The Path No One Walks

Assignments were issued again at dawn.

The clang of the bell echoed throughout the terraces. Lin Shen rose with the others, his body still stiff but intact. The pain from the previous day had not faded, but it had settled.

That was enough for Lin Shen.

They assembled in silence, the outer sect disciple reading from his slip, voice flat and bored. Tasks were reassigned without comment or explanation. Only numbers were spoken.

Lin Shen's plaque was called.

"Stone Haul. Lower route."

No one said anything further.

Lin Shen stepped forward and moved to the side, already knowing where he would be sent.

The route split shortly after they departed the main platform.

One path curved wide, skirting the outer edge of the terraces. The stone there was smoother, the incline gentler. Most of the initiates drifted toward it instinctively.

The other path narrowed sharply.

It cut straight down between two stone faces, the passage tight and shadowed. The air within it was heavy in a way that had nothing to do with humidity or cold.

It was a path nobody took.

They never did.

Lin Shen did.

He did not hesitate. He did not look around to see who was watching. He did not give it a second thought. He stepped into the narrow passage and continued downward at the same measured pace.

Almost immediately, the weight came.

Not on his shoulders.

On his breath.

Each inhale felt shorter than it should have been. Each exhale lingered before him, as if the air resisted being released. His chest tightened, pressure building slowly rather than sharply.

This place had always been like this.

In his previous life, initiates who were assigned in this place collapsed first. Some lasted a few days, whilst others lasted less. At the end of the day, none were remembered.

The sect did not consider it a problem. They believed it just had to do with the initiates.

Lin Shen adjusted his breathing instinctively.

Embryonic Breathing.

His body initiated it without conscious thought, mechanically responding to pressure he had learned to recognise long ago.

The pressure did not lessen.

But it no longer disrupted his train of thought.

At the bottom of the passage, the stone blocks waited as before. He selected one and lifted.

The weight felt heavier today.

This was not because the stone had changed, but because everything else pressed inward as well.

His muscles trembled as he straightened, his breathing controlled through force of habit. The climb back up was slower and much more deliberate, each step measured.

By the time he reached the midpoint, sweat soaked through his clothes. His vision dimmed briefly at the edges.

He did not stop.

He could not stop.

Stopping here was worse than collapsing.

Others avoided this route for a reason.

Lin Shen placed the stone where indicated and descended again without pause.

By the third trip, his breathing burned.

By the fifth, his limbs felt distant, responding with a delay.

He forced himself to push through this pain and pressure.

Pressure refined what strain alone could not.

Around midday, another initiate appeared at the entrance to the narrow path, hesitated, then retreaded back down the wider route.

Lin Shen did not look up.

By the time the Sun had reached its peak, his quota was finally met. 8 hours of gruelling work it took to barely finish.

He set the final stone in place and stepped back, his arms shaking uncontrollably. His breathing remained steady only because he refused to let it break, focusing deeply upon it.

The overseeing disciple marked the tablet without comment.

He was dismissed.

Food distribution followed.

Lin Shen received less than yesterday.

He ate slowly, chewing each bite with care, sealing what little nourishment he could with deep controlled breaths. Hunger gnawed at him, but weakness did not follow. 

It could not follow.

That night, he returned to his sleeping area later than most.

His body ached in ways that transcended muscle or bone. The pressure from the passage still clung to him, lingering within him.

He lay down on the thin mat, staring at the stone ceiling above.

His breathing naturally settled, now a force of habit for him.

Embryonic Breathing.

The pain dulled, containing itself within him.

This path had never been meant for cultivation.

Places designed for cultivation were orderly and balanced, guiding Qi smoothly and reducing strain. They were meant to raise disciples quickly and predictably.

That place did none of that.

There, breathing was restricted. Strength was taxed unevenly and endurance mattered more than technique. The body was forced to adapt without mercy, guidance or protection.

Cultivators avoided such places because they offered no benefit.

Heaven ignored them for the same reason, an outlier in its endless calculations.

Lin Shen currently was not cultivating Qi.

He was rather forging a vessel, his vessel, through pressure and relentless strain.

He closed his eyes.

Tomorrow, others would collapse.

Tomorrow, even fewer would walk the lower terraces.

Tomorrow, the path would remain empty.

Lin Shen would walk it again.