The steam still clung faintly to his skin as Mo Lingxuan stepped out from the bathhouse, his hair damp and loose over his shoulders. For the first time since waking in this strange new life, his body no longer felt like it was on the verge of collapse.
He inhaled deeply, the morning air cool against his lungs. A sense of clarity washed over him.
"…This feels different," he murmured. "I feel… refreshed."
The days of weakness, of lying helpless on that narrow bed, weighed heavily on his memory. He had been too frail to even stand, let alone fight or cultivate. But now, after rest and recovery, strength had begun to return—faint, but undeniable.
Lingxuan clenched his fists. His bones still ached, his muscles thin and underused, but his spirit surged.
"This time," he whispered, his voice firm, "I won't waste this body. I'll train. I'll grow stronger. No more laziness."
Without delay, he returned to his quarters, cleared the wooden floor, and stood in the center. His heart beat with determination.
He didn't know the exact training regimens of cultivators yet, but one truth remained universal: a weak body could not bear great strength. If he wanted to withstand cultivation, his foundation had to be solid.
He began with the simplest—push-ups.
Dropping to the ground, he pressed his palms flat and lowered his chest. His arms shook almost immediately. This body was pathetic; the muscles were soft, brittle, long accustomed to indulgence and idleness. By the fifth push-up, sweat already coated his brow. By the tenth, his arms collapsed beneath him.
Lingxuan lay flat on the floor, panting heavily.
"Only ten? That's… miserable."
But instead of despair, a fire sparked in his chest. He grit his teeth, rolled back up, and tried again.
Next, he squatted low, back straight, and rose on trembling legs. The burn spread through his thighs, sharp and relentless, but he endured. Again and again, until his legs gave way and he collapsed onto the floorboards.
Not enough. He forced himself up once more, staggering outside into the courtyard.
There, he found a pair of heavy water buckets left by outer disciples. Without asking, he seized them—each sloshing full and straining against his thin arms.
The weight dragged his shoulders low, his spine screaming in protest. He staggered a few steps, then another, teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached. Every muscle trembled, his breath ragged, but he refused to stop.
Step by step, he carried the buckets across the courtyard and back. By the end, his arms were numb, his vision swimming. He dropped the buckets with a gasp, his chest heaving.
"Damn… it feels like my whole body is on fire."
He collapsed onto the ground, sweat pouring down his skin. His hands shook violently, his legs barely responding. Every nerve screamed for rest.
And yet—beneath the pain, he felt something else.
His blood coursed faster, his heart thundered powerfully in his chest. Heat spread through his limbs, dull but steady, as if the weakness was slowly being burned away.
Lingxuan laughed breathlessly, rolling onto his back to stare at the morning sky.
"This… this is what it means to push myself. I can feel it. My body… it's changing."
He wiped the sweat from his brow, eyes gleaming with determination.
"Before, you wasted this body on arrogance and idleness, Mo Lingxuan. But now… I'll forge it anew."
The path would be long, painful, and merciless. But Shen Yuhan, in Mo Lingxuan's skin, was ready.
For the first time in his life—both old and new—he had taken a real step toward strength.
The sun had climbed higher, casting warm light over the courtyard, yet Mo Lingxuan barely noticed. Sweat drenched his hair and robes, clinging to his skin like a second layer. His arms trembled violently, legs quivering with each squat, and every muscle in his body screamed for rest.
But he did not stop.
"Not yet… not enough," he muttered through gritted teeth.
After yesterday's modest session, he realized how feeble this body truly was. Every push, every pull, every lift revealed weakness he had never felt in the modern world. Even the simplest movements—raising a water bucket, swinging a wooden sword—left him drained within moments.
He began again with push-ups, forcing himself past the point of comfort. One, two, three… his arms shook violently. By the twentieth, he collapsed onto the warm ground, gasping. Yet he forced his chest up again, each repetition heavier than the last, until his forearms burned as if aflame.
Next came squats. His legs wobbled beneath him, every lift threatening collapse. By the fiftieth squat, tears stung his eyes from sheer exertion. Every fiber of his being screamed to quit. Every instinct told him to stop.
