Morning arrived slowly over the mountain.

  Mist drifted between the unfinished buildings of the new settlement, curling around half-built walls and wooden scaffolding.

  What had once been a quiet clearing now resembled a chaotic construction site.

  Stone blocks lay stacked beside timber beams.

  Metallic frames gleamed where Feng had experimented with reinforcing structures.

  Somewhere nearby, Lin Fan was loudly arguing with a pot.

  Zhi Yuan sat cross-legged on a flat slab of stone near the center of the clearing, breathing slowly.

  The air around him pulsed faintly with qi.

  Not violent.

  Not overwhelming.

  Just steady.

  Alive.

  Behind him, carved into the mountain wall, the stone surface remained smooth and blank.

  For now.

  Ru Yan approached first.

  Her steps were quiet, but her presence always carried weight.

  “You’re planning something,” she said.

  It wasn’t a question.

  Zhi Yuan opened one eye.

  “Today feels appropriate.”

  She glanced toward the rising sun.

  “Appropriate for what?”

  Before he could answer, Lin Fan ran over carrying a wooden bowl that smelled vaguely edible.

  “I made breakfast!”

  Feng walked behind him, arms crossed.

  “You made smoke.”

  Lin Fan scoffed.

  “It’s called charred flavor. Very advanced technique.”

  Ru Yan pinched the bridge of her nose.

  “Why do I feel like the kitchen will become our greatest battlefield?”

  Zhi Yuan chuckled softly.

  Then he stood.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Dusting his robes, he turned toward the mountain wall.

  “Come here,” he said.

  Something in his voice made the others listen.

  They gathered in front of the blank stone.

  Lin Fan squinted.

  “…Are we carving something?”

  Feng tilted his head.

  “A formation array?”

  Ru Yan folded her arms.

  “Or another one of your strange ideas?”

  Zhi Yuan smiled.

  “Every sect needs a name.”

  The clearing went quiet.

  Even the wind seemed to pause.

  Lin Fan’s eyes widened.

  “Oh!”

  Feng nodded slowly.

  “About time.”

  Ru Yan studied Zhi Yuan carefully.

  “You’ve already chosen.”

  It wasn’t a question either.

  Zhi Yuan didn’t deny it.

  He placed a hand against the stone.

  Qi flowed gently from his palm.

  “This mountain is unusual,” he said.

  “Five elemental veins intersect beneath it.”

  Feng raised an eyebrow.

  “That explains the metallic resonance.”

  Ru Yan nodded faintly.

  “I felt the fire currents.”

  Lin Fan scratched his head.

  “…I mostly felt hungry.”

  Zhi Yuan ignored him.

  “The spiritual soil here grows a particular tree.”

  He gestured toward the slope.

  Clusters of twisted trees grew there, their branches heavy with small red fruits.

  Wineapple trees.

  Their skins glowed faintly like polished jade.

  Their scent filled the air with a sweet, fermented fragrance.

  Zhi Yuan turned back to them.

  “In the mortal world, wineapples symbolize longevity and prosperity.”

  Lin Fan nodded enthusiastically.

  “They also make amazing cider.”

  Ru Yan ignored him.

  “And in the cultivation world?”

  Zhi Yuan smiled faintly.

  “They represent abundance born from patience.”

  He gestured toward the trees again.

  “They grow slowly.”

  “They endure harsh soil.”

  “But once rooted…”

  “They flourish.”

  Feng smirked.

  “So you’re saying we’re stubborn weeds.”

  Ru Yan sighed.

  “Accurate.”

  Zhi Yuan stepped forward.

  His fingers traced patterns through the air.

  Qi spiraled outward like threads of light.

  Wind gathered.

  Leaves rustled.

  The air trembled.

  “Scatter… Senbon…” he muttered, coughing mid-gesture.

  The qi burst outward.

  Like a whirlwind of sakura petals.

  Thousands of tiny leaves of light spun through the air before slamming into the mountain face.

  Stone cracked.

  Then stilled.

  Glowing characters emerged across the rock wall.

  Greenish-red light pulsed within the carved strokes.

  Three ancient characters.

  万榴宗

  For a moment, no one spoke.

  Lin Fan leaned forward.

  “How do you read that?”

  Feng answered first.

  “Wan Liu Zong.”

  Ru Yan translated calmly.

  “The Ten Thousand Wineapple Sect.”

  Lin Fan blinked.

  “We’re named after fruit?”

  Zhi Yuan shrugged.

  “It seemed fitting.”

  Feng burst out laughing.

  “Honestly? I’ve heard worse sect names.”

  Ru Yan studied the glowing characters.

  Her expression softened slightly.

  “It’s not bad.”

  Lin Fan grinned.

  “So does this mean we’re officially a sect now?”

  Zhi Yuan thought about that.

  Then he shook his head.

  “Not yet.”

  He turned toward the unfinished buildings.

  Broken walls.

  Half-built halls.

  A crooked kitchen chimney.

  “Names are easy,” he said.

  “Foundations are not.”

  Ru Yan nodded slowly.

  “A sect is more than territory.”

  “More than buildings.”

  Feng added quietly,

  “It’s people.”

  Lin Fan raised a hand.

  “And food.”

  Everyone ignored him.

  Zhi Yuan looked at each of them.

  Five people.

  On a mountain of five elements.

  Five strange lives that had somehow crossed paths here.

  He spoke softly.

  “Let’s build something worthy of the name.”

  Ru Yan placed a hand over her heart.

  Feng gave a sharp nod.

  Lin Fan raised his bowl.

  “To the Ten Thousand Wineapple Sect!”

  Zhi Yuan sighed.

  “You’re drinking breakfast soup.”

  Lin Fan shrugged.

  “Still counts.”

  The mist slowly lifted as sunlight struck the mountain wall.

  The glowing characters shone brighter.

  万榴宗

  Below them, five cultivators stood among unfinished buildings and scattered tools.

  A sect that did not yet exist.

  A future no one could yet see.

  But the mountain remembered.

  And the first name had finally been carved into its stone.

  Far below the mountain, deep within the earth, the five converging qi veins stirred—

  as if the world itself had just noticed the birth of something new.