Chapter 3 - Chapter 3: Ling Xuan's First Win

The first rays of dawn spilled across the sect's mountains, painting the peaks with a faint golden glow. Mist clung stubbornly to the valleys, curling like slumbering dragons. My room was still dark, the heavy wooden shutters drawn tight, but my senses stretched beyond the walls. Every breath I took seemed to hum with energy, pulling in the faint whispers of spiritual qi that swirled through the mountain air. The morning felt alive. I sat cross-legged on the cold wooden floor, my hands resting lightly on my knees. In the dimness, the glow of a faint crimson flame pulsed in my dantian—a spark only I could see, a secret I guarded with my life. I'd woken long before dawn, cultivating in silence, and though I'd barely scratched the surface of this lost art, I could feel something… shifting. My body, once frail, now hummed faintly with restrained power. It was intoxicating—and terrifying. I slowly exhaled, opening my eyes. The room seemed sharper somehow, as if every grain of wood in the floor had been etched in high detail. This was the power of Flame Dream Alchemy, a cultivation path buried by history itself. Even in this early stage, it was rewriting me from the inside out. Yet I dared not let anyone see. Not yet. A knock at my door startled me. I quickly dimmed the flame within, suppressing my aura until I seemed no different from the weak, beaten-down Ling Xuan everyone remembered. "Come in," I called, my voice calm, steady. The door creaked open, and a boy about my age peered in. It was Ming Hao, a fellow outer disciple with round cheeks and nervous eyes. "Senior Brother Ling… the Elders have summoned all disciples to the training grounds," he said, bowing slightly. "It's for the quarterly assessments." Quarterly assessments. I nearly smirked. Of course. My return to the sect wasn't going to pass unnoticed for long. "I'll be there," I said simply, rising to my feet. Ming Hao hesitated, his gaze flickering to my calm posture and sharp eyes. For a moment, he looked as if he wanted to ask a question but thought better of it. "All right," he muttered, retreating. I tied my robe and stepped outside. The sect's outer courtyard stretched before me, vast stone pathways winding through manicured gardens and towering pavilions. Disciples in plain blue robes hurried past, whispering and pointing when they saw me. "Isn't that Ling Xuan?" "Didn't he disappear for two years? They say he was crippled…" "I heard he offended someone he shouldn't have and barely escaped alive." The rumors buzzed around me like gnats, but I kept walking. Their voices no longer stirred anger or shame; they were nothing more than background noise. The training grounds were already filled with disciples by the time I arrived. Rows of sparring platforms stretched across the courtyard, and sect elders stood overseeing the gathering. At the center of it all was Elder Mo Shen, a man with hawk-like eyes and a perpetual scowl. His gaze swept the crowd like a blade. When his eyes landed on me, they narrowed slightly. "Ling Xuan," Elder Mo said, his voice carrying effortlessly over the chatter. "You've returned." I bowed lightly, my expression respectful but unreadable. "Yes, Elder." A murmur rippled through the disciples. No one expected me to stand here again. The last time I was on these grounds, I was the so-called genius of the Ling Family—a young talent praised by elders and envied by peers. Then I vanished, broken, discarded. To them, I was a relic of faded glory. "Since you've chosen to return," Elder Mo said coldly, "you'll participate in today's assessments. I hope you haven't forgotten the standards of this sect." I smiled faintly. "I wouldn't dare." We lined up for the first test—measuring spiritual power. A large stone pillar stood in the center of the courtyard, carved with runes that glimmered faintly. Each disciple placed their palm against it, channeling their spiritual energy to light up the pillar. The brighter the glow, the higher the ranking. One by one, disciples stepped forward. "Outer disciple, rank three," Elder Mo called out. "Rank four." "Rank two." The numbers echoed across the courtyard, drawing gasps or disappointed sighs from the crowd. When my turn came, the whispers grew louder. "That's Ling Xuan? Let's see if he can even light it…" "He'll be lucky to register as rank one." I stepped forward calmly, placing my palm on the cold stone. A faint hum resonated through the pillar as I channeled my energy. For a heartbeat, I considered letting my true power flare—watching their jaws drop in shock. But that would be foolish. My enemies hadn't forgotten me. The Ling Family certainly hadn't. I let only a