But Lingxuan ignored them.
He grabbed a pair of water buckets again—twice the weight of yesterday's—and forced them over his shoulders. The strain drove his legs into trembling arcs, his back bent under the load, sweat streaming down his face and soaking the hem of his robes. Step by step, he marched across the courtyard, each step a battle.
Finally, he dropped the buckets with a wet thud, gasping for air as his knees buckled beneath him. He sank to the ground, chest heaving, sweat pouring down every inch of skin. His arms shook uncontrollably, legs quivering, his body on the brink of collapse.
And then, he smiled.
"This… this is it," he whispered, voice raw but steady. "I've reached my limit… and beyond it."
He had given everything, leaving no ounce of strength unused. Pain surged through him like fire, yet beneath it, a small spark of something new flickered. His muscles, exhausted and battered, ached—but they had felt alive for the first time. Each heartbeat resonated like a drum, each breath a wave of vitality returning.
Lingxuan lay sprawled on the courtyard floor, staring up at the sky. The clouds drifted lazily, indifferent to the struggle below. Yet, beneath the exhaustion, his mind was clear.
"Before, I wasted this body… squandered it on laziness and arrogance. But now…" He clenched his fists weakly, a small grin forming despite the pain. "Now, it will serve me. Every drop of sweat, every aching muscle—it's mine. And I'll push further tomorrow."
For the first time, he felt the power of potential. The body that had been frail and idle for so long had begun to respond. Though slow, though limited, the path to strength had begun—and he had crossed the first threshold.
Lingxuan slowly rose to his feet, knees shaking but determination unwavering. He staggered to the small stream nearby, splashing cold water over his face, watching as droplets slid down pale skin and tangled hair.
"This is only the beginning," he said softly. "I will become strong. Not for glory. Not for fame. But for peace. For myself."
Even as his body trembled from exhaustion, even as his arms and legs felt like lead, a quiet exhilaration filled him. For the first time, he truly felt alive in this strange new world.
Tomorrow, he would push further. And the day after, even further still.
The journey of cultivation might be long, brutal, and merciless—but Mo Lingxuan had already taken the first real step. And this time, he would not waste a single one.
Morning mist clung to the peaks surrounding the Azure Cloud Sect, curling and twisting around jagged rocks like ethereal snakes. Mo Lingxuan had climbed alone to one of the higher plateaus, the effort leaving his lungs burning and muscles quivering. Yet the exhaustion felt different from yesterday. It was purposeful, alive.
He knelt at the edge of a cliff, the wind tugging at his long hair. The world stretched endlessly beneath him: rolling forests, distant rivers, and the sect buildings far below. Here, away from the curious eyes of other disciples, he could focus.
"Alright…" he murmured, placing his palms flat on the cold stone. "Time to try… cultivation."
He remembered the basics from the novel: draw in energy from the air, focus it through the dantian, let it flow through the meridians. Simple in theory—but reality was never so easy.
Lingxuan inhaled deeply. The wind rushed past his face, carrying the faint hum of spiritual energy. He closed his eyes, lowering his mind into a quiet, empty state. His body tensed, then relaxed, and he reached inward, stretching his awareness to the surrounding energy.
At first… nothing.
A faint itch in his limbs. A flicker of warmth along his forearm. A heartbeat, erratic and weak. Then, gradually, a thin, silvery thread of qi brushed against his consciousness. Lingxuan's eyes shot open.
"It's… real."
He inhaled again, guiding the fragile energy into his dantian. It flowed clumsily, like water through a cracked vessel, but it flowed. He gritted his teeth, focusing harder, letting every cell in his body respond. Sweat poured down his brow, his arms trembled, and the sun beat down mercilessly.
Hours passed—or maybe minutes; time felt fluid here. He lost track of exhaustion, losing himself in the rhythm of breathing, drawing, guiding. Each pulse of qi left him both weak and invigorated. For the first time, he could feel power entering his body, responding to his will.
From a distance, hidden behind a ridge, the old master of the Azure Cloud Sect watched. His eyes, sharp and discerning, followed the young disciple with careful attention.
