Looking at her—this stranger who offered me her hand without hesitation—I found myself speechless for a moment. There was no pity in her eyes, no obligation in her gesture. Her smile wasn’t strained, and her expression held no sign of superiority. It was simply a genuine act of kindness.

  I dipped my head slightly, mustering what little strength I had left. My throat was dry, and my voice came out rough. “Thank you… but I don’t want to hold you back. If you help me, you’ll arrive later because of me.”

  She shook her head gently, her silver hair shifting with her movement. “It’s fine,” she said. “I like helping others.”

  I blinked at her, uncertain how to respond. Her words were so casually kind, that they felt like they didn’t belong in a place as unforgiving as this.

  “Are you sure?” I asked, glancing toward the others already marching ahead. “You heard what that man said… it didn’t sound like they have much patience for those who fall behind.”

  Again, she shook her head. Then, with a soft smile that carried both warmth and something deeper, she said something that caught me completely off guard.

  “Don’t take his words to heart. My grandfather used to tell me, ‘The slowest stream still reaches the sea… as long as it never stops flowing.’”

  I stared at her for a moment, the weight of her words settling into me. I found myself nodding without thinking. What her grandfather said—it was a quiet truth I had always believed in myself, but I had never heard someone else actually say it out loud.

  “He sounds like a wise man,” I said quietly, offering her a faint smile of my own. “You’re lucky to have someone like that in your life.”

  She returned the smile, but said nothing—just kept her hand steady beneath my arm.

  I realized then, I hadn’t shared my name with anyone in… decades. And for the first time, I strangely found myself wanting to.

  “My name is Shen Wusheng,” I said, voice still raspy, but steady.

  She looked at me and smiled again, this time with a glimmer of amusement behind her eyes. “Lan Rou,” she said gently. “It’s nice to meet you, Shen Wusheng.”

  Lan Rou… gentle orchid…The name settled into my memory with unusual clarity, as if it were something I didn’t want to forget.

  As we walked together, her pace adjusted to match my dragging steps, I couldn’t help but glance at her again, puzzled. She was smaller than me by more than a head, her frame delicate and slender. And yet, she supported me with such ease that it defied what I knew of physical differences. Her face showed no fatigue. Her skin bore no bruises or scrapes. Her breathing was calm and steady—nothing like the wheezing gasp that accompanied my every movement.

  I frowned a little, eyes narrowing in quiet thought before curiosity finally got the better of me.

  “Miss Rou… forgive me if I’m being rude,” I began, struggling to form the words without sounding ungrateful, “but… how are you able to hold me up so easily? You’re… well, no offense, but you’re small. You don’t even look tired—and we all climbed the same stairs, didn’t we?”

  She glanced at me sideways, then laughed—not mockingly, but softly, like someone who’d been asking herself the same question.

  “No offense taken,” she said, her tone easy. “Honestly… I’ve been wondering the same thing.”

  That surprised me. “You have?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I’ve never been this strong before. Honestly, it was the opposite back home—I could barely lift a bag of rice. But here… ever since I arrived in this realm, I’ve felt different.”

  “Different?” I echoed.

  She nodded again, slower this time. “At first, it was just a little change. But the longer I stayed here, the more I breathed it in, the lighter I felt. And stronger, too. I didn’t get tired as easily. Even walking started to feel easier.”

  “And you don’t know why?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No idea.” Her voice softened then, thoughtful. “It’s like this realm is waking something up inside me, and I don’t know what it is.”

  I stayed quiet for a moment, letting her words sink in. The Spiritual Realm—this place full of opportunity and cultivation—was already starting to change some of us. But how? Still, I didn’t dwell on it too much. Sooner or later, the answers would come. And honestly, even though it caught me off guard, I was grateful it happened to someone like her.

  With her help, I managed to find a rhythm—slow at first, but steady. Step by step, breath by breath, I caught up with the rest of the group as we pressed forward. The burn in my muscles hadn’t faded, nor had the pain in my joints, but her presence beside me made each step more bearable.

  As we walked, the path opened up into a stunning new scenery—nothing like the stone staircase we just left behind. Huge statues stood orderly all around us, shaped like powerful beasts. Serpent coiled around a pillar, tiger frozen mid-pounce, bird with its wings spread wide , horned bear baring its teeth and many others. Each one gave off this strong, silent energy—like they were watching over the place. They were massive, just as huge and impressive as that winged beast the master cultivator rode when he came to see me back in what should’ve been my final days.

  Around the statues were wide gardens filled with trees—mostly cherry blossoms, their petals drifting gently in the breeze. The trees stood tall and full, covered in flowers that shimmered in colors I didn’t think could even exist together. Some petals gave off a soft glow. The air was sweet and fresh, with a scent that made you feel more alive, like every breath came easier.

  We followed the path as it curved gently ahead, and then widened.

  And before we knew it, the road opened into a massive ceremonial hall.

  Gasps rippled through the group as we stepped inside.

  It was vast—bigger than anything I had ever seen. The place was shaped like a giant circle, sloping downward, and we were standing right in the middle of it. All around us were rows of platforms stacked one above the other, rising up toward the curved ceiling high above. On every level, people sat in silence, dressed in long robes, watching us with this calm but focused look.

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  They spoke in hushed murmurs, voices just audible above the stillness. All eyes were locked on us.

  Their robes bore a unifying pattern—white as a base, but each one adorned with colored stripes that varied in hue and number. Red, green, blue, purple and many others. Each color meant something—I didn’t know what, but the roles were clear.

  Yet what drew my eyes most was the uppermost tier right in front of us—set far above the rest, as if it belonged to another hierarchy entirely.

