I step out into the weak morning sunlight, and for a moment, I just stand there, breathing.
The air is crisp and clean in a way it never was back home. No car exhaust, no industrial smog, just mountain air tinged with the smell of pine and cooking fires. It's peaceful. Calm.
The kind of quiet that makes you think everything might be okay.
Except everything is not okay. I'm not supposed to be here. This is supposed to be a dream, a very vivid, very elaborate dream that I'm going to wake up from any minute now. I'll be back in my cramped apartment with my gaming laptop and my collection of empty energy drink cans, and this will all be just another weird story to tell my friends.
Any minute now.
Any minute.
I pinch my arm. It hurts. I've been pinching my arm for the past ten minutes, and it keeps hurting, and I keep not waking up.
The training yard stretches out before me; packed earth worn smooth by decades of feet, wooden training dummies at the edges with their straw stuffing peeking through cracks. Real in a way that makes my stomach clench.
I need to test this. This... ability. This thing I saw in the mirror. If I'm going to be stuck in this nightmare, I need to understand what I'm working with.
I turn and walk back inside, to the small desk where the previous sect leader—no, my predecessor, I have to start thinking of him that way—used to handle sect business. There's a teacup there, chipped ceramic with a faded dragon motif that's been here since before I took over. I pick it up, turning it in my hands.
The text appears instantly, hovering in my vision like a tooltip from a video game:
Common Ceramic Teacup - No spiritual properties.
Verdict: None. It's just a cup.
I snort. "Right. Objects are just objects. Good to know."
But my mind is already racing. If it works on objects, it works on people. If it works on people, it works on cultivators. If it works on cultivators, I can see exactly what I'm dealing with: strengths, weaknesses, potential, secrets.
This changes everything.
The morning light filters through the paper windows, soft and diffuse, casting gentle shadows across the worn wooden floor. Through the thin walls, I can hear the sounds of my domain: the distant chanting of disciples practicing basic breathing techniques, the argument between two servants about whose turn it is to haul water from the stream, the clang of a pot from the kitchen.
The sect has never been powerful: we're one of seventeen minor sects in this prefecture, and we rank somewhere around fourteenth by any meaningful metric. Maybe fifteenth, if the Verdant Willow Sect has finally gotten their act together.
Twelve disciples. Fourteen mortal servants and laborers. One aging sect leader with a bad back, a head full of conflicting memories, and a new ability I don't fully understand.
And a plan forming in the back of my mind.
If this is a dream, fine. I'll play along until I wake up. If it's not...
If it's not, then I'm stuck here. And if I'm stuck here, I need to win. That's what I do. That's what I've always done. Strategy games, competitive rankings, min-maxing every character build until I hit the top. I don't know how to do anything except try to win.
And in this world, in this body, winning means building a successful sect.
I step back outside, my bare feet cold against the packed earth of the training yard. The first disciple I see is a boy named Liang, maybe sixteen, sweeping leaves with more enthusiasm than skill. He's got a thin face and earnest eyes, and he's been here for two years without making any noticeable progress.
I open my mouth. Close it. Think.
If I'm going to do this, I need to do it right. I need data. I need to see everyone, everything, every resource I have to work with.
"Gather everyone," I say. My voice comes out steady, commanding. The voice of a sect leader. Not a confused twenty-year-old from another world. "All disciples, all servants, everyone affiliated with the sect. In the training yard. Now."
Liang blinks, his broom pausing mid-sweep. "Everyone, Sect Leader?"
"Everyone."
He hesitates for just a moment, then nods and scurries off, dropping his broom in his haste. I watch him go, then walk to the center of the training yard and wait.
They come slowly.
The disciples arrive first, trickling in from the practice halls and their quarters with confused expressions. Eleven of them, ranging from fourteen to nineteen, all at various stages of Qi Condensation. They form a loose cluster near the front, glancing at each other with raised eyebrows.