fraction of my qi flow. The pillar flickered weakly, glowing a dim orange. "Rank… one," Elder Mo announced, his tone laced with disdain. Laughter rippled through the crowd. I simply bowed and stepped aside. Let them laugh. The longer they underestimated me, the longer I had to prepare. The next assessment was a combat trial. Two disciples faced each other on a sparring platform while elders judged their skill. When my name was called, I stepped onto the stage, facing a tall youth with a sneer plastered across his face. "Ling Xuan," he mocked, cracking his knuckles. "I thought you'd never crawl back here." I smiled faintly. "And you are…?" "Zhao Feng. I'll make sure everyone remembers your return… as a joke." The crowd roared with laughter. The elder overseeing the match raised his hand. "Begin!" Zhao Feng lunged forward, his fist glowing faintly with spiritual energy. His movements were powerful but predictable. I shifted slightly, letting his strike whistle past me. "What—?" he gasped, stumbling. I didn't counterattack. I merely watched him, calm as a still pond. His face flushed with anger as he charged again, faster this time, his palm slashing toward my chest. I stepped back, just enough to let his strike graze my robe. Then I moved—a single, precise motion. My foot swept his leg, and my palm pressed lightly against his shoulder. He crashed to the ground, stunned. The crowd erupted into gasps. The elder raised his brow but said nothing, merely declaring, "Winner: Ling Xuan." I bowed politely and stepped off the platform. My expression was neutral, but inside, I couldn't help a small flicker of amusement. Zhao Feng wasn't weak—by outer sect standards, he was impressive. But compared to what I'd begun cultivating… he was a child flailing in the dark. The assessments dragged on until noon, but my mind was elsewhere. With every passing moment, I could feel the faint pulse of the crimson flame in my core, whispering to me. When it was finally over, I slipped away from the training grounds, avoiding the curious stares of disciples. My destination was the secluded forest behind the sect—a place few visited, and even fewer would suspect me of frequenting. The forest was dense, filled with ancient pines and winding streams. I found a small clearing where sunlight pierced through the canopy, illuminating a moss-covered stone. This would do. I sat cross-legged and closed my eyes. As my breathing slowed, I reached inward, touching the flame within my dantian. It stirred eagerly, responding to my intent. Wisps of energy seeped out, spreading through my meridians. Unlike normal cultivation techniques, Flame Dream Alchemy didn't merely refine qi. It transformed it—burned it, purified it, and reshaped it into something more potent. My body trembled as I guided the energy carefully, forcing it through my meridians. The process was painful, like molten fire crawling through my veins, but I didn't flinch. This pain was the price of power. The whispers of Yu Mei, the Dream Empress whose lingering will I had encountered months ago, echoed faintly in my mind: "Control the flame. Don't let it consume you. A sovereign who cannot master himself is nothing but fuel for another's fire." I steadied my breathing, forcing the flame into a steady rhythm. Slowly, painfully, I could feel my body strengthening. My meridians, once fragile and scarred, were knitting themselves together, reforged by this mysterious fire. Hours passed unnoticed. The sun dipped low, painting the sky with streaks of crimson. When I finally opened my eyes, sweat drenched my robe, but my aura was… different. Stronger. Sharper. Still, I suppressed it immediately, cloaking myself once again in the facade of weakness. On my way back to my quarters, I passed through the outer courtyard, where a group of disciples had gathered around a notice board. I caught fragments of their conversation. "An inner sect disciple was killed?" "They say it was the work of a rogue cultivator…" "No, I heard it was an elder's disciple who betrayed him!" Their whispers piqued my interest, but I kept walking. The sect was never as peaceful as it appeared. Schemes festered in every shadow, and if I was going to survive, I needed to remain unseen. For now. As I closed the door to my room behind me, the crimson flame flickered faintly in my dantian, as if mocking me. My lips curved into a faint smile. "They think I'm weak," I murmured softly, lying back on the wooden bed. "Let them." The night outside deepened, and the mountains were swallowed in mist. Somewhere far away, a bell tolled, signaling the hour. I closed my eyes, sinking into meditation once more. In the stillness, the fire whispered. And I listened.