Fu Yang's chest swelled as he held his breath. Veins traced faint patterns across his pale skin, and a low hum vibrated in his ears as blood surged violently to his head. The pressure was suffocating, yet he remained still, his mind razor-sharp, unyielding.
Then—hissss—a thin strand of black mist seeped from his pores, curling upward like smoke from a dying fire. It carried with it a foul, acrid stench: the impurities of his body, the remnants of beast essence he had carried far too long.
A faint curl tugged at his lips. Good. It's working.
When he finally exhaled, his breath left him hot and heavy, like steam. Sweat plastered his robe to his back, yet his eyes glimmered with satisfaction. Even if only a fraction of one percent of the waste had been purged, it was progress.
For four hours, he remained in that state—silent, unmoving, every nerve, every sinew focused on drawing out the corruption lodged within his body.
By nightfall, he collapsed onto his straw pallet, muscles trembling beneath him. His eyelids fluttered shut, but hunger soon drove him upright, and he padded silently to the canteen. On the way, he muttered under his breath:
"At this rate… three months to intermediate stage. Then… Flesh Forging. Then the rest. Heh."
A faint, predatory smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. And from tomorrow, the lessons will begin. "Knowledge—I have it. Fighting tournaments—it will be fun to break their bones."
---
Dawn spilled across Nian Village, and the bells of the academy rang through the courtyard, summoning the new disciples. Children from noble families strutted confidently in embroidered robes, while village-born youths fidgeted in simpler garments. Anxiety, excitement, and ambition hung thick in the morning air.
Fu Yang moved among them silently, his black robe flowing behind him, the words Inner One embroidered on his back in silver thread. Whispers followed him.
"Isn't that the orphan? The one who cried before?"
"Look at him… is that really him now?"
"He's… different."
Others taunted him too
He ignored them all. Their words were inconsequential—no more than the noise of insects beneath a boot.
Elder Xiang Xi arrived at the center, his tall frame cutting a sharp figure. His gaze swept the disciples like a blade.
"From today," he intoned, voice hard as steel, "you are disciples of the Nian Clan Academy. Here, only strength and discipline matter. Status, family, excuses—none of that will help you. You rise or fall by your own hands."
Every disciple straightened instantly, some trembling under the weight of authority. Xiang Xi's presence was not merely physical; it carried centuries of expectation, and even the boldest children felt it in their bones.
"That is all. Go to your assigned classes. Learn well—you are the future. The next leaders after us."
---
Fu Yang entered the inner disciples' chamber with quiet, deliberate steps. The walls gleamed with golden-blue tiles, the floor polished to a mirror-like sheen. Every detail reflected the academy's prestige, but his gaze remained distant, assessing, detached.
Cin Yan turned toward him, curiosity plain in her eyes. Who is this boy?
"Who are you?" she asked softly, her voice carrying across the room.
Fu Yang spared her a single glance, dismissive and almost bored. He brushed past her as though the room—and everyone in it—were shadows clinging to his path. He took a seat at the back, posture lazy, eyes half-lidded yet razor-sharp. Murmurs rippled through the assembled children.
Shi Tian slammed his chair back and rose, face red. "You—!"
The door creaked, and Elder Wen, the oldest scholar in the village and a man whose presence demanded respect, entered. His robe was simple, but his eyes carried the weight of decades of wisdom. Shi Tian froze and sank back into his seat.
"Children," Elder Wen began, voice slow, deliberate, "before you temper your bodies, you must temper your minds. A fool with strength is still a fool. Without knowledge, power brings only ruin."
The room fell silent. Even the most arrogant disciples dared not breathe too loudly.
"Tell me," Elder Wen's gaze swept across them, "why do we cultivate?"
Sha Tian blurted out with pride, "To be strong! To defeat our enemies!"
A ripple of laughter followed. Elder Wen's expression remained calm.
"Strength, yes. But strength alone is hollow," he said, voice deepening, carrying the weight of history. "Thousands of years ago, beasts ruled these lands. Humanity was nothing but prey. Only by forging body and mind together did we rise from the mud and carve out a place in this world. Remember this: history is not written by the strongest fists, but by those who endure."
The children sat in silence. His words sank deep.
Cin Yan raised her hand, voice clear. "Elder, is it true the great clans of today began as mere villages, surviving only by unity and willpower?"
Elder Wen's eyes softened. "Yes. Even the mighty Wan Clan, rulers of the eastern region, began as frightened families huddling in caves. Strength and wisdom built their legacy. Never forget—your foundation is not muscle alone, but the mind."
Fu Yang leaned back, eyes half-closed, already knowing every word. Elder Wen's gaze flicked toward him, thoughtful, yet he said nothing.
---
After the lecture, the students were escorted to the training grounds. Under the relentless sun, they ran, lifted, and struggled. Some collapsed, sweat stinging their eyes; others trembled from exertion.
Fu Yang moved quietly, methodical in every action. Each step, each swing of weight, each stance was precise. Muscles burned, sweat drenched him, yet his expression never wavered.
When training ended, he washed quickly and stepped out into the courtyard. Whispers followed him—curiosity, envy, and doubt.
Then, unexpectedly, Cin Yan stepped directly into his path. Calm, collected, but her eyes steady, she said, "Hello. I wanted to ask you something… Are you Fu Yang?"