, Human Immortal, Earth Immortal, Heaven Immortal, and Proving Dao with Martial Arts. In cultivating this art, every major breakthrough requires the shattering of the Mortal Body Shackles. The pain is immeasurable, and survival hangs by a thread." The middle-aged man's voice gradually weakened. "This is all I can do for you. The road ahead... you must walk it yourself..."
Before his words had even faded, the middle-aged man's head tilted to one side, and his breath ceased completely.
Chen Fan looked at his master's body, and tears could not help streaming down his face. He rose to his feet and solemnly buried his master's remains on the hillside behind the ruined temple, erecting a simple wooden marker.
"Master, rest assured. I will cultivate the martial path well, shatter the shackles of Spiritual Root Destiny, restore the martial path to its former glory, and never betray your inheritance!" Chen Fan bowed deeply toward the wooden marker, his eyes filled with unwavering conviction.
From then on, Chen Fan began his journey of martial cultivation in that ruined temple. Every day before dawn, he tempered his body according to the methods of the Burning Heaven Art—chopping wood, carrying water, practicing punches—repeating every simple movement thousands upon thousands of times. Sweat soaked his clothes, and scars covered his body, yet he never showed the slightest slackness.
He knew this was his only chance, his sole hope of changing his fate and defying heaven to strike down immortals. Within that insignificant body, the blazing fire of the martial path had already ignited. A storm that would sweep across the world was quietly brewing.
Before you continue