  There, seated on fancy designed seats, were a small handful of figures who radiated pressure. They didn’t speak. They didn’t shift. They simply watched.

  Eventually, the murmurs died down as movement stirred from the elevated platform.

  The man who had spoken to us earlier, the one whose voice had echoed across the winds when we first arrived, stepped forward. Now that I stood much closer, with the crowd no longer thick between us, I could finally see him clearly. He was young, with sharp features, His long black robe swayed slightly with each movement, a green stripe running down its center from collar to hem.

  My eyes lingered on that robe.

  Now that I had a clearer view of the grand chamber, I noticed others who wore similar robes among the crowd—black-robed cultivators like him, seated sparsely amidst the white-robed masses. They were few in number, but spaced out evenly across the tiers.

  A quiet thought crept into my mind: Were they of higher status?

  I didn’t know for certain, but something about the way they were treated, how the others gave them space and the air around them seemed heavier—hinted at it.

  I didn’t have time to dwell on it further.

  The speaker raised his hand, and at once, the hall fell completely silent.

  “Today marks not only your entrance into the Spiritual Realm, but the threshold of your next step—the true beginning of your cultivation journey.” He paused, letting his words sink in.

  “You are not alone here. Many are watching—elders, disciples, representatives of great sects. They are here not simply to welcome you… but to observe you.”

  He stepped forward, looking across us all.

  “Within you lies dormant potential. Talent that even you may not yet recognize. That is what today is about—to find out where you lie, and for those among you who show promise, to receive the invitation of a lifetime. Should your potential catch the eye of one of the sects present today, you may be offered a place among them.”

  The moment those words left his mouth, a wave of murmurs passed through our group. Excitement. Anxiety. Hope. I saw a few heads rise with determination, and others lower with quiet dread.

  “This is your chance,” he continued, his voice unwavering, “to join a sect that will guide your cultivation, provide you with resources, and help you walk the path toward true ascension. But only the worthy will be chosen. And worth is not measured by where you began—only by what you can become.”

  The speaker lifted his hand once again, his robe trailing like shadowed silk as his voice rang out through the vast chamber.

  “Behold—the Heavenly Archive!”

  The moment the words left his lips, a windless surge of energy rippled across the hall. Then, as if summoned by invisible threads, thousands—hundreds of thousands—of books appeared in a burst of light.

  They floated above us, around us—even drifted in slow circles near the ceiling. Tomes of different sizes, each bound in different materials—paper, leather, metal, jade, and others I couldn’t even name—filled the air in every direction. Some glowed with runes, others gave off a faint hiss of spiritual energy. Not all of them looked powerful, but each one had something different about it, like it held its own kind of potential.

  Only one space in the entire arena remained untouched—a circular clearing at the very center, a hollow in the sky of books, as if the entire archive had agreed to part and make room for it.

  The speaker pointed toward it.

  “These,” he continued, “are cultivation methods. Every cultivation method you see above you has been encoded with a unique spiritual frequency—one that responds to the nature of your soul weapon. Upon stepping into the open space, your presence will draw forth any cultivation method aligned with your innate potential.”

  Gasps echoed from a few in the crowd, but he went on, calm and clear.

  “The more methods drawn to you, the more paths the heavens have allowed you to walk. But understand this—quantity does not mean superiority. It is the size of the book, the depth of its contents, that reflects your true potential. The pages within hold meaning. Ten shallow books may pale before one profound tome.”

  He began to pace slowly, his eyes sweeping over us once more.

  “Should only a single book come to you, do not despair. Look instead at its weight and at its density. A single tome may carry greater promise than a hundred lesser ones.”

  Without waiting for further questions, the man brought his hands together in a single, echoing clap.

  A soft ripple of light burst outward from him, spreading like a wave across the vast chamber. In its wake, shimmering glyphs appeared above each of our heads—delicate numbers carved from pure light, floating gently in the air.

  I turned to Lan Rou.

  Above her shone a soft, golden number: 3

  Curious—and slightly apprehensive—I looked up at my own number: 82,091

  A strange stillness settled in my chest. For a second, I didn’t quite know how to react… until the announcer spoke again, cutting through the silence and offering clarity.

  “The number above your head,” he began, voice calm, “represents your rank—your order of arrival at the summit of the Stairway of Beginning.”

  He walked slowly along the edge of the platform, letting the numbers glimmer above our heads like silent judgments.

  “This number will determine the order in which you step forward and receive the method of your cultivation path. It also serves another purpose…”

  He paused, his gaze sweeping toward the seated cultivators on the elevated tiers—the silent audience of sect representatives.

  “…to inform the honored sects of your performance. Your ranking is more than a number—it is a reflection of your physical fortitude, your endurance and once again… potential. Those with higher ranks have, by nature or talent, proven themselves more capable of withstanding the first threshold of cultivation.”

  He gestured toward the books above us.

  “Let it guide your expectations—and theirs.”

  Murmurs rippled through the crowd again, but I stood still, the number above my head unmoving, immutable.

  Almost at the bottom?

  No… it was the bottom.

  Above my head hovered the number 82,091, the lowest among all present. A mark for all to see. I lifted my gaze slowly, scanning the tiered crowd—those who had watched us enter, who now looked down from their elevated platforms. My breath caught for a moment as I saw their eyes, their shifting expressions.

  Were they judging me already? Dismissing me before the trial even began?

  But then… I noticed something strange.

  They weren’t looking at me.

  Their gazes weren’t fixed on the number above my head at all.

  I turned my head slightly—just enough to catch the glow of gold beside me.

  Their attention wasn’t drawn by my failure, but by her brilliance.

  Lan Rou.

  I wasn’t scorned.

  I was simply... invisible.