Cultivation Without Heaven

Wan Juo stirred. Every inch of him throbbed, not with pain, but with heat. His body remembered fire even if his mind didn't. The soreness sat deep in joints and bones, like something had been cracked open and resealed. Barely alive.

A shadow loomed. Not death… but something almost as terrifying.

Instructor Shen stood beside him. Not in his usual plain robes, but in the regalia of House Cinder: a red cloak trimmed with scorched gold. His arms were crossed, eyes unreadable. The firelike crest of the house blazed on his chest.

And for once, he wasn't scowling. He looked curious.

Wan Juo groaned, forcing himself upright. "Old man." His voice was hoarse. "I don't know what happened, but can I get a bowl of noodles first?"

Shen blinked. Just blinked. Then, after a moment, "Noodles?" he asked dryly.

Wan Juo cradled his ribs and nodded. "With beef. And extra chili, if it's not too much."

There was a pause. Then Shen exhaled not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh. "This brat," he muttered. "He dances on death's edge and thinks with his stomach."

Wan Juo grinned. "House Cinder material, right?"

Shen looked at him long and hard. "Cinder or kindling?" He sat on the edge of the infirmary bed, gaze now intense. "You should be dead."

Wan Juo shrugged, winced. "Yeah. I get that a lot."

"You forced elemental fire through your heart meridian before opening your Gate of Flow. Do you know what that means?"

Wan Juo blinked. "It means I'm advanced?"

"It means you nearly vaporized your own internal pathways," Shen said, voice like a whetstone. "Four days ago, when you cracked open your Gate of Flame in the trial, House Cinder's name for it, though Han's ilk call it the Gate of Truth, it let a mere wisp through. Your dantian is still a locked vault, barely stirred. The raw force expanded it, yes, but it's unstable. Your inner circuits weren't ready to bear fire essence." He tapped a finger against the table. "Why did you do it? Tell me everything. Don't skip."

Wan Juo obeyed. He spoke of the twig sword, the harmony and tension he felt. The peace before the plunge. The way the element had watched him, challenged him. The eruption, the stillness that followed, then nothing.

Shen listened, unmoving. When Wan Juo finished, the old man leaned back.

"You weren't hallucinating," he said. "What you felt was elemental awareness. Instructor Han mentioned it in passing. Elements don't just flow; they have a will, a pride. The flame was resisting, then testing you. Fire is prideful. Temperamental. It does not kneel unless forced or impressed."

Shen's eyes narrowed. "The Breathing Sword Technique. A half-forgotten method from the outer sects. Reckless even for prodigies. You're either a fool or a genius to attempt it with a twig."

Wan Juo's eyes widened. "Testing?"

Shen nodded. "When a cultivator draws in natural qi, the element doesn't always yield. Sometimes it measures you. Fire especially tests its wielder, measuring their resolve before it yields." He looked down at Wan Juo's hands. "You passed. Barely."

Wan Juo tried to smile. "So when do I become a flame god?"

"You've got three days," Shen replied evenly. "Four days ago, when you opened your Gate of Flame, the academy gave you seven days to open the Gate of Flow or you're expelled. Or worse, ash. Succeed, and you'll earn five years to reach your completion date. Fail, and you're done."

Wan Juo's grin faltered.

"The Gate of Flow isn't physical," Shen continued. "It's the channel for circulation, the bottleneck that separates kindling from flame. Open it, and you can begin the path to the Gate of Fire, then Pyre, to reach the Second Ring. The full journey of Flame, Flow, Fire, Pyre, Ember, Blaze, Ash, Eternity, takes years, even for young masters. But for now, you need only Flow. Three days, boy."

Wan Juo swallowed. "So no more fancy sword tricks?"

"No. Not unless you want your bones to melt."

Wan Juo sighed. "Then I'll need two bowls of noodles."

Shen stood. "Rest today. We train tomorrow."

Wan Juo bowed stiffly. "Yes, Instructor."

Shen paused at the door. "You did well. But talent isn't enough. Fire rewards courage, but it punishes foolishness." He left.

Wan Juo slumped, then shut his eyes, focusing inward.

There it was.....his dantian, glowing like an ember. Full. Too full. Elemental energy pulsed inside, chaotic, compressed. The fire essence raged like a caged beast. His Gate of Flame had cracked open four days ago, letting a mere wisp through, but his dantian remained a locked vault, barely stirred by that fleeting surge.

