The sun had only just begun to climb over the mountain peaks when a knock came at Lu Mao's dorm door. He stirred from his light meditation, his body still humming faintly from the competition's exertion. His muscles ached, but his spirit was sharp, alive, hungering for more.
When he opened the door, Li Xian stood there, calm and composed in her flowing silver robes. Her hair shimmered in the early light, and for a brief moment, Lu Mao felt as if the world itself had paused. She did not smile, but her eyes, cool and unreadable as the surface of a lake, softened just slightly.
"Follow me," she said, her tone simple yet commanding.
Chen Yuan and Bao Fu stirred awake inside, blinking sleepily. "Eh? Senior Sister Li Xian came to get him personally?" Bao Fu rubbed his eyes in disbelief. "What kind of luck is this brat riding on?"
"Shut up and sleep," Chen Yuan muttered, though even he looked envious.
Lu Mao stepped outside, closing the door quietly behind him. His heartbeat was steady, but his mind was racing. Li Xian had never summoned him alone before. Whatever this was, it would not be simple.
They walked in silence through the winding paths of the Outer Sect, past training squares and pavilions where disciples were beginning their morning drills. Some glanced at Lu Mao with curiosity and whispers—his name had spread fast after the competition. But under Li Xian's shadow, none dared speak too loudly.
Finally, they reached a quiet bamboo grove at the edge of the city. The air was still, fresh, carrying the faint rustle of leaves. Li Xian stopped, turning to face him.
"Sit," she ordered.
Lu Mao obeyed without hesitation, folding his legs on the grassy earth. Li Xian moved gracefully, her every motion refined, as though each breath carried intent. She sat opposite him, the soft morning light catching her features—her lips pale but full, her skin porcelain-fair, her long lashes lowering as she closed her eyes.
"Do you know why I called you here?" she asked.
Lu Mao shook his head.
Her lips curved faintly, though not quite into a smile. "Because you are reckless. You fight with instinct, but instinct alone will not carry you far. You have talent, Lu Mao… but talent without cultivation is like a blade without an edge."
Her words cut cleanly. Lu Mao lowered his eyes, acknowledging the truth.
"Listen carefully." Her voice grew quieter, steadier. "What I am about to explain is the foundation of all martial cultivation—the path every cultivator must walk."
Her slender fingers traced lines in the earth as she spoke. "The Mortal Realm is the beginning—Body Tempering, Spirit Vein Opening, and Qi Condensation. You have already passed through this realm. That is why you could stand against stronger opponents."
Her eyes lifted to his, sharp and assessing. "But now comes the Spirit Ascension Realm—the Realm of Rising Flame. Martial Disciple, Spirit Apprentice, Spirit Master. This is the first true threshold. Without stepping into it, you will never leave the ground."
Lu Mao's heart thudded. He had always fought, always struggled, but hearing her recite the stages one by one grounded him, made the path feel vast yet tangible.
"Cultivation is the art of aligning your body, breath, and spirit with the world's Qi," Li Xian continued. "Watch closely."
She straightened her back, her posture flawless. Her hands rested lightly on her knees, fingers curled in a seal. Her breathing slowed, deepened, until even the faint rustle of leaves seemed to quiet in reverence.
Lu Mao watched her, at first focusing on her steady rhythm—inhale, Qi gathering; exhale, Qi dispersing. But soon, against his will, his gaze drifted. The rise and fall of her chest with each breath, the curve of her lips parting slightly, the faint glow that seemed to radiate from her skin. Her beauty was both gentle and dangerous, like a sword hidden in silk.
"Are you listening?" she asked suddenly, her eyes snapping open.
Lu Mao jolted, heat rushing to his cheeks. "Y-yes! Breathing, Qi, rhythm, I was watching—"
Her lips quirked with amusement. "Your eyes were wandering."
"I—" Lu Mao froze, caught like a thief in the act.
Li Xian let out a quiet laugh, the sound rare and delicate. "Focus, fool. Beauty fades. Cultivation endures. You'll have plenty of time to admire the flowers when you're not on the edge of death."
