Li Ming’s body still ached from the Spirit Mountain run as he dragged himself toward the Outer Disciple Dorms.
Rows of wooden houses stood neatly in the valley. Each held ten disciples, with straw beds lined up inside. Compared to his small hut in the village, this place was paradise.
"Wow..." Li Ming sighed, flopping onto his bed. "Soft, clean, no chicken poop on the floor. Truly, a sect is heaven."
His roommates gave him odd looks.
One boy with glasses whispered, "Is... is this guy really a new disciple? He sounds like a farr who’s never left his barn."
Another shrugged. "He’s the one who broke all ten puppets. Don’t judge."
Li Ming grinned proudly. "That’s right. Chicken Slayer Li Ming, at your service."
The boys blinked. "...Chicken Slayer?"
Li Ming coughed. "Ahem. Long story."
---
Soon after, a bell rang across the sect. It was alti. The disciples rushed toward the Outer Sect Dining Hall, a massive building filled with steaming food.
Li Ming’s eyes sparkled like gems. Platters of roast at, bowls of rice, fragrant soups—more food than he’d seen in his life.
He loaded his tray until it overflowed. Then he sat down and devoured everything like a starving wolf.
Chomp! Chomp! Chomp!
His roommates stared, horrified.
"...Did he just eat six bowls of rice?"
"And three chickens?"
"That’s not a disciple, that’s a demon!"
Li Ming slamd his bowl down and exhaled happily. "Aaah! Cultivation really drains the stomach. I’ll need triple rations from now on."
A cook passing by scowled. "Triple rations? You’ll eat us bankrupt!"
Li Ming grinned. "Don’t worry. I’ll pay you back when I beco sect leader."
The cook nearly dropped his ladle. "Sect leader?! You’re dreaming!"
Li Ming pointed dramatically at the ceiling. "One must dream big, or remain small forever!"
The hall erupted in laughter. So disciples mocked him, others cheered, but everyone was talking about him.
By the end of the al, Li Ming had earned a nickna: "The Rice Tyrant."
---
The next morning, chores began. Outer disciples were expected to help with nial tasks—cleaning courtyards, fetching water, chopping firewood.
Li Ming was assigned to sweep the Training Plaza.
He twirled his broom like a sword. "Heh. A true cultivator can find enlightennt even in sweeping!"
Five minutes later, he was asleep on the broom.
"Hey! Wake up!" a senior disciple barked, kicking him.
Li Ming leapt up, pretending to ditate. "Ah yes, I was comprehending the Dao of Dust!"
The senior facepald. "...Hopeless fool."
---
Later that day, disciples sparred in the plaza. Wu Jian was there, showing off his powerful punches, surrounded by admirers.
Li Ming tried to sneak past quietly. He didn’t want trouble yet.
Unfortunately, fate hated him. His foot caught on a bucket, and he tumbled forward—straight into the sparring ring.
BAM! He crashed into Wu Jian, knocking him flat on his face.
The crowd gasped.
"Li Ming just defeated Wu Jian with a single move!"
"Such speed! Such precision!"
"Another accidental genius mont!"
Wu Jian’s face turned purple with rage.
Li Ming laughed nervously, bowing. "Ahaha... sorry, sorry. My foot slipped!"
But the disciples were already whispering.
"Maybe he really is a hidden monster..."
"Wu Jian didn’t even stand a chance!"
Wu Jian’s fists trembled. He glared at Li Ming with murder in his eyes.
Li Ming smiled awkwardly. Oh no... I’ve made him even angrier...
---
That night, lying in bed, Li Ming held the jade slip again. Its glow pulsed warmly, filling his veins with energy.
"Rice Tyrant, Chicken Slayer... whatever they call , I’ll prove I’m more than that." He clenched his fists. "One day, I’ll stand above them all. And Wu Jian? He’ll be the one tripping on buckets."
Outside, the moon glowed over the sect, as the path of Li Ming’s absurd cultivation journey truly began.
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