The dull ache in Jiang Chen's limbs had become a familiar presence—an old friend lingering in silence. Day after day, he practiced in the shadow of the mountain, hidden beneath a windswept overhang where moss clung to stone like stubborn memories.
The Proficiency Panel hovered faintly in his mind as always.
[Iron Bone Tempering Art] – Proficiency: Great Achievement (89%)
[Mountain-Crushing Fist] – Proficiency: Small Achievement (24%)
[Breath Control Technique] – Proficiency: Entry (12%)
The new technique, Breath Control, was something he'd discovered from an old, moth-bitten scroll discarded behind the kitchen building. Most would dismiss it as useless fluff. But Jiang Chen saw differently.
Every technique—no matter how small—had purpose.
He sat now, legs folded, back straight, eyes half-closed. Each breath drew in not only air but the faintest trace of qi from the surrounding world. It was like trying to drink fog—difficult, frustrating, but not impossible.
The problem wasn't the technique.
It was his body.
Despite all progress, he still lacked a spiritual root. He could not circulate qi through meridians he didn't possess—or rather, shouldn't have possessed.
Yet something had begun to change.
Over the last few days, a strange warmth had begun to rise during his training sessions. It pulsed faintly beneath his skin, like embers hidden in ash, glowing faintly when his concentration peaked.
At first, he thought it illusion.
Then he tested it.
He would hold his breath, gather focus, and strike. Each time, his punches seemed heavier. His footwork more stable. The ground cracked under his heel when it shouldn't have.
Last night, the Proficiency Panel had responded.
[Hidden Flame Physique – Dormant] detected.
A line that hadn't been there before.
He didn't know what it meant. The scrolls said some were born with special physiques—heavenly vessels that could defy the limits of cultivation. But why would a mere servant possess one? Especially someone born without a spiritual root?
Unless...
Unless it had something to do with his past life.
His fists clenched unconsciously.
If this power was real, if it could awaken...
Then maybe the world would no longer see him as a discarded servant. Maybe—just maybe—he could rise high enough to find answers. To break open the cage of fate that bound him. To face those elders, disciples, and ancient families who ruled from ivory towers and golden halls.
A sharp gust of wind interrupted his thoughts.
He stood, brushing dust from his sleeves. Training was not yet over.
He still had the duel with Zhang Yao's lackeys to prepare for. Though minor, they had connections. Losing to them would not only bring beatings, but suppression.
He stepped forward.
One form. Two strikes. Three deep breaths.
The panel shifted again.
[Mountain-Crushing Fist] – Proficiency: Small Achievement (33%)
The flame beneath his skin stirred.
He smiled faintly.