The first rays of dawn filtered through the jade-tiled eaves, casting slanted beams of golden light onto the quiet courtyard. Morning mist still clung to the mountain like a silken veil, curling around stone steps and drifting lazily between the towering pine trees. Faint echoes of distant bells tolled across the peaks—solemn and resonant—signaling the start of a new day in the sect.
In the outer disciples' quarters, the air was brisk, carrying the crisp scent of dew-damp earth and the faint trace of spiritual herbs growing nearby. Shao Feng stirred awake on his hard wooden cot, the unfamiliar chill of mountain qi prickling his skin. Around him, rustling robes and muffled footsteps marked the waking of dozens of fellow newcomers, all groggy yet restless with anticipation.
From beyond the dormitory walls came the soft sounds of sweeping—the qi-path sweepers already at work—and the bubbling of water heated for the morning wash. Somewhere farther up the mountain, a flute played—a clear, melancholic tune surely it must be drifting down from a senior disciple's meditation perch.
''Wake up and Dress quickly an elder will come to address you all'' a senior disciple suddenly barged into the room and informed us then he started to wake the still sleeping disciples.
The Disciples nodded and dressed quickly in simple robes they brought, tying their hair and adjusting the wooden name tokens they were given yesterday as they gathered in the main courtyard for the meeting. A stern elder, his breath visible in the cold air, stood waiting beneath an old looking pine tree,his eyes sharp as he surveyed the fresh faces before him.
Finally The elder spoke:- "From this day forth, you are disciples of the Dauntless Dragon Sect. You may eat humbly, sleep little, and bleed often—but if your will is firm, the Dao may yet grant you its favor."
''Older disciples will show you the way to the Registration Pavillion. You must have your Identity Jade token and Sect robes with you in a few hours then report to mission hall''.
As the sun rose higher, the mountain stirred to life: fits shadows danced in training fields, cauldrons flared in distant alchemy halls, and the scent of spirit rice wafted faintly from the verdant bamboo Hall. It was only morning, yet already the day brimmed with promise and pressure.
A new life had begun—one of cultivation, hardship, and the long path toward immortality.
'The sun was at full strength when Shao Feng finally arrived at the foot of the Registration Pavilion, a modest structure nestled between two towering spirit pines. Despite its size, it thrummed faintly with the presence of formation energy, as if it bore witness to generations of disciples passing through its gates.
Inside, a senior disciple stood wearing red robes behind him stood a stone platform stacked with neatly folded blue robes, each blue with silver trim—plain, yet dignified. Behind him hung a large, embroidered banner bearing the symbol of the sect: a mountain rising into the clouds, crowned by a coiled dragon whose eyes seemed to glint with power and dominance. That emblem stirred something deep in Shao Feng—a mixture of awe, longing, and anticipation.
The senior disciple, a tall youth with cold eyes and the faint scent of herbs around him, glanced down at a jade slip in his hand, then up at Shao Feng
"Shao Feng. Accepted into the Outer Sect, fifth division. No large family background noted. Hmph."
There was no malice in his voice, only indifference—the way a river passes a stone. He reached into a lacquered box and pulled free a small, translucent jade token. It gleamed softly in the light, etched with the sect's dragon-and-mountain seal on one side and Shao Feng's name carved in flowing script on the other.
"Junior Brother This is your identity within the sect," the disciple said, placing the jade token in Shao Feng's hand. "Lose it, and you are no one. Make sure to keep it safe."
Shao Feng thanked the disciple and saluted him,his both hands cupping the token with reverence. The jade was cool to the touch, but a strange warmth surged through his chest as he held it. It was real now—he had crossed the threshold.
The robe came next. The senior disciple handed it to him without ceremony. The fabric was light, yet it bore the faint shimmer of qi-treated thread, and stitched just above the heart was a miniature version of the sect's emblem. As Shao Feng gazed at it, the image of the dragon atop the mountain stirred something in him—not just ambition, but the unspoken promise of the path ahead.
He clutched the robe to his chest.
So many had worn this before him. Some had risen to the heavens. Others had vanished into the dust.
He turned slightly, and the light caught his jade token once more.
From this day forth… I am a disciple of Dauntless Dragon Sectt.
The wind picked up, carrying the scent of pine and possibilities.
The Mission Pavilion stood like a stoic guardian at the base of the inner mountain, its crimson roof tiles glinting under the midmorning sun. Unlike the ornate halls of body training or smithy, this building was plain and weather-worn, its wooden beams etched with claw marks of time—yet it buzzed with life. Disciples came and went in steady rhythm, submitting jade slips, collecting tasks, and speaking in hushed tones of points, rewards, and the rare chance to earn favor from senior elders.
