（Revised version）
A deathly silence blanketed the entire outer sect square.
Dozens of outer sect disciples stood frozen, their eyes bulging as they stared at the cleanly severed wooden practice post and the boulder reduced to fine powder across the ground. Many gaped, their mouths hanging open wide enough to fit an egg.
Just moments prior, they had jeered and mocked Chen Fan, branding him a useless mortal fated to sweep floors for life, never to touch the path of cultivation.
But now…
This same lowly handyman had unleashed a single casual sword swing, slicing through the solid practice post and blasting a boulder ten yards away into dust.
It was inconceivable, defying every fundamental law of cultivation they had ever learned.
"I must be seeing things…"
"That's impossible! He's a rootless mortal handyman!"
"How can a mortal wield such fearsome sword qi?!"
Muttered exclamations finally pierced the stillness. The disciples stared at Chen Fan as if he were some unnatural anomaly, all their earlier contempt and ridicule wiped away, replaced by raw shock, bewilderment, and a flicker of primal fear.
Chen Fan himself remained dazed.
He stared blankly at his hand, then at the bamboo broom lying discarded beside him. A faint, lingering hum of sword intent thrummed in his muscles, as if he had not just glanced at a basic sword form, but honed the art for a hundred years.
So this is the truth of it…
He finally grasped the full extent of his innate, heaven-defying gift.
It was not cleverness, nor luck.
It was Eternal Supreme Insight—a passive ability that let him instantly comprehend, perfect, and even evolve any technique, skill, or cosmic truth with just one look.
The worthless Falling Dust Sword had transformed into a supreme divine art in an instant.
His mortal frame, once deemed incapable of sensing spiritual energy, had awakened the hidden Chaos Root buried deep within.
For the first time, Chen Fan truly knew: he was not ordinary. He was not trash. He was a hidden prodigy bearing the greatest talent in cultivation history.
Before he could collect his thoughts, a cold, imposing voice cut through the crowd once more, carrying an invisible weight that silenced every whisper at once.
"Quiet."
It was the very same Outer Sect Overseer Elder who had appeared at the end of the first chapter—tall, imposing, with a snow-white beard and ice-sharp eyes, exuding the imposing aura of a high-ranking cultivator. This was Elder Mu. He had witnessed the entire spectacle, and now he stepped forward slowly, his gaze sweeping over the shattered post and dust-covered boulder before fixing firmly on Chen Fan.
The disciples cowered, all bowing their heads, daring not to meet his gaze. One trembling youth shakily pointed at Chen Fan.
"E-Elder… it was him. The handyman, Chen Fan. He did this."
Elder Mu stood before Chen Fan, appraising him from head to toe. The boy still wore his tattered linen handyman robes, his bamboo broom at his feet, a rusted iron sword clutched loosely in his hand. He looked utterly unremarkable—no powerful aura, no spiritual energy fluctuations, no glow of awakened spiritual roots. Just a plain, ordinary mortal.
Yet he was the one who had unleashed that earth-shattering sword qi.
Elder Mu's expression turned grave. He stepped closer and pressed a single finger to Chen Fan's wrist, sending a wisp of gentle spiritual energy winding through his meridians to examine his bones, pathways, and spiritual roots meticulously.
The next moment, Elder Mu's eyes widened in unbridled disbelief.
"No spiritual roots… ordinary mortal meridians… not a single trace of cultivated energy within him…"
He was far more stunned than the disciples.
It was an iron rule of the cultivation world: mortals without spiritual roots could not cultivate, let alone summon violent sword qi. What stood before him shattered every known truth.
"Boy," Elder Mu demanded, his voice deep and stern, "how did you accomplish this?"
Chen Fan tightened his grip on the rusted sword, unsure how to explain his secret without revealing Eternal Supreme Insight. He spoke a quiet half-truth.
"I don't know, Elder. I watched them practice that sword technique, and I… simply understood it. I swung the sword without thinking, and this happened."
"Understood it with just one glance?" Elder Mu's voice rose, incredulous.
The surrounding disciples were left utterly dumbfounded.
They had trained the Falling Dust Sword for months, even years, only to muster a wisp of weak, feeble sword qi. Yet this mortal, with a single casual look, had mastered it to a catastrophic level? What kind of monster was he?
Elder Mu stared at Chen Fan for a long moment, his eyes swirling with shock, awe, and disbelief. In his centuries of cultivation, he had seen geniuses with heavenly spiritual roots, prodigies with ancient sacred bloodlines, and talents who comprehended arts overnight… but never anyone like Chen Fan.
A rootless, talentless mortal who could master a sword technique to its peak with a single glance.
This was no longer genius. This was defying the heavens themselves.
After a heavy silence, Elder Mu did not rage or reprimand him. He simply turned and said, "Come with me."
He strode toward the quiet, secluded depths of the outer sect.
Chen Fan hesitated for a heartbeat, then sheathed his rusted sword and followed. He felt no fear; with his insight, he knew he could handle any outcome.