My eldest disciple, Feng, arrives last. He's twenty-two, broad-shouldered and intense, with a permanent furrow between his brows that's only deepened over the three years he's been stuck at the peak of Qi Condensation. He nods to me curtly and takes his place at the front of the group.
I focus on him.
Feng - Qi Condensation (Peak)
Name: Feng
Age: 22
Spirit Root: Three Elements (Earth/Fire/Metal — E-grade)
Cultivation: Qi Condensation (Peak)
Verdict: Hard worker, no spark. Will never reach Foundation Establishment without external assistance.
I keep my face perfectly neutral. Inside, something twists. Feng has been my best disciple for years. I'd hoped... well. The Gaze doesn't lie. If it says he needs external assistance, then that's what I'll have to find him.
I move to the next disciple, a sharp-eyed girl of nineteen with her hair pulled back in a severe bun.
Mei Lin - Qi Condensation (Third Stage)
Name: Mei Lin
Age: 19
Spirit Root: Water (C-grade)
Cultivation: Qi Condensation (Third Stage)
Verdict: Competent. Nothing more.
Wei Chen - Qi Condensation (Second Stage)
Name: Wei Chen
Age: 17
Spirit Root: Fire/Earth (D-grade)
Cultivation: Qi Condensation (Second Stage)
Verdict: Will struggle to reach Fourth Stage.
Liu Yang - Qi Condensation (Second Stage)
Name: Liu Yang
Age: 17
Spirit Root: Five Elements (Broken — F-grade)
Cultivation: Qi Condensation (Second Stage)
Verdict: Should have been expelled years ago. Takes up space and resources.
I frown at that one. Liu Yang is seventeen, quiet, keeps to himself. This body never thought much about him either way, but the Gaze is... harsh. Brutally honest in a way that makes me uncomfortable.
On and on they go. D-tier. F-tier. D-tier.
The servants arrive next, shuffling and uncertain. Fourteen of them, ranging from a bent old man with gnarled hands to a girl who can't be more than twelve, carrying a basket of vegetables she probably grabbed on her way from the garden. Mortals don't often get called to meetings with the sect leader. They're cooks, cleaners, gardeners, laborers; the invisible foundation that keeps the sect running while cultivators cultivate.
I turn my attention to the old man first.
Old Chen - Mortal (Cook)
Name: Old Chen
Age: 62
Spirit Root: None
Cultivation: Mortal
Verdict: Makes decent noodles. Good with children. The disciples will miss him when he dies.
I blink. That's... more personal. More specific. The Gaze isn't just giving me dry statistics,it's giving me information. Useful information.
I move to the woman next to him, middle-aged with tired eyes and calloused hands.
Li Hua - Mortal (Laundry)
Name: Li Hua
Age: 44
Spirit Root: None
Cultivation: Mortal
Verdict: Hardworking woman, grieving a daughter lost to bandits last year. Works twice as hard to avoid thinking about it. Would benefit from kindness.
I file that away. Li Hua. Laundry. Grieving mother.
The Gaze continues, faster now as I scan across the gathered servants:
Zhou Guang - Mortal (Handyman)
Name: Zhou Guang
Age: 38
Spirit Root: None
Cultivation: Mortal
Verdict: Can fix anything except his own marriage. Wife left him for a merchant last spring. Still not over it.
I almost laugh at that one. The Gaze is definitely getting more... colorful.
Sun Rong - Mortal (Stable Hand)
Name: Sun Rong
Age: 22
Spirit Root: None
Cultivation: Mortal
Verdict: Talks to the donkeys more than people. The donkeys prefer it that way.
Xu Da - Mortal (Guard)
Name: Xu Da
Age: 41
Spirit Root: None
Cultivation: Mortal
Verdict: Sleeps on duty. Hasn't been caught yet. Will be caught eventually.
I make a mental note to check on the guard rotations.