Lu Mao coughed awkwardly, forcing his gaze downward. "Right. Cultivation. Flowers later."
Satisfied, Li Xian closed her eyes again, resuming her demonstration. "Feel the Qi around you. Draw it in slowly. Imagine it as a flame—warm, hungry. With each breath, guide it through your meridians, nourishing them. Do not force it. If you try to seize Qi, it will resist you. But if you invite it… it will flow naturally."
Her voice was calm, but the weight behind each word settled into Lu Mao's bones.
"Your chosen scroll," she said, opening her eyes once more, "will refine this process. Practice with it, and your speed of cultivation will increase greatly. But remember—technique is only a guide. Your own understanding will decide your success."
She rose to her feet, her robe swaying lightly. "Within one month, you must reach the first stage of Spirit Ascension. Otherwise, you will fall behind. And I do not tolerate useless disciples."
Her gaze softened, almost imperceptibly. "But… I do not think you will disappoint me."
Lu Mao stood as well, bowing low. "Thank you, Senior Sister."
Her eyes lingered on him for a moment, then she turned and walked away, her silhouette fading into the bamboo grove.
Lu Mao remained there, heart pounding—not only from her words but from the warmth of her presence. For the first time, the path of cultivation felt less like a distant dream and more like a door within reach.
That night, back in the dormitory, whispers filled the air. Disciples from other residences had come to see him, whispering of his victory in the competition, his sudden rise. Bao Fu grinned like a fool, bragging on his behalf, while Chen Yuan scolded him for exaggerating. Even Yan Mei, quiet as ever, gave him a rare nod of acknowledgment.
But Lu Mao paid them little mind. He locked himself in his room, sat cross-legged, and unrolled the cultivation scroll Li Xian had mentioned.
The parchment was old, ink faded, but the words gleamed with hidden strength. As his eyes traced the characters, a strange resonance stirred in his chest.
The black-golden vein within his inner world trembled.
Lu Mao inhaled sharply, pressing his palm against his chest. The scroll seemed to hum faintly, each word digging deeper into his mind. He began to follow its instructions, aligning his breath with the method Li Xian had shown.
At first, it was simple. Inhale, guide the Qi. Exhale, release the impurities. But as he sank deeper, something shifted. His body stiffened, his veins burning as though molten gold coursed through them.
The black-golden vein thrummed louder, pulling him downward. His mind blurred. The scroll slipped from his hand and fell across his knees. His consciousness was dragged inward, into the vast darkness of his inner world.
There, the vein pulsed like a living dragon, golden and black threads intertwining endlessly. Floating in the void, golden letters appeared, inscribed in the air—the exact words of the scroll, clear and bright as fireflies.
One of the sealed vaults shuddered violently. Its door, dark and ancient, split open with a thunderous crack. The letters were sucked into it, spiraling like a storm into its endless depths.
Lu Mao gasped, clutching his chest as waves of heat and pain surged through him. His body trembled violently, every meridian stretched to its limit, veins flaring gold as if they would burst.
But this time, he did not faint. He ground his teeth, enduring.
"I won't… fall again!" he roared in his mind.
The vault sealed shut, the letters gone. And then—a surge of clarity. The scroll's method, once simple and basic, had transformed within him, rearranged and reforged by the mysterious vein. It was stronger, sharper, profound beyond his understanding.
Golden light erupted from his inner world, flooding back into his body. His veins glowed, his muscles tightened, his spirit soared. The pain melted away, replaced by a terrifying lightness.
In his inner world, more than ten vaults shook violently, their doors bursting open with echoing booms.
Lu Mao opened his eyes, sweat dripping down his face. His breathing was steady now, calm and controlled. And yet his entire being pulsed with newfound power.
He clenched his fists, feeling the energy flow smoothly through him. A wild grin spread across his face.
"So this is cultivation…"
For the first time, he felt as though he was not merely surviving, but stepping onto the path of true strength.
And deep within, the golden-black vein pulsed with quiet satisfaction.