The Heaven-Splitting Thunder Sect wasn't impressive anymore.
Once, its mountaintop split clouds and challenged the heavens. Now, it barely held onto its outer formation. Pillars cracked, disciples thinned, and its legacy was a fading whisper.
Jiang Yunfan stared up at the great archway as he arrived, a crooked wooden sign swaying above it:"Heaven-Splitting Thunder Sect Enter Loudly."
"…That's a name," Yunfan muttered.
He was handed a broom before he even got a robe.
"Outer servants sweep before sunrise," the senior brother told him without looking up. "Stay out of the training halls. No cultivation manuals. No complaints."
Yunfan bowed low. "Yes, Senior Brother Underbite."
"…My name is Feng Zhi."
"Of course. Senior Brother Feng Zhi Underbite."
His room was a storage shed with no door and a straw mat that smelled like regret. Still, it was the most stable place he'd ever lived.
He swept. He cooked. He "accidentally" entered the inner sect bath once and got chased out by a naked elder wielding a gourd.
He laughed through all of it.
But every night, when the lightning rolled in, Jiang Yunfan climbed up to the broken cliff above the zither cave.
There, he sat cross-legged, his cracked instrument on one side, and a chipped sword on the other.
The mark on his chest pulsed. The laughter inside his core deepened.
He couldn't circulate Qi like normal cultivators. But something else was happening.
Lightning wasn't entering his meridians; it was devouring them. Shaping them anew.
His dantian, long thought sealed, now shimmered like a storm vortex unruly and unstable.
By the seventh night, he managed to guide the lightning inward.It didn't spiral. It laughed. Every time it turned, his chest vibrated with a low chuckle.He didn't know what kind of technique he was using but it was working.
Cultivation Level Achieved: Qi Rooting Early PhaseLightning Qi root bonded with laughter signature; unstable, but combat-ready.
On the eighth day, trouble walked into the outer courtyard.
A group of outer sect disciples surrounded him while he was sweeping the training grounds.
"Hey. Trash. That's our training ground," one sneered. "Servants don't touch it."
Yunfan looked up from the broom, grinning. "Ah, sorry. I thought trash belongs on the ground."
The leader blinked. "What?"
"Since you're standing there."
They attacked.
Three came at once, one with a flame palm, another with a staff, and the third with pure muscle and no brain.
Yunfan ducked under the staff swing and kicked the wielder in the chin. He spun, caught a palm strike on his shoulder, and winced as it burned before throwing himself backward, letting the momentum carry him into a roll.
He rose, laughing.
"Don't worry, I'm just a servant," he said, stepping onto his zither. "You should win this."
He plucked a string.
A single ting echoed across the courtyard.
The air vibrated. A strand of lightning burst forth like a coiled whip and cracked across the flame cultivator's chest.
The boy flew ten feet, unconscious, before he hit the ground.
Yunfan blinked. "...Didn't mean to hit that hard."
He turned as the muscle brute charged, screaming.
Yunfan lifted the chipped sword and deflected the fist not with strength, but with timing. His footwork was sloppy but fast. His eyes danced with amusement. The sword met flesh, then twisted, guided by instinct.
Another jolt of lightning surged through his arm, channeled through the sword.
The second disciple collapsed with a howl.
The third one ran.
From the rooftop, a shadow watched.
Elder Thunderpeak exhaled through his nose. "Still smiling. Even when trashing them."
He turned, disappearing into the mist, muttering, "Good."
That night, Yunfan returned to his cliff.
He sat between the sword and the zither.
"Alright, you two," he said, patting them both like pets. "We're officially scary now."
The storm cracked above him.
And somewhere deep in the mountain, an ancient array pulsed once, reacting to the mark on his chest.