Mo Lingxuan… once lazy, once careless, now kneeling on the mountaintop, sweat dripping from his hair and robes, moving with determination. Every movement precise, every inhalation measured.
A smile tugged at the master's lips. The boy who had once been a thorn in his side, always shirking training and shirking responsibility, had changed. Slowly, steadily, he had begun walking the path of cultivation—not out of obligation, but out of desire.
So, he has begun… the master thought, pride swelling quietly in his chest. The one I once thought wasted may yet reach potential.
Lingxuan continued, unaware of the gaze upon him. He guided the qi deeper, feeling it press and expand along his meridians. The warmth spread through his chest, down his arms, and into his legs. His body still trembled from exertion, yet he grinned through the strain.
"This… is amazing," he whispered to himself. "I can feel it. I can cultivate. This… this world isn't just for the heroes in novels. I can exist here. I can grow stronger… for peace."
The old master finally turned away from his hidden perch, shaking his head with a quiet chuckle.
"Heh… a lazy boy once, now a hard worker," he muttered. "Perhaps he will surprise me yet."
Lingxuan had no idea that he had an unseen audience. His focus was absolute, his mind clear, and for the first time, he felt that he truly belonged in this world—not as a minor character, not as someone forgotten, but as someone starting his own path toward strength.
The mountain wind whipped past, and the clouds drifted lazily around the peaks. A lone figure knelt on the stone, guiding the subtle flow of energy into his frail-but-determined body, unaware that a new chapter of his life had officially begun.
The sun had barely risen, but Mo Lingxuan was already on the mountaintop, robes damp with sweat from the morning climb. His muscles ached from yesterday's exertion, but the pain was now familiar—an echo of effort that told him he was alive and moving forward.
He began the day with basic physical conditioning. Push-ups, squats, and lunges filled the early hours, each repetition leaving him trembling. By mid-morning, he had dragged heavy water buckets along the cliff edge, muscles burning as he forced every fiber to respond. Even as his body threatened to collapse, he pushed himself further, repeating the exercises until his arms and legs felt like lead.
Next came flexibility and endurance drills. Lingxuan climbed jagged rocks, leaping over gaps between ledges, holding himself up with raw strength and sheer will. He swung his arms in wide arcs, practicing balance and coordination, feeling the strain in every joint. Every fall, every stumble, only reinforced his determination. Pain had become a companion, not a hindrance.
By noon, Lingxuan paused briefly to drink from a nearby stream, catching his breath as his chest heaved. Then he moved on to meditation, sitting cross-legged on the cliff's edge. Closing his eyes, he reached inward, focusing on the faint qi surrounding him.
At first, it was erratic—slipping through his awareness like water between fingers. His body, still weak from years of neglect, could barely channel the energy. His dantian throbbed painfully, and sweat poured down his face.
But Shen Yuhan's mind inside Lingxuan was patient. He remembered how cultivators in the novel practiced tirelessly, how every master had once been a student who failed repeatedly.
"Inhale… guide it through my arms… legs… dantian… steady…" he whispered, mentally mapping the flow. Slowly, the energy began to obey, threading through his meridians, pulsing like a river finding its course.
Hours passed. Sunlight shifted across the peaks. Lingxuan alternated between physical training and cultivation exercises, letting the two complement each other. Push-ups strengthened his chest to carry qi; squats built legs that could anchor energy flows; climbing and leaping sharpened his reflexes and body awareness.
By evening, his body was drenched in sweat, exhausted to the bone. His muscles trembled violently with fatigue, his hands numb, his lungs burning from exertion. And yet, he smiled.
"I've never worked this hard in my life," he admitted breathlessly, wiping sweat from his brow. "But… it feels right. Every ache… every burn… it's progress."
He sat at the cliff's edge, staring at the setting sun. The faint flow of qi pulsed through him now, smoother than before, more responsive. His limbs ached, but he could feel strength growing steadily beneath the fatigue.
"Tomorrow…" he whispered, "I'll go further. I'll push harder. Every day, a little stronger. Every day, closer to peace."
The mountaintop fell silent except for the wind. Clouds drifted lazily, indifferent to human struggles. But Mo Lingxuan, kneeling among the stones, had tasted the first real satisfaction of effort.
