The bamboo grove was the only place on the Mist-Covered Peak that felt alive. The rest of the sect was a depressing collection of dilapidated wooden buildings, cracked training grounds, and the pervasive scent of despair. But here, the air was cool and crisp, smelling faintly of sweet rain and old wood.

  Xiao Qing sat in the center of a small clearing, her legs crossed in a half-lotus position. Her tiny body was still aching, the remnants of the previous day’s beatings pulsing in time with her heartbeat. She ignored the pain, treating it like background noise. In her previous lives, she had endured far worse—poison that liquefied organs, swords that shattered bones. This was merely superficial.

  The problem, she was quickly realizing, was not the pain. It was the absolute, crushing nothingness within her.

  In her first life as the Crimson Lotus, the world had been a vibrant tapestry of Qi. She could feel the fire in the sun, the water in the mist, the raw metal in the rocks. Drawing energy had been as natural as breathing.

  In her second life as the Silken Scholar, she had to work harder, using complex array formations to draw the ambient energy, but the potential had always been there. It was like tuning a string instrument—it required patience and precision, but the sound was always possible.

  This body, Xiao Qing, was a sealed jar.

  She closed her eyes and began the "Mist-Gathering Meditation," the basic technique every disciple here was taught. It was a crude, inefficient technique, but it should have allowed her to feel the Qi present in the rich, bamboo-infused air.

  She breathed in, deep and slow. She focused on the point three inches below her navel, her Dantian, the storage vessel for spiritual energy. She visualized the ambient Qi as faint, green tendrils, waiting to be drawn in.

  Nothing.

  The air she inhaled was just air. It was cold, it smelled good, but it held no spiritual power for her. It was as if she were a ghost, passing through a world of substance without leaving a mark, or being marked in return.

  Unify your roots, he said.

  Lin Xiao’s voice echoed in her mind. Her fragmented roots.

  She directed her inner vision downward, toward the foundation of her cultivation. In a normal cultivator, the spiritual roots were like a strong, central root system, ready to absorb nutrients from the soil. In her, it was a mess. It looked like a handful of fine sand scattered on a polished floor—unconnected, chaotic, and incapable of holding anything.

  Any Qi she might somehow draw in would simply leak out through the gaps, achieving nothing but perhaps a moment of fleeting warmth before leaving her even weaker.

  This was why the other disciples called her 'trash.' This was why the 'Flowing River' technique was a joke when taught to her. You can't have a flowing river without a riverbed to hold the water.

  This is impossible, the Crimson Lotus part of her raged. I was the sword saint who cut through fate! I will not be stopped by a few broken roots!

  It is not impossible, the Silken Scholar part countered coolly. It is merely a logical puzzle. Fragmented roots are a problem of geometry and connectivity. There must be a way to create a bridge, or perhaps a new kind of structure.

  She tried to combine their wisdom. She tried to use the sheer will of the sword saint to force the fragments together, to make them unite through raw desire.

  The result was a sharp, lancing pain that felt like a hot needle driving straight into her abdomen. She gasped, her concentration shattering, her body collapsing forward. She coughed violently, and a small fleck of dark, iron-rich blood splattered onto the green bamboo leaves.

  The cost of failure in this body was physical damage. It was too weak to handle even a minor backflow of energy.

  He’s playing with me, she thought, wiping the blood from her mouth with her sleeve. He knows I can’t 'unify' anything in this state. He’s mocking me.

  The image of Lin Xiao, looking so frail and old, yet possessing that ancient, terrifying stillness, haunted her. Why was he here? Why was he guiding her, however cryptically?

  The more she thought about it, the more her two previous lives felt like distant dreams, or perhaps, elaborate lies. Was her first life a fabrication? Her second life a hallucination? But the memories were too crisp, the techniques too real. She could still recite the 108 movements of the Crimson Lotus Sword Art, even if this tiny body couldn't perform a single one. She could still mental-calculate complex warding arrays, even if she lacked the Qi to activate them.

  If her past was real, then this reality—and Lin Xiao’s role in it—was the lie.

  She felt a surge of rage. She was done being the pawn in whatever cosmic game he was playing. If he wanted to watch her struggle, she would give him a struggle he would never forget.

  She sat up again, her spine cracking with the effort. Her body was broken, her roots were fragmented, and she had no power. But she had something the other disciples didn't. She had experience. She had two lifetimes of failure and success, of learning what didn't work.

  If the basic 'Mist-Gathering Meditation' didn't work, she wouldn't try to make it work. She would abandon it.

  She needed to think like the Silken Scholar. She needed a catalyst.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  The Scholar had once used a forbidden script that translated spiritual resonance into sound waves, allowing her to detect hidden treasure. What if she reversed that concept? What if she could use physical sensation to vibrate her fragmented roots into resonance?

  It was a reckless, crazy idea. It was the kind of thing a desperate, brilliant madwoman would conceive. And she was both.

  Xiao Qing looked down at the ground beneath her. It was dark, rich soil, mixed with fallen bamboo leaves and small pebbles.

  She reached out and picked up a handful of dirt.

  It was damp, cool, and gritty. In a normal body, it was just dirt. But to her, it was a manifestation of the Earth element.

  She held the dirt in her palms and began to breathe, but this time, she didn’t focus on the Qi in the air. She focused on the dirt.

  She focused on its weight. Its texture. The coldness that seeped into her skin. The microscopic life forms that must be teeming within it.

  She pushed her perception not into the Qi realm, but deeper into the physical realm. She wanted to feel the vibration of the dirt itself.

  Nothing happened at first. Just a girl holding dirt in a bamboo grove, looking ridiculous.

  But she persisted. She pushed her mind into a state of hyper-focus, blocking out the sound of the wind, the ache in her body, everything except the sensation in her hands.