Shao Feng stood near the back of the line, his jade token clutched tightly in his palm, slightly damp with sweat. His freshly donned robe still felt stiff around his shoulders, and his eyes darted around at the other outer disciples—some relaxed and laughing, others grim with the weight of competition.
When his turn came, he stepped forward to the stone counter, where a middle-aged attendant disciple sat behind a formation-lit desk. The man didn't look up immediately—his eyes flicked over a floating jade scroll, before landing on Shao Feng with a flat expression.
"New arrival. No contribution points. No cultivation realm of note."
He sighed. "You'll start with handyman tasks."
Shao Feng bowed slightly, neither surprised nor disappointed. He was prepared.
The man waved his hand, and a wooden token with a simple inscription appeared, hovering in the air. It floated gently into Shao Feng's palm.
"Task: Clear spirit weed overgrowth near the eastern irrigation channels. Use spiritual shears from the supply hut. Do not damage the qi threads flowing through the roots."
Shao Feng glanced down. The token bore the faint mark of the sect's mountain-and-dragon seal—faded and worn, as if a hundred hands had passed it on before him.
"You have until sundown," the disciple added. "Report back to log completion. If you finish without error, you'll earn five contribution points… and perhaps collect enough points to keep your meals coming after the month ends."
There was a pause.
"Next."
Shao Feng stepped away, the wooden token warm in his hand, strangely heavy despite its small size. Around him, other new disciples were receiving beast-feeding duties, cauldron scrubbing tasks, or scroll-copying errands. He caught the scornful smirk of a fellow newcomer, clearly disappointed by his lowly assignment.
But Shao Feng's eyes didn't waver.
As he turned to leave the pavilion, a gust of wind stirred the mission boards and rustled his robe. He looked up at the towering mountain above, the dragon-emblem flying from a high banner, proud and distant.
He walked toward the eastern slope—toward weeds, mud, and sweat—with the fire of something greater kindling quietly in his chest.
According to the old disciples The eastern slope lay beyond the outer gardens, past a quiet grove of spirit trees and the faintly humming irrigation lines that ran through narrow stone channels. The further Shao Feng walked, the quieter the sect became, until even the distant clang of hammers and disciples' chatter faded into the rustling of grass and the low drone of cicadas basking in the midday sun.
He arrived at the edge of a terraced field veiled in thin mist, where rows of shallow canals glowed faintly with flowing qi. Overgrown spirit weeds—thick vines with dull green leaves veined with silver—had crept over the channels like lazy serpents, feeding on the ambient energy and choking the flow of the irrigation system. If left unchecked, they could disrupt the spiritual nourishment of the herb gardens below.
From a worn wooden shed nearby, Shao Feng retrieved a pair of qi-shears. The blades shimmered faintly, humming with a low resonance, tuned to cut through living qi-veined plants without harming the underlying formations.
He knelt by the first channel, took a steadying breath, and began.
The work was meticulous. Each vine had to be cut along its central qi vein, lest it recoil and lash out or release noxious mist, but he was experienced in taking out weeds back at home; he used to take care of weeds grown in their garden but the scale of weeds were not this many . Shao Feng moved slowly, remembering his mother's words: "The Dao is not only found in battle, but in the patience to do what others will not."
Time passed. His hands grew sore, his back ached, and the sun crawled across the sky. Yet still he worked, sweat soaking through his robe, his breath even.
Then, as he reached the third channel, his shears halted.
Beneath the weeds, nestled between two stones, lay something… unnatural.
He gently pushed the vines aside and saw a large amount of animal dung on the grass .
Frowning, he looked around. No one was nearby.
He lifted his hands, covered his mouth and screamed after a few moments he calmed down and started to look around.
Why would animal dung be here? he wondered. And why does it smell so much
For a moment, he considered leaving it. This wasn't part of his job. He was just a new handyman disciple; he can complain about it to the mission hall and they can send someone else to clean it.
But his instints warned him that even after that he would have to shovel the dung alone.
He wrapped his face in cloth, took the shovel that was in the shed and started to shove the dung. After few minutes he unrevelled his face and returned to cutting vines. His pace quickened, and before the sun dipped fully behind the mountain, the work was done. The qi in the channels now flowed smoothly, like silver rivers.
At dusk, he returned to the Mission Pavilion, token in hand, body sore, and heart unsettled.
"Task complete," he said quietly.
The same disciple from before nodded, recorded it without comment, and waved him off.
And so, his first day in Dauntless Dragon Sect ended.