Morning mist blanketed the valley as Wang Chung descended from the Bloodshade Peaks. His robes were torn, his sword chipped, but his eyes — calm and unyielding — burned brighter than ever. The world felt different now. Every breeze carried traces of qi he could sense, every sound reached deeper into his consciousness.
He had spent months in silence, cultivating in solitude, learning to control the Essence Tempering Art. Though he was only at the fifth level of Body Refinement, the quality of his qi far surpassed that of ordinary cultivators.
But cultivation alone couldn't feed him — nor would it bring revenge.
He needed spirit stones. He needed information. He needed strength.
So when the faint smell of roasted meat reached his nose and he saw faint smoke rising in the distance, he followed it down the mountain trail.
Before long, a small settlement came into view — Greenhill Town, a border town caught between wild mountains and low-tier cultivation clans. Dusty streets lined with wooden stalls, weary merchants calling out to sell herbs and beast pelts, and the faint chatter of wandering cultivators filled the air.
It was humble, yet to Wang Chung, it felt like another world.
He entered quietly, head lowered, avoiding unnecessary attention. He sold a few low-grade beast cores he had gathered in the mountains — enough to buy simple food, new clothes, and a small room at an inn.
That night, as he ate slowly under the dim lantern light, he listened to the gossip around him.
> "Did you hear? The Scarlet Sun Sect destroyed another small clan last month."
"Tch, serves them right for offending a mid-tier sect."
"No one dares provoke the Scarlet Sun anymore. They say their young master has already reached Foundation Establishment at eighteen!"
Wang Chung's hand froze around his cup.
The name sent a cold ripple through his soul.
Scarlet Sun Sect.
The very sect that annihilated his home — his teachers, his brothers, his dreams.
His fingers tightened until the wooden cup cracked in his grip.
He took a deep breath, forcing his expression calm again. Revenge burned like molten steel in his chest, but he knew better than to act rashly.
Not yet.
He needed time. He needed power.
The next morning, he went to the town's small market square, where rogue cultivators and traders sold pills, scrolls, and artifacts. With his keen eye, he searched through piles of worthless junk until something caught his attention — a broken jade token faintly inscribed with ancient runes.
The seller, a lazy-looking old man, grinned.
> "Heh, boy, you've got good eyes. That came from the northern ruins. Worthless to me, but maybe you can use it."
Wang Chung handed over two low-grade spirit stones and took it without a word.
That night, in his small rented room, he studied the jade. When his spiritual sense brushed against it, faint whispers echoed in his mind — voices chanting in ancient tones, runes flashing like fireflies.
The bead within his soul stirred, pulsing in response.
Suddenly, the whispers turned clearer:
> "The heavens forge stars, the soul forges fate… those who temper essence must temper the heart."
His mind trembled. The jade token wasn't just ancient — it contained the second layer of the Essence Tempering Art.
He couldn't help but smile faintly. Fate, it seemed, was still watching him.
But just as he began to meditate, a shadow flickered outside his window.
His instincts screamed.
He moved instantly — rolling aside just as a blade pierced through the wall, inches from where his neck had been.
Three figures burst in through the window — cultivators in crimson robes embroidered with the symbol of a burning sun.
Scarlet Sun Sect disciples.
> "You," the lead one sneered, his aura sharp and proud. "We sensed an unfamiliar qi in this town. Hand over your treasures and we might spare your life."
Wang Chung stood, silent. His expression didn't change, but his hand slowly reached for his sword.
> "Scarlet Sun Sect…" he murmured, his voice low and steady. "So it begins."
The disciples laughed, mistaking his calm for fear.
Then the room filled with killing intent.
The bead within his soul pulsed once — and the air trembled.
When the first sword strike came, Wang Chung moved like a shadow.
A streak of silver.
A whisper of breath.
A life extinguished.
The first disciple's body hit the floor before the others realized what had happened.