Chronicles of the Trash God

Feng Xiao sat in silence at the edge of the stone platform, his breath still uneven from the battle. The whispers had faded into the background, leaving only the faint hum of energy emanating from the monolith. The strange, flickering figure that had spoken to him was gone, but its words lingered in his mind like an itch he couldn't scratch.

"You hold the keys to restoration. But keys are worthless without the strength to turn them."

He stared down at his trembling hands, the faint scars from the Pearls' energy still visible on his skin. The fight had pushed him to his limits—and beyond. If not for the Pearls, he would have been torn apart by those Trash Spirits. But even with their power, he had barely survived. His chest ached with the weight of exhaustion, but beneath it all, a spark of determination burned.

This wasn't just about survival anymore.

The sect had thrown him away, cast him into this hellish wasteland like a piece of garbage. They thought he would die here, forgotten and broken. But the Valley of Ordures had given him something far more valuable than despair—it had given him the means to rise. The Pearls weren't just tools; they were the foundation of something far greater.

He just needed to figure out how to use them.

The sky above the Valley was as gray and lifeless as ever as Feng Xiao made his way back toward the crumbling ruins he had claimed as his camp. His body ached with every step, the lingering effects of the battle weighing heavily on him. But his mind was sharp, racing with thoughts and questions.

What was the monolith? Why were the Pearls connected to it? And what had the flickering figure meant when it called him a "key"?

The answers were out there, buried somewhere in the Valley's endless expanse of ruin and corruption. But for now, survival came first.

By the time Feng Xiao reached his camp, the faint light filtering through the haze was already beginning to dim. The remnants of his fire were little more than cold ash, and the makeshift tools and artifacts he had restored earlier were scattered across the ground. He frowned, his grip tightening on the restored blade at his side.

Something wasn't right.

He moved cautiously, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of movement. The Valley was never truly empty—Trash Spirits and worse roamed the wasteland, their presence often announced by the faint hum of corrupted energy. But this time, there was only silence.

Too much silence.

Feng Xiao knelt beside the remains of the fire, his fingers brushing against the cold ash. Whoever—or whatever—had been here was gone now, but their presence lingered like a faint shadow. He glanced at the scattered artifacts, noting that none of them appeared to be missing.

The Pearls pulsed faintly in his chest, their warmth a quiet reassurance. Whatever had disturbed his camp, it wasn't here anymore. But the message was clear: the Valley wasn't just a place of danger—it was a place of opportunity, and Feng Xiao wasn't the only one seeking to claim it.

That night, Feng Xiao sat cross-legged beside his newly lit fire, the flickering flames casting long shadows across the crumbling walls of the ruins. The Pearls rested in his lap, their faint glow illuminating his scarred hands.

He had been experimenting with them for hours, testing their limits and observing how they interacted with the artifacts he had collected. The process was slow and tedious, but it was also enlightening.

The Pearls' power wasn't infinite—that much was clear. Every time he used them to restore an artifact or heal a wound, their glow dimmed slightly, their energy waning like the embers of a dying fire. But the energy wasn't lost entirely. It returned slowly, regenerating over time as though the Pearls themselves were alive.

Feng Xiao held the restored spiritual compass in his hand, its needle spinning lazily as it adjusted to the ambient energy of the Valley. The artifact was simple, but it had proven invaluable in guiding him toward areas of concentrated spiritual energy.

"Not bad," he muttered, his lips curling into a faint smile. "But you can do better, can't you?"

The Pearls pulsed in response, their warmth spreading through his fingers. Feng Xiao's smile widened. He didn't know if the Pearls were sentient, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they were... listening.

He turned his attention to the pile of broken artifacts he had scavenged earlier, his gaze settling on a shattered talisman etched with faint, faded runes. It was barely recognizable as a spiritual artifact, its surface cracked and crumbling, but the Pearls' energy hummed faintly when he touched it.

"Let's see what you've got," Feng Xiao said, holding the Pearls over the talisman.

The restoration process was familiar by now. The Pearls pulsed rhythmically, their glow intensifying as the cracks in the talisman sealed themselves. The faded runes grew brighter, their intricate patterns shimmering like liquid light. Within moments, the artifact was whole again, its surface gleaming with renewed energy.

Feng Xiao picked it up, his eyes narrowing as he examined the restored talisman. The runes were unfamiliar, their patterns twisting and overlapping in ways that defied logic. But the energy radiating from the artifact was undeniable—stronger and more focused than any talisman he had restored before.

He channeled a small stream of his own energy into the talisman, watching as the runes flared to life. A burst of light erupted from the artifact, scattering the shadows around him and sending a gust of wind through the ruins. Feng Xiao grinned, his chest swelling with satisfaction.

"This... this could work," he muttered, tucking the talisman into his pouch.

The next morning, Feng Xiao set out again, the restored talisman and compass strapped securely to his waist. The Valley stretched out before him, its endless expanse of ruin and corruption as foreboding as ever. But Feng Xiao didn't hesitate. He had survived the worst the Valley had to offer—and he wasn't done yet.

The spiritual compass guided him toward a new destination, its needle pointing unerringly toward a distant scrap pile at the edge of the horizon. Feng Xiao's grip on his blade tightened as he approached, his senses on high alert.

The scrap pile was massive, a towering mountain of broken artifacts and twisted metal that cast long shadows across the ground. The air around it was heavy with the hum of corrupted energy, the faint whispers growing louder as Feng Xiao drew closer.

At the base of the pile was an entrance, a jagged opening carved into the mountain of debris. The compass pulsed faintly in Feng Xiao's hand, its needle spinning wildly as though urging him forward.

Feng Xiao hesitated for a moment, his instincts screaming at him to turn back. But the Pearls' warmth in his chest was steady and insistent, their energy guiding him like a beacon.

"Alright," he muttered under his breath, stepping cautiously into the opening. "Let's see what you've got for me this time."

The interior of the scrap pile was dark and claustrophobic, the narrow tunnels lit only by the faint glow of corrupted energy seeping through the walls. Feng Xiao moved cautiously, his blade held at the ready as he navigated the twisting passageways.

The air grew colder as he descended, the whispers in the air growing louder and more distinct. Feng Xiao's skin prickled as he realized he could almost understand them now—fragments of words and phrases that spoke of power and ruin.

At the end of the tunnel, the passage opened into a chamber, its walls lined with broken artifacts and shattered tools. In the center of the room was a pedestal, its surface etched with runes that glowed faintly in the dim light. Resting atop the pedestal was a small, crystalline shard that pulsed with an eerie, green light.

Feng Xiao's breath caught in his throat. The shard wasn't just any artifact—it was a core, a concentrated fragment of spiritual energy that could amplify a cultivator's abilities to extraordinary levels.

But the room wasn't empty.

A Trash Spirit loomed in the shadows, its grotesque form composed of jagged metal and broken weapons. Its glowing red eyes locked onto Feng Xiao, and it let out a guttural growl that echoed through the chamber.

Feng Xiao tightened his grip on his blade, his chest pounding as the Spirit charged toward him. The Pearls pulsed in his chest, their energy surging as he prepared to fight.

This time, he wouldn't just survive.

This time, he would win.