The morning mist still clung to the peaks of the Ling Xiao Pavilion, wrapping the ancient sect in a cold, silent embrace. While the elite disciples remained tucked away in their warm beds or began their meditative breathing, a solitary, rhythmic sound echoed through the courtyard: swish, swish, swish.
Yang Kai, a youth of lean build and weathered clothes, gripped his bamboo broom with calloused hands. For three long years, this had been his life. As a trial disciple—the lowest rank within the sect—he wasn’t much different from a common servant. While others chased the heights of martial cultivation, Yang Kai spent his dawn hours clearing the fallen leaves and dust of the sect’s sprawling grounds.
His progress in martial arts had been agonizingly slow, and his physical constitution was far from impressive. In a world where strength is the only currency, Yang Kai was bankrupt. He was often the target of cold stares and whispered mockery from his more gifted peers. Yet, beneath his calm, stoic exterior burned a quiet, unshakable stubbornness.
As he swept the final corner of the stone path, he paused to wipe the sweat from his brow, gazing toward the horizon where the sun began to bleed through the clouds. He had nothing but his pride and a broom, unaware that the gears of destiny were finally beginning to turn. The path to the peak of the martial world was about to open for the boy whom everyone had dismissed as a mere sweeper.
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