He had endured one full day of grueling training—and lived to see it as the beginning of a new self.
In the distance, birds circled, the sky turning shades of orange and gold. Lingxuan's chest rose and fell steadily, a body exhausted but alive, a heart determined, a mind unyielding. The first day was complete.
And though invisible to him, a pair of eyes on the lower slopes of the mountain observed silently, approvingly, as the once-lazy disciple began the slow climb to his true potential.
The morning sun hit the mountaintop directly, yet Mo Lingxuan didn't flinch. Sweat already glistened on his skin as he dropped to the stone floor, hands planted firmly.
One… two… three… he moved with steady rhythm, muscles flexing and responding to the effort.
Push-ups.
By the end of the first minute, his arms were trembling, chest burning, but he pressed on. Forty… forty-five… finally, fifty push-ups in two minutes. He collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air, sweat soaking his hair and robes.
Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He had done it. After countless repetitions, after hours of pain and struggle, he could now perform fifty push-ups in two minutes.
"This… this is real," he whispered hoarsely, staring at the ground. His hands, still trembling, traced the contours of his chest and arms. For the first time, he could see the muscles beneath his skin. The soft, frail body of Mo Lingxuan was gone, replaced by a form stronger and more resilient.
He flexed experimentally, watching the curves of newly-formed muscles ripple with each movement. Even his back and legs, honed by squats and climbs, had begun to show the signs of strength.
And then he felt it—the qi.
A subtle warmth, like a gentle current, flowed smoothly through his meridians. Not much, but enough to signal progress. For the first time, the chaotic, flickering energy that had initially resisted his guidance now moved with a quiet obedience, responding to his thoughts and breath.
Lingxuan's lips curved in a small, unrestrained smile. He didn't sigh, didn't whisper about peace or quiet living. That phase had passed. Now, there was only training, effort, and improvement.
He rose slowly to his feet, body trembling but stable. Droplets of sweat slid down defined muscles, his posture confident, shoulders broad, stance steady. The once-weak body had become a canvas of effort, painted with the hours of relentless labor.
No longer did he speak of being a peaceful side character. That desire, once fragile and wistful, had been replaced by determination.
He began a new round of exercises without pause: push-ups, squats, weighted carries, cliff climbing, and meditation to guide the qi. Every movement precise, every breath controlled. His mind focused solely on strength, every thought channeled toward one goal: becoming powerful enough to protect his own path.
The hours passed like minutes. Sunlight shifted from morning gold to the pale hues of afternoon. The wind tugged at his hair, and sweat streaked across his skin, but Mo Lingxuan didn't slow.
Not for fear. Not for others. Not for a distant dream of peace.
He trained for himself.
Each push, each lift, each controlled breath of qi was a promise: he would not remain weak. He would not be remembered as a lazy or foolish disciple. He would forge himself into something formidable.
By the time the sun began to dip toward the horizon, Mo Lingxuan stood alone on the mountaintop, muscles taut, qi flowing, every inch of him a testament to perseverance.
He did not speak. He did not sigh. He simply stared at the endless sky, flexing his arms experimentally, feeling the warmth of his inner energy ripple through his now-strong body.
And somewhere below, unseen by him, the sect elders and disciples continued to watch, quietly impressed by the transformation of the once-lazy, insignificant boy.
For Mo Lingxuan, the first real chapter of his cultivation had ended. And the path ahead—long, harsh, and merciless—awaited.
But he would meet it not as a weak side character, not as someone hoping for peace, but as a warrior forging his own destiny.
The sun had begun its descent, painting the mountaintop in warm orange and gold. Mo Lingxuan's body was drenched in sweat, every muscle aching, yet his spirit remained sharp and unwavering. His push-ups, squats, climbing, and qi exercises had strengthened him beyond recognition in just a few days.
He wiped his brow, flexing his arms experimentally, feeling the subtle flow of qi through his meridians. It was still weak, still unrefined, but it responded.
Lingxuan inhaled deeply, letting the cool mountain air fill his lungs. His eyes, sharp and focused, scanned the horizon.
