Journey of the Immortal’s Cultivation

01. Worthless Shadow

“Tian’er! What on earth are you doing?!”  

Wu Cao’s voice cracked through the stillness of dawn, sharp with alarm. He stood frozen at the threshold of his chamber, staring at the boy before him. Wu Tian, barely fifteen, was smeared with dirt, his clothes ragged, his hair tangled like wild brush. The boy looked as though he had crawled through the gutters of Hu Nan rather than the courtyards of the Wu estate. And now, at this hour when the sun had only begun to bleed its first light across the eastern horizon, Wu Tian was attempting to slip quietly into his uncle’s room.  

The city outside still slumbered. Merchants had not yet opened their stalls, and the streets were hushed save for the occasional bark of a dog or the creak of a cart wheel. Yet here was Wu Tian, already disheveled, already stirring trouble before the day had properly begun.  

“I was only picking peaches from the tree behind the house, Uncle,” Wu Tian muttered, lowering his head. His voice carried both guilt and defiance. “Was that wrong?”  

Wu Cao exhaled slowly, shaking his head. His heart ached at the sight of his nephew. Wu Tian was the youngest son of Wu Zhen and Yin Lin—names revered across the Han Kingdom. Yet this boy, born into prestige, had been cast aside like refuse. His dantian was flawed, his meridians incomplete. The fortune-tellers had declared him incapable of cultivating qi, incapable even of becoming a common warrior. To the Wu family, he was not a son but a stain, a shame whispered about behind closed doors.  

His parents had turned their backs. His siblings ignored him. Only Wu Cao remained, tending to the boy with patient affection, trying to shield him from the cruelty of his own blood. But Wu Tian, desperate for recognition, had begun to act out—small rebellions meant to draw attention. Sadly, each misstep only deepened the family’s contempt. This morning was yet another example.  

“You know those peaches must not be plucked before their time, Tian’er,” Wu Cao said firmly. “If your parents discover what you’ve done, the punishment will be severe.”  

Wu Tian’s shoulders trembled. He lifted his gaze, eyes clouded with anguish. “Uncle Cao… is it true? Am I really nothing but useless trash?”  

The words pierced Wu Cao’s chest. He stepped closer, his expression softening. “Hush, child. Never speak of yourself that way. Every soul is born with its own gift. Yours has simply not yet revealed itself.”  

“But I want to be useful, Uncle,” Wu Tian whispered, his voice breaking. “I want Father and Mother to see me, to care for me again.”  

He had carried this longing for years. While others his age mastered techniques, honed their blades, and summoned qi with ease, Wu Tian remained empty-handed. No skill, no recognition, no place in the family’s legacy.  

Wu Cao placed a gentle hand on his nephew’s shoulder, a light pat meant to reassure. “Your parents do not ignore you out of cruelty. They are consumed by their own burdens.”  

Yet the words did little to soothe. Wu Tian’s heart sank further. “No, Uncle. I know the truth. I am worthless. I have nothing the Wu family can be proud of.”  

Wu Cao’s eyes glistened with sorrow. “Even so, Tian’er, you are precious to me. That will never change.”  

Wu Tian’s lips quivered. Then, with sudden urgency, he blurted, “Then let me join Windcloud Sect, Uncle! Today they open their gates for new disciples. Please, let me try!”  

The name alone carried weight. Windcloud Sect was the pride of Hu Nan, a sanctuary of cultivation led by Patriarch Mao Chen, whose age was said to stretch beyond a thousand years. Its elders were legends, entrusted by noble families to shape the next generation. To be accepted there was to step onto the path of greatness.  

Wu Cao’s heart clenched. How could he explain? His nephew’s body was broken in ways no training could mend. Without a proper dantian, without meridians to channel qi, Wu Tian could never cultivate. Even if the sect allowed him entry, he would be mocked, humiliated, branded a fool. Worse, his failure would drag the Wu family’s name into ridicule.  

“Tian’er…” Wu Cao began, his voice heavy. “It is not that I forbid you. But your parents will never allow it.”  

Wu Tian’s fists tightened. “But how can I ever be useful if I am not even given the chance to try?”  

His desperation burned. He refused to accept the fate others had written for him. He wanted to prove himself, to force his parents to acknowledge his existence.  

“Entry into Windcloud Sect is not simple,” Wu Cao explained. “They demand a foundation in martial arts before they even consider a candidate.”  

Wu Tian’s brow furrowed. “And if I don’t have that?”  

His uncle’s silence was answer enough. The boy’s heart twisted. Why did no one believe in him? Why did even Uncle Cao, the only one who showed kindness, try to hold him back?  

His hands curled into fists, knuckles white. “I must try, Uncle! Perhaps Windcloud Sect values more than martial skill. Perhaps they will see something else in me!”  

Wu Cao’s tone sharpened, his eyes suddenly cold. “Listen to me, Tian’er. You must not go. Do not invite disaster upon yourself.”  

The warning carried weight, though he did not spell out the consequences. He hoped the gravity of his gaze would be enough to deter the boy.  

Wu Tian faltered, his defiance softening under his uncle’s stern look. “Very well, Uncle,” he said quietly.  

Relief washed over Wu Cao. A smile broke through his sternness, and he pulled his nephew into a warm embrace. “That is good, Tian’er. You have eased my heart.”  

But Wu Cao did not see the flicker in the boy’s eyes. Wu Tian’s words were a mask, spoken only to lull his uncle into trust. Beneath them lay a secret resolve.  

For even as he leaned into his uncle’s arms, Wu Tian’s mind was already racing. He would slip away. He would leave the Wu estate behind and make his way to Hu Nan’s heart, where Windcloud Sect awaited.  

He had only one purpose: to prove to the Wu family that he was not refuse to be discarded, not a shadow to be forgotten. He would show them that he was more than the worthless child they believed him to be.  

Forgive me, Uncle, he thought silently. But I cannot remain invisible. I will make you proud, even if it costs me everything.