Fu Yang trudged through the thickening snow, his black robe cutting a sharp silhouette against the frost-draped market of Nian Village. The air was crisp, heavy with the scent of pine and smoked meats as villagers hurried about, their arms piled with firewood and bundled herbs. Their eyes flicked toward him—his pale, unblemished skin and long, flowing hair catching the dim winter light—but none paused to speak. Whispers trailed in his wake,, as if his solitary presence marked him as something apart.
Th9e towering gates of the Nian Academy rising in the distance like a sentinel against the gray sky.
As he stepped through the academy's arched entrance, the training grounds unfolded before him, alive with the hum of disciplined energy.
At its center, Cin Yan's group stood in a tight cluster, their voices sharp with pride. A massive brown boar's hide lay sprawled at their feet, its coarse bristles dusted with snow, the flesh neatly carved and stacked beside it.
Proof of their success in the Purification Trials. Cin Yan, her posture regal, stood flanked by Sha Tian and Shi Tian, their expressions mirroring her quiet triumph.
Mo Rian lingered at the edge, her head dipped low.
Shi Tian's gaze caught him first, a smirk curling his lips. "Well, look who's back," he called, his voice laced with mockery. "Empty-handed, Fu Yang? No beast, no hide? Tsk, some cultivators just don't know how to survive without a team."
Cin Yan tilted her head, her eyes glinting with cold amusement. "Strength comes from unity, Fu Yang. You'd do well to remember that. Alone, you're just… lacking." Her words were sharp, meant to cut, but her tone remained measured, as if stating an undeniable truth.
Mo Rian shifted uncomfortably, her fingers twisting the hem of her sleeve, her gaze fixed on the ground. Fu Yang met their taunts but ignored them, he turned and walked past them, their voices fading into the chatter of the grounds. The weight of their words lingered, but he let them slide off him like snow from his robe.
In the canteen.
The air was warm, thick with the aroma of steamed rice, braised pork, and herbal broth. Fu Yang piled his plate high—slices of tender meat, a mound of rice, and a bowl of steaming soup to chase away the cold. He ate methodically, savoring each bite, the warmth spreading through his chest and fueling his resolve. The murmurs of other disciples filled the hall, their laughter and boasts a distant hum as he focused inward, his thoughts already turning to cultivation.
Back in his small, sparsely furnished room, Fu Yang settled onto the woven mat, crossing his legs in the lotus position. He closed his eyes, his breathing slow and deliberate, cultivating and guiding qi essence through his meridians.
His skin, once soft, now bore the faint resilience of tempered leather, and his qi flowed smoother, less obstructed by the taints of mortality. Yet, as he probed deeper, he sensed the stubborn remnants of impurities—60% still clung to his veins, like ash choking a clear stream.
He visualized them as dark smoke, expelling them with each measured breath, his focus unwavering.
A cold gust stirred him, drawing his gaze to the wooden window he'd left open. Beyond it, the snow fell in heavy curtains, blanketing the village in a silent, shimmering white.
The flakes swirled in the dim glow of distant lanterns, each one catching the light before vanishing into the night. The sight was mesmerizing, a quiet dance of winter that seemed to echo the flow of qi itself—fleeting, yet eternal.
Fu Yang's lips curved into a faint smile, his cultivation pausing as he leaned closer to the window, letting the chill kiss his face. The world outside was still, beautiful.
He than closed the window and went to sleep.
He needed the rest because first he was only an 11 years old child and second he had to go to the forest again.
The next morning, Fu Yang awoke to a world transformed.
The village lay blanketed in a thick layer of snow, its rooftops and streets softened by the heavy fall, the air sharp and silent save for the occasional creak of a cart or the muffled chatter of villagers.
He stood at his window, breath fogging in the chill, and felt a quiet resolve settle within him.
Donning his black robe, he secured a dagger at his waist and set out for the Beast Forest.
The forest was a labyrinth of skeletal trees, their branches heavy with snow, the ground a pristine canvas of white.
Fu Yang moved with purpose, his steps light but deliberate, his senses sharpened by the Intermediate Stage of Skin Tempering.
Hours passed as he trekked deeper, the sun climbing to its noon peak, casting pale light through the canopy.
Near a frozen stream, he paused. There, etched in the snow, were fresh footprints—wide, cloven, and deep.
" A boar"
He steadied his breath, following the tracks with the precision of a seasoned hunter. The trail led to a clearing where a massive black boar rummaged, its tusks glinting as it snorted clouds of mist.
It was larger than the brown boar Cin Yan's group had felled, its aura heavy with the strength of an Initial Stage spirit beast.
Fu Yang crouched behind a snow-draped boulder, his dagger drawn, its blade catching the faint sunlight. He waited, watching the boar's movements,.and moved closer and closer slowly and suddenly with a burst of speed, he lunged, aiming for its flank—but due the noise his footsteps made when running on the snow, the boar dogged and the dagger sliced only air.
The boar wheeled around, eyes blazing, and charged its tusks aimed for his chest.
" Worpmh, worpmh".( Boar making sound)
But Fu Yang was no longer the novice of months past. At the Intermediate Stage, his body was stronger, his reflexes sharper. He sidestepped effortlessly, the boar's bulk hurtling past him, kicking up snow. As it turned for another charge, he darted forward, his dagger flashing. A quick slash opened a shallow cut on the boar's foreleg, dark blood staining the snow. The beast roared, slower now, its movements hampered.
"Wosh wosh"
Another cut grazed its face, then another across its hind leg. Each strike was precise, calculated to weaken without provoking reckless fury.
The boar's charges grew sluggish, its breath labored, blood pooling beneath it. Sensing the moment, Fu Yang leaped onto its back, driving his dagger deep into the base of its skull.
"Dump"
The beast collapsed with a final shudder, its massive body still in the snow.
He worked quickly, his hands steady despite the cold.He skinned the boar, peeling back its thick hide in clean, practiced motions.
The flesh he carved with equal care, separating muscle from bone, bundling both hide and meat into a makeshift sling. The weight was heavy, but his tempered body bore it without strain.
By late afternoon, Fu Yang returned to the academy, snow still clinging to his robe, the boar's hide and flesh slung over his shoulder. The training grounds were quieter now, most disciples having completed their hunts or retreated to train.
As he approached the collection point, Master Shen stood waiting, his eyes narrowing as he inspected Fu Yang's haul.
"Well done," Master Shen said, his voice gruff but approving. "A black boar, cleanly harvested. You've passed the trial."
Fu Yang bowed, his expression calm , thanking master shen for teachings and left with the reward of 3 spritual stones.