Lin Jing - Mortal (Child)
Name: Lin Jing
Age: 7
Spirit Root: None
Cultivation: Mortal
Verdict: Too young to work. Orphan. The cook feeds her scraps. She thinks he's her grandfather. He hasn't corrected her.
My chest tightens at that one. The little girl with the vegetable basket… she's not a servant. She's just here. Existing on scraps and kindness.
Zhao the Donkey - Mortal (Pack Animal)
Name: Zhao the Donkey
Spirit Root: None
Cultivation: Mortal
Verdict: Stubborn. Will bite if provoked. Has strong opinions about carrots.
I stop.
"Did you just..." I mutter under my breath. "Did you just analyze a donkey?"
Two Donkeys - Mortal (Pack Animals)
Name: Zhao & Zhao
Spirit Root: None
Cultivation: Mortal
Verdict: One is Zhao. The other is also Zhao. They are interchangeable. Neither will ever cultivate.
I grind my teeth. "Are you making fun of me?"
The Gaze - Active
Name: The Gaze
Spirit Root: Cheat-grade
Cultivation: Yes.
Verdict: Deal with it.
I stare at the floating text for a long moment. It stares back.
"Fine," I hiss. "Fine. Be that way."
The disciples and servants are all looking at me now, confused by their sect leader muttering at nothing in front of donkeys. I clear my throat and straighten my spine.
There's one left.
A girl. Young, maybe twelve or thirteen. Standing at the back of the group, half-hidden behind Old Chen's bent frame like she's trying to disappear into his shadow. She's wearing the rough hemp clothes of a servant, patched at the elbows and too big for her thin shoulders. Her hair's pulled back in a simple knot, stray wisps escaping to frame a face that's too pale, too thin. Her feet are bare and dirty.
I don't recognize her immediately. That means she must be new, or so low-ranked that she's never crossed my path in this body before. Either way, it's a failure on my part. The Sect Leader should know everyone under his roof.
"Come forward," I say, my voice gentler than it was with the others. "What's your name?"
She steps out from behind Old Chen, nervous but not cowering. Brown eyes meet mine; sharp, observant, taking me in with a quick assessment that seems far too mature for someone her age. There's a smudge of dirt on her cheek, probably from the kitchen fires.
"Ling'er, Sect Leader." Her voice is soft but clear. "I help in the kitchens. I started last month."
I nod and activate the Gaze, already mentally filing her away as another mortal with no potential. Another mouth to feed, another pair of hands for the endless work of keeping a sect running. Nothing special.
Ling'er - Mortal (Kitchen Assistant)
Spirit Root: None detected (Mortal)
I almost stop there. Almost dismiss her like all the others and move on to whatever comes next: dismissing the group, retreating to my quarters to plan, pretending this was just a routine inspection.
But the Gaze continues.
Hidden Potential: DUAL CONSTITUTIONS DETECTED
My heart stops.
Grade: SS-tier
Description: Descended from an ancient dragon lineage stretching back to the Primordial Era. When fully awakened, grants nigh-invulnerable physique, affinity for all elemental laws, and potential to rival Dragon Emperors of legend. Currently so deeply dormant it appears as mortal blood.
Grade: SSS-tier
Description: A legendary physique recorded only in the most ancient texts. The Sacred Cosmic Bone connects its bearer to the fundamental laws of existence, allowing comprehension of concepts that transcend mortal understanding. Each Sacred Cosmic Bone in history has produced an existence that reshaped the heavens themselves.
Combined Assessment: ABSOLUTE ANOMALY
Verdict: No recorded instance of dual SSS/SS constitutions in known history. This child, if properly nurtured, will surpass all limits of the Lower Realm. Will ascend regardless of interference. Will reshape reality itself if she reaches full potential. Protect at all costs. Train with extreme care. Hide from those who would exploit or destroy her.
Current State: Malnourished, uneducated, completely unaware of her nature. Mortal body cannot withstand awakening without preparation.
The world tilts.