"…I need to take the next step," he muttered to himself. "Physical strength alone isn't enough. If I want true power, I must cultivate properly."
He turned toward the lower slopes of the mountain, where the Azure Cloud Sect's elders often walked. With steady steps, he descended, muscles sore but obedient to his will. Soon, he found the familiar figure of his master, quietly observing the students practicing in the courtyard below.
Lingxuan approached, kneeling respectfully. "Master," he said firmly, "I have trained my body and begun to stabilize my qi. I… I wish to learn proper cultivation techniques. Please… teach me."
The elder's sharp eyes widened briefly, then softened. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He had watched Mo Lingxuan for years—once a lazy, arrogant boy who avoided training whenever possible, now standing before him, earnest, focused, and determined.
"You… you wish to learn?" the master asked, his tone calm but carrying an unmistakable warmth.
Lingxuan nodded. "Yes, Master. I am ready. I will give everything I have."
The elder chuckled softly, his gaze drifting upward toward the mountaintop Lingxuan had just descended. "I have waited for this moment. The boy who once shirked all training now comes to me, asking to cultivate. Very well. I will teach you."
A glimmer of pride shone in the master's eyes. He had long known that potential lay dormant in Lingxuan, but it had been clouded by laziness and arrogance. Now, with the boy's determination burning brighter than ever, the master felt a rare excitement.
"You will need patience, perseverance, and discipline," the master said, stepping closer. "The path of cultivation is harsh. You will face pain, frustration, and limits you never imagined. But if you endure, you will grow stronger than you ever dreamed."
Lingxuan bowed deeply, determination radiating from his every movement. "I understand, Master. I will endure. I will not falter."
The elder nodded, a proud glint in his eyes. "Very well. From tomorrow, I will guide you. I am eager to see how far you will advance, Mo Lingxuan. The boy who once wasted his talent may yet become a force worthy of the Azure Cloud Sect."
Lingxuan rose, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders. The first step of true cultivation—under the guidance of a master—was about to begin. No more idle training. No more half-hearted attempts.
From this moment on, every ounce of strength, every drop of sweat, and every beat of his heart would serve a single purpose: to grow stronger, and to carve his own path in this world.
The master watched silently as Lingxuan turned and climbed back toward the mountaintop, muscles flexing, qi flowing steadily through his body. He would return tomorrow, ready to begin the most important journey of his life: the path of cultivation under a true teacher's guidance.
And in that quiet moment, both teacher and disciple understood something clearly—this boy, once insignificant and lazy, had only just begun to awaken.
The morning wind swept across the Azure Cloud Sect's training grounds, rustling the robes of Mo Lingxuan as he knelt before his master. His muscles still ached from previous days of self-training, but his gaze remained sharp, unwavering.
"Mo Lingxuan," the master said, voice firm yet calm, "if you truly wish to cultivate, you must first endure the foundation of the body. Strength alone will not suffice, but without it, your qi will falter. Today, I will push you beyond every limit you have known."
Lingxuan bowed deeply. "Yes, Master. I am ready."
The master gestured toward the courtyard. "First, fifty push-ups. But this time, each push-up must be performed with full force, palms gripping the stone as though it were the heavens themselves. Let your arms burn, let your chest scream!"
Lingxuan dropped to the ground, feeling the familiar strain in his arms. Every repetition made his muscles tremble violently, but he pressed on, forcing his body past fatigue, past weakness, past the voice that begged him to stop.
"Good," the master said after Lingxuan struggled through the last push-up, sweat streaming down his face. "Now squats—one hundred. Lower yourself until your thighs burn, then rise with strength that will defy your pain. Push until your legs feel like they will shatter. Only then will they serve as pillars for your cultivation."
His legs quivered with each rise, every movement a battle against exhaustion. Pain screamed in his knees and thighs, but he did not relent. He had faced weaker challenges before, but under his master's watchful eye, every muscle and fiber of his body was tested to the extreme.
"Weighted carries next," the master continued, placing two large water buckets in Lingxuan's trembling hands. "Carry these across the courtyard and back. Your arms, your back, your stamina—every part must obey your will. Only then can you control the flow of qi properly."
