Fu Yang's footsteps echoed softly on the snow-dusted path as he turned from the collection point, the three spiritual stones a subtle weight in his robe's inner pocket.
His mind, however, was already weaving plans far beyond the moment.
A voice, gruff yet insistent, cut through the chill air. "Fu Yang! Hold a moment."
He paused, turning toward the sound.
From the shadows of the academy's stone archway emerged Master Wan, his gray robes fluttering in the wind, his face etched with the weariness of an elder whose prime had long faded.
Master Wan was no towering figure like Master Shen—his cultivation lingered at the initial stage of the Flesh Forging Realm, his influence within the Nian Academy waning.
Yet Fu Yang's eyes sharpened beneath his calm facade, sensing opportunity.
"Yes, Master Wan?" Fu Yang asked, his voice laced with respectful deference.
Master Wan studied him, his gaze lingering on the boy's unblemished skin and the subtle aura of tempered qi. "You've done well in the trials, boy. A black boar, slain alone. Not many external disciples achieve such feats at your age."
He paused, stroking his thin white beard. "I've watched you—solitary, determined, sharp. But the path of cultivation is harsh for those without guidance or resources.
Fu Yang, I'll not waste your time. How would you like to become my disciple?"
Fu Yang's lips curved into a smile as he bowed his head low, the picture of grateful.
"mmmm, I believe you may have heard," Master Wan continued, "that in this academy, a teacher like me can take disciples, impart their own knowledge, and support their growth."
"You are an inner disciple now, Fu Yang, but a title alone changes nothing." Master Wan's voice carried a hint of pride as he straightened.
"I hail from the mighty Wan Clan." He laughed, head held high. "I'll teach you the Wan Clan's secret arts and techniques, elevating your reputation within the academy. Resources? I'll provide spiritual stones and access to my private library. With my guidance, you'll rise faster than any other disciple could dream."
Fu Yang's heart stirred—not with gratitude, but with the cold thrill of a scheme unfolding as he had predicted.
In his past life's memories, he knew Master Wan had approached every inner disciple, only to be rejected. Disciples like Cin Yan and Sha Tian, arrogant in their talent, had scoffed at him, questioning what a mere Flesh Forging cultivator could teach them. They had already secured the favor of Master Shen, a far stronger master, which fueled Master Wan's jealousy.
Desperate for a disciple, he had eventually taken an external student, Chen Hua, pouring all his knowledge and treasures into her. On his deathbed, he had even entrusted her with secret knowledge stolen from his clan—knowledge useless to him but valuable to another.
Fu Yang had orchestrated this moment perfectly. By excelling in the trials and also providing information of the Wan Clan's prestige, he had crafted a reputation in Master Wan's mind: a solitary, desperate youth, skilled enough to intrigue yet humble enough to accept guidance.
A flood of benefits for minimal cost—he could almost laugh at the simplicity of it.
His eyes gleamed with feigned youthful eagerness as he bowed deeply, forehead nearly brushing the snow. "This disciple accepts with profound gratitude, Master. Your wisdom will be my foundation. I… I thought no one would accept me. Thank you." Tears welled in his eyes, perfectly staged.
Master Wan's expression softened, memories of his own rejections by prouder disciples surfacing.
"Good, good. Rise, my boy." Inwardly, he exulted. (The others? Too proud, too entangled in their cliques humph. But this Fu Yang—he's disciplined, like I was in my youth. He's better than them all.)
"Come," Master Wan said, gesturing toward his secluded courtyard. "We'll begin at once. I know your cultivation lags behind others, but fear not—I am here. You may ask me anything."
As they walked, Fu Yang's mind raced. This was no bond of master and pupil to him, but a wellspring of protection and resources. They reached the courtyard, newly built and blanketed in snow. Inside, the room was sparse, filled only with stacks of documents, manuals, and a small bed.
Master Wan sat upon it, unmindful of its simplicity, and gestured for Fu Yang to sit on the floor.
He began to speak of cultivation, his voice steady as he described the path beyond the Spirit Vein Realm.
"Yes, there are realms beyond, but for now, focus on your cultivation and trials. This knowledge may overwhelm a youth like you, but remember: this world shows no mercy, even to a child."
"Thank you for your teachings, Master," Fu Yang replied, his voice soft but resolute.
Master Wan nodded. "Return here in a week, and I'll impart more knowledge. For now, take this."
He tossed a token toward Fu Yang, who caught it deftly. "This bears my name and marks you as my disciple. Do not lose it."
"Thank you, Master," Fu Yang said once more, bowing before taking his leave to rest.
As he departed, his heart thrummed with quiet triumph. The token in his hand was not just a symbol—it was the key to Master Wan's resources, his knowledge, and the secrets of the Wan Clan.
It was already late evening, and the coldness was now increasing as night approached so he went back into his room and ate some left over starting his cultivation again.