The disciples watched his retreating back, their faces twisted with envy, shock, admiration, and lingering dread. The handyman they had mocked as trash now walked alongside the Outer Sect Elder, and the world felt turned upside down.
Elder Mu led Chen Fan to a tranquil bamboo forest deep in the outer sect, where a small wooden hut nestled among the stalks, far from the noise and chaos of the main square.
"Sit," Elder Mu gestured to a stone bench.
Chen Fan sat obediently, still the quiet, unassuming boy he had always been.
Elder Mu poured him a cup of light bamboo tea, then fixed him with a solemn gaze. "Do you understand what you have done? You have crossed the line between mortal and cultivator before ever stepping onto the path."
Chen Fan shook his head.
"In this world, geniuses are revered, mortals are discarded. Those without spiritual roots are forever barred from cultivation. You have broken that iron law," Elder Mu said calmly. "Your comprehension is unheard of. If word of this spreads, it will shake the entire sect."
He leaned forward slightly, offering a chance every mortal would beg for. "Chen Fan… do you wish to formally walk the path of cultivation?"
It was an unprecedented blessing—an invitation personally extended by the Outer Sect Overseer, a destiny countless souls could never dream of.
But Chen Fan hesitated.
He thought of the grueling, endless training the outer disciples endured, the cutthroat competition and petty conflicts. All he ever wanted was a quiet life: enough food, a warm place to sleep, and peace.
After a brief pause, he spoke softly, honestly. "I… I would like to stay a handyman. This quiet life suits me."
Elder Mu blinked in sheer, uncomprehending astonishment.
He had imagined every reaction—excitement, eagerness, tears of gratitude—but never this. A once-in-an-era prodigy who could master a sword with a glance… wanted to keep sweeping floors?
"Are you truly certain?" Elder Mu asked, his voice stiff.
Chen Fan nodded earnestly. "Elder, I am used to sweeping and chores. I do not wish to fight or compete. I only want a peaceful life."
He meant every word. He cared nothing for immortality, nothing for glory, nothing for dominating the cultivation world. He only wanted to lie low, stay unnoticed, and live without trouble.
Elder Mu stared at him for a long time, as if peering into his soul, then let out a long, amazed sigh. In his long life, he had met greedy, ambitious, arrogant, and desperate people—but never one as unassuming and content as Chen Fan.
"Very well," Elder Mu conceded at last. "You may remain in the handyman quarters. From today on, no one will dare bully or trouble you again."
Relief softened Chen Fan's expression.
"But," Elder Mu added, his tone sharpening with grave warning, "you must swear one thing to me: do not casually reveal your ability in front of others, not unless your life is in mortal danger. Your talent is too terrifying. If word gets out, you will be hunted, recruited, or killed before you grow strong enough to protect yourself."
Chen Fan understood the peril well, and nodded solemnly. "I understand, Elder."
"Good." Elder Mu waved a hand. "You may return. From today on, you may observe any cultivation technique in the outer sect, and borrow basic manuals from the Scripture Pavilion as you please."
It was an unparalleled privilege. Ordinary handymen were forbidden from even approaching the Scripture Pavilion, yet Chen Fan was given free rein.
A faint spark of curiosity lit up Chen Fan's eyes—not for power, but simple fascination. Watching others cultivate was interesting, after all. "Thank you, Elder," he said sincerely.
On his walk back to the handyman quarters, Chen Fan mulled over his gift. He recalled the Falling Dust Sword forms, and instantly, the fully evolved Eternal Falling Dust Sword and its profound Mortal Emperor Sword Intent bloomed crystal-clear in his mind, as if he had trained it for a century.
"Interesting," he murmured.
He then thought of the basic fist technique he had watched disciples practice days prior.
In the next second—
[Ding!]
[You have recalled the Basic Fist Art demonstration.]
[Eternal Supreme Insight activated!]
[Basic Fist Art has evolved into — Eternal Profound Fist!]
[You have obtained Profound Fist Intent (Initial Stage)!]
Chen Fan paused, then smiled faintly. Learning truly was effortless.
He needed no meditation, no relentless training, no fights for resources.
He only needed to look.
With a single glance, he could grow stronger than anyone else.
When Chen Fan returned to the handyman quarters, the other handymen who had once bullied him and stolen his food all bowed their heads, avoiding his gaze. News of his display had spread like wildfire. No one dared treat him like a useless mortal anymore.
Chen Fan paid them no mind. He picked up his bamboo broom and resumed sweeping, quiet and unassuming, just as he had every day before.
The setting sun painted the sky amber, bamboo leaves rustling softly in the breeze. In the distance, a disciple practiced a movement technique.
Chen Fan glanced over casually.
In that instant, the true essence of the technique was etched permanently into his soul.
A faint, quiet smile tugged at his lips.
Being a handyman was not so bad, after all.
Quiet, peaceful, and growing stronger every day—completely unnoticed.
This was the life he wanted.
Little did he know…
While he contented himself with sweeping floors, quiet undercurrents were already stirring within Azure Cloud Sect.
And the legend of the unassuming handyman with heaven-defying insight had only just begun.