Lingxuan staggered under the weight, sweat pouring down his face and body. Step by step, he marched across the stones, legs shaking, shoulders screaming in protest. But each repetition strengthened him, forging both body and will.
The master observed silently, a glint of pride in his eyes. "Do not complain. Do not pause. Pain is your teacher, weakness your adversary. Only through suffering will your body become worthy of qi, and only then will your cultivation flourish."
Hours passed like minutes. Push-ups, squats, carries, and climbing exercises blurred together into an unrelenting cycle of strength and endurance. Every time Lingxuan felt he could not continue, his master's words drove him forward: "Endure. Persist. Surpass yourself."
Finally, as the sun began to dip behind distant peaks, Lingxuan collapsed on the ground, muscles trembling uncontrollably, chest heaving with exhaustion. His body was drenched in sweat, every joint aching, yet a small smile tugged at his lips.
"This… this is nothing like before," he whispered, voice hoarse. "It burns… but it feels right. I… I'm finally training properly."
The master nodded approvingly. "Good. Today is only the beginning. From now on, every day will be harder. Every day will test your limits. Only those who endure will grow. Remember, Mo Lingxuan—strength is not given, it is earned."
Lingxuan clenched his fists, body exhausted yet spirit ablaze. Pain, fatigue, and burning muscles were nothing more than steps on a long path—one he was now determined to walk with every ounce of himself.
The next morning, the air was crisp atop the Azure Cloud Sect's highest training plateau. Mist curled around the peaks, and sunlight pierced through in thin golden beams. Mo Lingxuan stood at the center, body still sore from the master's grueling physical training the day before.
"Today," the master said, voice calm but commanding, "you will begin to cultivate your qi properly. Remember, your body is the vessel. Your mind is the guide. Only when both obey can energy flow freely."
Lingxuan nodded, determination burning in his eyes. "Yes, Master. I will follow your instructions."
He sat cross-legged, closing his eyes. The master's voice guided him: "Focus inward. Empty your mind. Sense the qi around you. Let it drift toward your dantian, do not force it, let it come naturally."
At first, Lingxuan felt nothing. His mind was scattered, his breathing uneven. The qi seemed to evade him, slipping like water through fingers. His body, though stronger now, felt awkward controlling energy it had never truly known.
"Concentrate," the master instructed, stepping beside him. "Do not let impatience ruin your flow. Control is born of patience, not desire."
Lingxuan inhaled deeply, closing his eyes tighter, guiding every thought to a single point. Slowly, a faint warmth brushed against his consciousness. It was weak, barely perceptible, but unmistakable. His dantian tingled lightly.
"Good," the master nodded. "Feel it, do not fight it. Let it travel along your meridians. Sense the blockages, the weak points, and let the energy carve a path."
Lingxuan's body trembled as he focused. The qi flowed clumsily at first, jerky and uneven, but he adapted. Each breath coordinated with the energy, every pulse of his heart directing its movement. He could feel the meridians opening, subtle sparks of power flowing steadily, if only for a moment.
Hours passed. His muscles ached, his mind strained, and sweat poured down his face and robes. Yet he persisted. Each time the qi slipped or dispersed, he tried again. Each failure sharpened his focus, and slowly, the energy began to respond more fluidly.
Finally, the master clapped lightly, startling Lingxuan. "Enough for today," he said, eyes shining with approval. "Do you feel it?"
Lingxuan opened his eyes, chest heaving, and nodded. "Yes… I can feel it. A little… steady now."
The master smiled. "That little is everything for a beginner. You have struggled, you have endured, and now you have touched the path. Remember this feeling. Cherish it. Tomorrow, we will push further. Your progress will be slow, but steady, and that is the foundation of true cultivation."
Lingxuan's lips curved into a small smile. He could feel the qi now, not just fleetingly, but as a current under his command, however slight. It was exhilarating, humbling, and motivating all at once.
The path ahead would be long and merciless, but for the first time, he felt that he was truly starting to cultivate, not as a side character drifting aimlessly, but as someone shaping his own strength, his own destiny.