And every time he tried to shift it, he met resistance. Blocked. His Gate of Flow still unopened. If he didn't figure out how to clear it… he'd explode.

He pulled on his worn robe, fingers brushing the bunny stitch at the hem. A memory flared, sharp and vivid. Mei, her dark eyes fierce in the ash-choked ruins of the Sable Fang Clan just before they parted ways. She pressed a small cloth into his hands, a crooked bunny head stitched in white thread.

"Don't let them break you, Juo. Not the clan, not the world, not even yourself. Promise me you'll never give up."

He nodded, throat tight, promising her the same.

Later at the academy, he'd bought a tattered robe and sewn Mei's bunny head into it, to carry her words with him.

He'd keep that promise. Not by fire. Not by hunger. Not by time.

He stepped outside. The sun was past its peak, casting long, harsh shadows. Four days since he'd stumbled into this academy. Two days scrubbing pots at Cheng's. And three days left to prove he belonged.

Time to work. Time to survive. Time to find answers.

He'd overheard young masters whispering about the library, its scrolls guarded like treasures, accessible only to those with coin or clan backing. Fifty silvers a day, they'd said, for knowledge that could save a life.

Cheng's noodle shop was already busy. Wan Juo stepped inside. No swagger, no grin. Just silence. His mind churned, heavy with Shen's warning, but a flicker of his usual defiance stirred.

If he was going to burn, at least he'd burn full.

Two days of scrubbing pots here since that night he begged and earned a place behind the counter, and he was still standing. Cheng blinked. Wan Juo didn't crack a joke. He just went behind the counter and tied his apron.

Something was off. Cheng watched the boy work with robotic precision, eyes haunted. Wan Juo hadn't said ten words all evening. Not like him at all.

When the rush ended, Cheng handed him a bowl. "You eat," he said.

Wan Juo slurped half of it down in seconds. The warmth hit like a spark, coaxing a faint smirk. Still better than exploding. Then he paused.

"Old man," he muttered. "How much do I have?"

Cheng raised an eyebrow. "Since when did you care?"

"I need an advance," Wan Juo said, staring at his bowl. "A big one. For tomorrow and the day after."

Cheng crossed his arms. "Planning a date with a phoenix girl?"

Wan Juo shook his head. "Library."

Cheng blinked.

"Fifty silvers a day," Wan Juo said. "One hundred for two. I've got ten maybe from working here two days. After the clinic bill and some bread, it's all I've got."

Cheng didn't speak. Just walked to the back. He returned with sixty silvers, set them down without a word.

Wan Juo stared at the coins. "Why?"

Cheng scratched his bald head. "Two nights ago, when that drunk young master spat in my soup pot. you didn't just stand there. You kicked him out. Cost me a few regulars." He looked at Wan Juo. "You didn't need to do that."

Wan Juo blinked. He'd forgotten. Cheng hadn't. "Thanks," he said softly.

"Don't get cocky," Cheng growled. "And don't die. I hate training new helpers."

Wan Juo's smirk widened. "You're soft under all that salt."

"And you're annoying under all that hair," Cheng snapped.

Wan Juo stood. "So I'll see you tomorrow."

Cheng nodded. "Unless you burn down the library."

Outside, the wind carried a hint of ash. Wan Juo walked alone, clutching his silver pouch. His mind burned with Shen's warning, the pressure of three days, and the library's steep gates.

Answers. That's all he needed. A text, a clue, a fragment of knowledge that could teach him how to unlock the Gate of Flow before his flame consumed him from within or the academy cast him out.

He reached the stone path that overlooked the city. Up here, House Cinder's towers rose in the distance. Behind them, the mountain. The fire vein. And beyond that, stars.

He looked up. Above him, the sky was deepening into dusk. Clouds parted slightly to reveal one tiny star. Faint. But burning.

He spoke quietly.

"The heavens stretch like a dragon's breath, endless and cold. Stars etched in silence on the scroll of night. Mortal flames flicker beneath their gaze, bold. Yet nothing dims their ancient light."

He exhaled. The wind didn't answer. But something in him stirred. The fire was still burning. And now he had to feed it.