Zhao Yan's eyes widened as he finally got a closer look at his savior.
The figure was draped in black robes, a mask concealing his face, his frame slim and agile.
The voice that drifted out from behind the mask carried a youthful tone—childlike almost—but Zhao Yan could tell this young man was still older than him.
The wolf, however, didn't linger. It growled low, its golden eyes flicking one last time toward Zhao Yan as if marking him for later.
Then, with heavy steps that shook the earth, the beast turned and melted back into the forest shadows.
The masked youth remained calm, watching until the monster's presence fully disappeared. Only then did he move.
With a light step, he leapt from the massive sword's hilt, landing on the earth as if descending onto soft grass. Not a sound betrayed his weight—just the steady, measured rhythm of his footsteps.
And then, the sword disappeared into his sleeve.
He walked toward Zhao Yan and spoke gently. "Mr. Beggar, are you unharmed?"
Hearing those words, Zhao Yan felt warmth rise in his chest.
In that moment, this masked youth seemed almost radiant, far more pleasing to the eye than any elder he had met in Kunlun Sect.
Bowing his head slightly, Zhao Yan said with earnest respect, "Immortal Master, thank you for saving my life."
The young man tilted his head at the title, visibly surprised.
For a brief moment, silence lingered, then he gave a soft laugh and shook his head.
"Immortal Master? Hardly. I'm no such figure."
"I am just a rogue cultivator, lucky enough to stumble upon an inheritance that granted me some strength." His tone carried humility, unforced and genuine.
"Call me Senior. That will do."
Zhao Yan was taken aback by the young man's composure.
Bowing his head slightly, he said, "Senior, I am deeply grateful for your help."
He hesitated, wanting to voice another thought, but the young man spoke first.
"If you're heading to Cloud City, just keep walking north along this path." He raised his hand, pointing toward the distant horizon.
Zhao Yan nodded, then gathered his courage.
"Senior, I was hoping to join a sect. That's the reason I've been traveling so far from home. Could you perhaps give me some guidance?"
The young man's brow furrowed at the request. His voice was quiet, yet edged with a hint of thought.
"Joining a sect, is it?"
For a moment, his gaze flickered with something unreadable before he said, almost to himself, "We… were considering the Heavenly Sword Sect."
His words trailed into a murmur, and after a small cough, he quickly added, "Forget I mentioned that."
Still, he continued, though more firmly this time.
"If you head south, you'll reach Florence City after about twenty miles."
"In three days, the Heavenly Sword Sect will be recruiting there. That's your best chance. But the road isn't without risk. A bandit stronghold lies between here and Florence city. The journey will be dangerous."
He glanced at Zhao Yan one last time.
"Travel with others if you can. With luck and rest, you should reach Florence city in two days—provided you avoid the bandits."
Without waiting for a reply, the young man turned and sprinted ahead, vanishing down the road as though he had already said too much.
Zhao Yan watched the young man's figure grow smaller until it disappeared into the distance.
A faint breath of relief escaped his lips as he murmured, "There are still good people in this world."
His thoughts drifted back to the children of the Kunlun Sect, and then to this youth who had just helped him.
The difference between them felt like heaven and earth—no comparison could be made.
Turning toward the direction the young man had pointed, Zhao Yan's eyes settled on the southern road.
"If someone as powerful as him is set on joining the Heavenly Sword Sect," he whispered to himself, "then perhaps that sect truly stands above all others."
But the thought soured quickly, weighed down by the nature of his system. His expression tightened, and he forced a small, bitter smile.
"It doesn't matter," he muttered under his breath, steadying his mind.
"First, I should raise the proficiency of the Phantom Step Technique."
"With that, I'll be able to travel longer distances."
His gaze flicked around the quiet wilderness. No shadows lurked, no cultivators revealed themselves.
"If no one from the sect has shown up… and even that young man noticed nothing, then maybe there really isn't anyone trailing me."
Resolute, he made a choice.
With a thought, his finger clicked the glowing (+) beside the Phantom Step Technique.
In an instant, his consciousness flooded with knowledge—movements, steps, and rhythms of the body.
It was as though he had drilled the technique for countless years.
His muscles responded instinctively, his breath aligning with unseen currents, and within him, a faint but undeniable energy stirred to life.
Zhao Yan froze as a subtle current stirred within him, threading through his veins like liquid light.
His breath caught, and he whispered in disbelief, "This… this is Spiritual Energy."
In that instant, understanding bloomed.
Spiritual energy was not the same as Qi. Only when refined to its utmost could it transform into Qi.
But the spiritual energy had to be slowly stored, nurtured within one's body.
His revelation was interrupted by a low, hollow growl.
His stomach protested, loud and empty, and the truth struck him with clarity.
"So that's it… the energy within me has been converted into spiritual energy," he murmured, half in wonder, half in realization.
Testing his body, Zhao Yan bent his knees and leapt.
The ground blurred beneath him as he sailed more than three meters in a single bound, landing lightly, though slightly off balance.
His eyes widened, then a laugh burst from him, raw and unrestrained. "Hahaha!"
Joy surged through him, washing away fatigue and hunger alike.
He leapt again, and again, each jump carrying him farther south, his movements brimming with exhilaration.
For the moment, he even forgot the gnawing emptiness in his stomach, carried forward only by the thrill of newfound power.