Assigned Value

Morning came without warning.

The sharp clang of a bell echoed through the stone halls, followed by shouted orders that tore through sleep like a blade. Lin Shen opened his eyes immediately. His body protested, stiff and cold, but his mind was already resolute.

"Up!"

The sounds of boots hitting the ground followed.

"Initiates."

Lin Shen rose, the cold had settled deep into his bones during the night, pain briefly flaring as he moved. He dulled the pain as his breathing settled into rhythm. Warmth gathered inward rather than dispersing.

Embryonic Breathing.

The cold retreated slightly.

Outside, the initiates gathered on the stone platform, some were exhausted whilst other were alert.

No one spoke.

An outer sect disciple stepped forward, a slip of bamboo in hand.

"Assignments will now be issued. You will complete the given task. Failure will result in reassessment."

No explanation followed.

Plaque numbers were called instead of names.

When Lin Shen's number was announced, he stepped forward.

"Stone Haul. Lower terraces."

Lin Shen acknowledged it and moved aside.

Others were assigned to herb sorting, maintenance, clearing and other mundane jobs. Some tasks sounded safer than others, but none came with instructions.

Lin Shen followed a narrow path downward, the stone underfoot rough and uneven. The air grew colder as they descended, sunlight thinning between the walls. At the bottom lay stacks of stone blocks, each larger than the last.

"Carry them up." The overseeing disciple said.

No tools were provided.

Lin Shen stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the first block.

The weight pressed down instantly, driving pain through his shoulders and spine. His breath hitched for a moment before he forced it steady. His muscles trembled as he lifted.

He focused on his breathing, the rhythm of Embryonic Breathing settled fully, slowing the drain on his body.

Step by step, he climbed.

Around him, others struggled openly. One initiate dropped his stone halfway up and collapsed to his knees. The overseeing disciple watched without comment, silently observing.

No one helped.

Lin Shen continued upward.

By midday, his arms shook continuously. His palms were raw, his skin split and bleeding. Each lift sent dull pain through his back and arms, his breathing barely remaining steady, controlled through effort.

When he placed the final stone and met his quota, he stepped back quietly.

A mark was scratched onto a tablet.

No acknowledgment followed.

They were all only dismissed when the sun dipped below the horizon.

Food was distributed again.

Lin Shen received less than the day before, a coarse lump of grain paste and a thin strip of dried meat. He ate slowly, chewing carefully and conserving energy.

Nearby, another vomited from exhaustion. Another sat staring at his hands, fingers trembling uncontrollably. Another was crying into his arms, missing his home.

No one intervened.

That night, Lin Shen returned to his sleeping area. Each movement sent a dull ache through his body, pain settling deep rather than sharp. He lowered himself on the thin mat near the wall, cold stone pressing against his back.

He stared into the darkness above.

He focused on his breathing, sealing fatigue inward, preventing complete collapse, allowing him to endure and persevere.

This was how the Outer Sect measured worth. Not by talent or by promise, but by how long one could remain useful.

Heaven approved of this rudimentary method.

Lin Shen exhaled slowly.

The system was crude.

Which meant it could be learned.

Tomorrow, assignments would change. Some would be pushed harder and other would disappear.

He would remember it all.

Above the terraces, above the mountains, above the clouds, Heaven observed and found nothing worth correcting.

Lin Shen closed his eyes, breathing steady despite the pain.

If he could survive this place, he could survive.

And if he could survive, he could cultivate.

And if he could cultivate, he could defy Heaven.