Three months passed. The forest that once hid Wang Chung from the world had become both his home and his battlefield. Every scar on his body told a story — of hunger, of beast hunts, of relentless cultivation.
Under the gray dawn sky, he stood before the forest's edge. The wind swept through his tattered robes, and the faint light of dawn caught the cold glint in his eyes.
He had decided — it was time to leave.
The purified chi from the bead had made his cultivation steady, but without a proper technique, he was walking in the dark. The world beyond held countless dangers, but also… countless opportunities.
> "If I want to grow stronger, I can't stay here," he murmured. "Resources, techniques, treasures — they're all out there."
The bead within his soul pulsed faintly, as if agreeing.
---
The road beyond the forest led him to the outskirts of Qingmu Town, a small settlement known as a trading point for rogue cultivators and wandering merchants. Wang Chung kept his hood low as he entered the crowded streets, the scent of incense and beast blood thick in the air.
Stalls lined the market — spiritual herbs, beast bones, talismans, and even low-grade spirit stones. But his eyes were drawn to one thing: an old man sitting cross-legged by a dusty stall, a torn scroll laid before him.
> "Boy," the old man said, his eyes sharp despite his frail appearance. "You've got the look of someone seeking power."
Wang Chung froze. "I'm only looking," he said, keeping his tone calm.
The old man chuckled. "Then look closely. This technique was found in the ruins of the Scarlet Valley Sect. A basic foundation art, but pure and steady. Perfect for someone just beginning their path."
Wang Chung hesitated. His pouch only contained a few low-tier herbs — hardly enough for trade.
> "What do you want for it?"
> "One drop of beast blood essence," the old man replied instantly.
Wang Chung thought of the beast blood he'd carefully saved, the essence of a mid-grade Iron Fang Wolf. It was his only valuable item — but he needed this scroll more.
He nodded and handed it over.
The old man smiled faintly, passing him the scroll. "Remember this, boy — the world of cultivation feeds on the desperate. Only the ruthless survive."
---
That night, beneath the quiet glow of a lantern, Wang Chung unrolled the scroll.
"Essence Flow Art."
A low-tier foundation technique — crude, incomplete, yet profound in its simplicity. It focused on circulating energy through the body's meridians to purify and stabilize the dantian.
When he began cultivating it, the mysterious bead inside him stirred slightly. It resonated faintly with the technique, purifying the chi further. The two energies — the technique's flow and the bead's refinement — began to merge naturally.
Hours passed.
Then, as dawn arrived—
Boom!
A surge of clean, vibrant energy coursed through his body. His cultivation rose sharply — from the third to the fifth level of Body Tempering Realm in one night.
Wang Chung opened his eyes, his expression unreadable.
> "So this is the path… I'll make my own fate, one realm at a time."
But just as he stood, a sharp sound echoed from outside — the unmistakable clash of swords and screams.
He frowned. "Trouble?"
Peering through the window, he saw several armored cultivators bearing the Scarlet Flame Sect insignia dragging a bloodied youth through the street. The name alone froze his breath.
The Scarlet Flame Sect — the very ones who had destroyed his home.
His eyes darkened. His hand clenched into a fist until it bled.
> "It begins… now."
The bead pulsed within his soul — slow, steady, almost as if awakening.