  Slowly, the sensation changed. The static 'coolness' began to reveal a micro-vibration. It was incredibly faint, like the distant humming of a single bee. It was the fundamental resonance of the Earth element, the heartbeat of the ground itself.

  I have you, she thought, a spark of hope igniting in her chest.

  Now came the dangerous part. She needed to map this vibration.

  She didn’t try to draw the vibration into her Dantian. She didn't have a path for it. Instead, she tried to use her own body as a resonator.

  She focused on her pulse. She tried to harmonize the rhythm of her heartbeat with the faint hum of the dirt.

  Her heart would beat, and she would try to hold the resonance of the dirt during the silence between beats.

  Thump... (hum)... Thump... (hum)...

  It was excruciatingly difficult. Her heart was beating fast from exertion and adrenaline. The dirt’s hum was so fragile it would vanish if she pushed too hard or held too loose.

  For an hour, she failed. She got dizzy, her hands cramped, and the vibration felt like it was slipping away forever.

  Then, for one single, glorious second, it worked.

  She caught the rhythm. For one moment, her heartbeat and the dirt’s vibration synced.

  The effect was instantaneous.

  A jolt, like a tiny electric shock, arced from her palms, up her arms, and directly into her core. It wasn't Qi. It was a raw, physical echo of energy.

  It hit her Dantian, and the fragmented roots reacted.

  They didn't unify. They didn't move together. Instead, they began to vibrate in sympathy.

  The hot needle pain from before returned, but this time, it was different. It wasn't the pain of rejection. It was the pain of action.

  The vibration traveled along the scattered fragments, connecting them not with a physical bond, but with a thread of pure resonance. For that split second, her foundation was no longer scattered sand. It was a single, humming lattice.

  She felt a wave of dizziness, her vision blurring. The connection was too powerful, her body too weak to sustain it. She collapsed again, gasping for air, her mind a chaotic jumble of sensations.

  The handful of dirt spilled from her hand, scattering onto her lap.

  But as she lay there, she realized something profound. The pain in her ribs was gone. The dull ache in her head was diminished. And for the first time in three years... she didn't feel completely empty.

  She looked at her hand. A tiny, nearly invisible thread of brown light—the color of rich earth—was clinging to her index finger before it faded into the air.

  She had done it. She hadn't gathered Qi. She had forged a connection. She had unified her roots through physical resonance.

  She sat up, a slow, predatory smile creeping across her face. It was the same smile the Crimson Lotus wore before a duel. The same smile the Silken Scholar wore before revealing her winning move.

  "He wants me to unify my roots," she whispered, her voice surprisingly steady. "I've started."

  But her victory was short-lived.

  A crunch of footsteps on dry bamboo leaves made her freeze.

  She looked up. A group of older disciples, led by a tall, handsome young man with a cold, haughty expression, was walking into the grove. They wore the blue robes of inner disciples.

  It was her current life’s nemesis: Zhang Hao, the sect’s most talented disciple, and the very same person who had ordered the younger boys to 'train' her the day before.

  "Look at this," Zhang Hao said, his voice smooth and dangerous. "Our resident trash is meditating in the bamboo grove. Trying to feel the Qi, Qing? Or just trying to get a head start on your duties for the day?"

  His eyes landed on the flecks of blood on her collar and the dirt she was still clutching in her other hand.

  "Are you... eating the dirt, Qing?" One of his lackeys snickered. "Maybe that’s why her progress is so pathetic. She’s too busy being a groundworm."

  Zhang Hao walked over and stopped in front of her. He looked down, his gaze devoid of any pity. He didn't even see a person; he saw an obstacle, an annoyance to be managed.

  "I gave you an instruction yesterday," he said. "The inner disciples are having a sparring session today. The training grounds are dusty. It is your duty to ensure they are swept clean before we arrive."

  Xiao Qing didn't speak. She just watched him, analyzing his posture, his arrogance, the precise way his muscles coiled. In her first life, she could have killed him in a thousand ways. In her second, she could have destroyed his reputation with a rumor.

  Now, she was just a girl who knew how to vibrate dirt.

  "Did you hear me, trash?" Zhang Hao snapped, his patience evaporating. "Answer me when I speak!"

  He raised his hand, the wind-element Qi swirling around his fingers. He wasn't going to just slap her. He was going to use an actual technique to 'teach her a lesson.'

  Xiao Qing saw the movement, and her new connection flared. She knew she couldn't win a physical fight. But she had a tool she didn't have before.

  She squeezed the handful of dirt she was still holding.

  She didn't try to draw resonance this time. She just held onto the sensation.

  Zhang Hao's hand swung down.

  She moved, but not in a way a trained cultivator would. She didn't try to block or dodge. She simply leaned back, letting gravity take over, and as she did, she flung the dirt.

  It wasn't a powerful throw. It was a weak, childish gesture.

  But her timing was perfect.

  The dirt hit him square in the face just as he released his technique.

  Zhang Hao gasped, the dirt getting into his eyes and mouth. His wind technique sputtered and backfired, sending a blast of air harmlessly past her head. He stumbled back, sputtering and wiping his face, his image of cool superiority shattering instantly.

  "Y-You!" he choked, his face red with rage, dirt smeared across his cheeks. "How dare you!"

  "I heard you," Xiao Qing said, standing up on shaky legs. Her voice was calm, but underneath it, there was a new, dangerous resonance. "The training grounds will be clean."

  She didn't wait for his reaction. She knew she had just crossed a line. She had embarrassed the top disciple. There would be consequences, far worse than anything she had faced before.

  But as she walked past him, heading toward the training grounds, she didn't feel fear. She felt the afterglow of that single, humming vibration in her core.

  You want to watch, Master? she thought, looking up at the cloudy sky. Then keep watching. Because this trash has just learned how to bite back.