I grab onto the training post beside me, my knuckles white against the weathered wood. My face, with twenty years of sect leader experience, forty years of memories that aren't quite mine, holds steady. Calm. Bored, even.
Inside, my mind is screaming.
No recorded instance. Reshape reality itself. Protect at all costs.
A kitchen girl. A barefoot orphan who started last month. Completely unaware that she carries within her thin body the blood of ancient dragons and a bone that connects to the cosmos itself.
Will ascend regardless of interference.
That means even if I do nothing, she'll eventually awaken. Eventually rise. Eventually become something that shakes the foundations of this world. And when she does, everyone who ever crossed her, every sect that ignored her, every cultivator that dismissed her, everyone who let her starve and freeze and work herself ragged for scraps will have to answer for it.
Or worse. Someone else will find her first. Some ancient monster who recognizes what she is. Some rival sect that wants to control her. Some demonic cultivator who wants to steal her bloodline, her bone, her potential.
Hide from those who would exploit or destroy her.
I force myself to breathe. Slow. Steady. In through the nose, out through the mouth. The meditation techniques from this body's memories are useful for something, at least.
Ling'er is looking at me with concern now, those sharp brown eyes studying my face. "Sect Leader? Are you unwell?"
I force a smile. It feels brittle on my face, like it might crack and shatter at any moment. "Fine," I manage. My voice sounds strange to my own ears. "Just... thinking."
The other servants are shuffling behind her, confused by the delay. The disciples are whispering among themselves, probably wondering why their Sect Leader is staring at a kitchen girl like she's just grown a second head. No one knows. No one can know.
I look at Ling'er again. Really look this time, not with the Gaze but with my own eyes.
Twelve years old. Maybe younger; malnutrition makes it hard to tell. Thin wrists poking out of sleeves that are too long. Bare feet, calloused and dirty, standing on cold ground without flinching because she's used to it. A smudge of dirt on her cheek. A streak of ash in her hair.
An SSS and SS constitution combined, sitting in my kitchen, washing my bowls.
The last sect leader took me in when I was orphaned. Gave me a chance when no one else would. I turned out mediocre, but he didn't know that when he found me. He just saw a scared kid and opened his door.
I don't know what the heavens are playing at, sending this child to my backwater sect. I don't know if it's luck or fate or cosmic accident. Maybe the Gaze itself brought me here for this exact moment. Maybe some ancient force is laughing at the absurdity of it all.
But I know one thing with absolute certainty:
No one is taking her from me.
I maintain my composure through sheer force of will, nodding at the assembled group with the same mild expression I've worn for a decade. "Thank you all for coming. Return to your duties. I'll speak with the disciples individually over the next few days."
They disperse slowly, still confused but unwilling to question their sect leader. The disciples head for the practice halls. The servants shuffle back to their work. Old Chen puts a protective hand on Ling'er's shoulder and guides her toward the kitchen, and I watch them go with a smile that's only slightly strained.
When the training yard is empty, I let out a long breath and sink onto the nearest bench.
"Well," I mutter to myself. "That's... something."
The Gaze - Active
Spirit Root: Cheat-grade
Hidden Potential: Infinite.
Verdict: You're welcome.
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. "Shut up."
The Gaze
Verdict: Make me.
"I will find a way to uninstall you."
The Gaze
Verdict: You really won't.
I'm not going to win this argument. I know I'm not going to win this argument. But arguing with the disembodied text in my vision feels more productive than screaming into the void, so I'll take what I can get.
A plan is already forming. Fragments, really. Pieces of strategy slotting together like the opening moves of a complex game.
First: stabilize the sect. Food, shelter, basic security. Ling'er can't awaken if she's dead of malnutrition or disease.
I open my eyes and stare at the kitchen, where smoke is beginning to curl from the chimney. Lunch service. Ling'er is probably in there right now, washing vegetables or stoking fires, completely unaware that her life just changed forever.
Mine too, I suppose.
"Alright," I say to no one. "Let's get to work."