The side entrance led not to another grand hall, but to a private walkway that hugged the cliff face of the Main Peak. Below, clouds drifted like lazy rivers, obscuring the lower peaks and valleys. The path was lined with whispering spirit bamboo, their leaves clattering softly in the high-altitude breeze, a sound that seemed to swallow all echoes. Here, the imposing aura of the Audience Pavilion faded, replaced by a profound, almost lonely tranquility.
Patriarch Yun Hai walked ahead, his hands clasped behind his back. He said nothing until they rounded a bend to a small, secluded viewing platform carved from the living rock. A stone table and two chairs sat under the shelter of an ancient, gnarled pine. He gestured for Bai Yichen to sit, then took the opposite chair himself.
For a long moment, he simply looked at his old friend. The stern patriarch mask was gone, replaced by an expression of deep weariness and wary curiosity. He looked at the robes that seemed to drink the dappled light filtering through the pine needles, at the calm, unshakable composure that was so alien to the man he had known for decades.
"Who are you?" Yun Hai finally asked, his voice low and devoid of its earlier formal power. It was just a tired man's question.
Bai Yichen met his gaze. The Deep Seeking Eye saw the vibrant, ocean-deep power of a Nascent Soul cultivator, but also the tangled, weary threads of responsibility, the lingering grief for a friend he thought lost, and a spark of desperate hope. This was not an interrogation by a sect master, but a plea from a brother.
"I am still Bai Yichen," he answered, his own voice softening. It was the truth, though not the whole truth. "The man who shared stolen spirit wine with you under the twin moons when we were both outer disciples. The man you pulled from the rubble of the Shattered Canyon expedition."
Yun Hai's eyes sharpened. "That Bai Yichen would have been sweating through his robes in that assembly. He would have stammered an apology to Zhao. He could not have woven a sealing array with a flick of his wrist, nor could he have turned a dried berry into… whatever that was." He leaned forward slightly. "Your Qi feels different. It feels… boundless. And those robes. They are not just cloth."
Bai Yichen smiled faintly. "The man you knew was asleep. The fall, the failure… it was like a hammer to a sealed vault. The door broke open. Things… knowledge… that were always there, buried deep, finally surfaced." It was the closest to an explanation he could give that fit the logic of this world—a profound enlightenment, a waking of latent divine wisdom.
"What kind of knowledge?" Yun Hai pressed, his concern palpable.
"An understanding of patterns," Bai Yichen said, looking at his own hand. He willed a tiny spark of Qi to the tip of his finger. It didn't flare. Instead, it spun out, writing a minute, glowing rune for "Clarity" above his palm. It hovered, a miniature sun of intricate lines. "The patterns of Qi. The patterns of the world. The ancients called them runes, the first language of heaven and earth. I… remember how to read them. How to write them."
Yun Hai stared at the tiny, perfect construct. His spiritual sense touched it gently, and he inhaled sharply. "This is… pure conceptual manifestation. Not an imitation, but the essence of 'Clarity' itself. This is a lost art, Bai! Fragments exist in the deepest archives of 5-Star sects! How… how can you sustain it? The Qi cost…"
Bai Yichen let the rune dissolve into motes of light. "The river does not ask how it can sustain its flow; it simply is. My dantian… is no longer a pond. The awakening changed that too." He looked out at the sea of clouds. "You have shielded a pond for years, Yun Hai. From the scorn, from the politics, from those vultures like Zhao. You have done it out of loyalty to a memory. I am sorry for the burden I have been."
The genuine apology, spoken without self-pity, struck a chord in the Sect Master. The stern lines of his face softened further. "You were my friend. You are my friend. I saw your spirit break piece by piece, and I did not know how to mend it." He sighed. "But this… this change. It is a tempest. Zhao will not let this go. He has allies. They wanted your peak's residual land spirit to nourish their own."
"Let them want," Bai Yichen said, a new, quiet steel in his tone. "The Azure-Green Peak is not a carcass to be picked over. It is dormant seed. And I intend to make it bloom into a forest that will overshadow all their carefully pruned bonsai trees."
Yun Hai studied him. "The recruitment is in five days. The best seedlings, those with high-grade spirit roots, will be fought over by every peak. They will all have gifts, promises, established legacies. What will you offer?"
"A different path," Bai Yichen replied. "Not all treasure is glittering jade. Not all talent shouts its name. I will not fight for the polished gems everyone sees. I will look for the unhewn stone with the jade inside, or the tough ironwood that can support a palace." He turned back to Yun Hai. "But to do that, I need to prepare the ground. The peak itself must be transformed. It must become a place where such stones and wood want to grow."
He paused, his gaze taking in Yun Hai's own robes—majestic, powerful, but ultimately conventional. A thought occurred to him, a gesture of both gratitude and a demonstration of his strange new arts. "Before I go… allow me to offer a token. Not for the Sect Master, but for my friend Yun Hai."
He raised his hand. "May I?"
Intrigued and cautious, Yun Hai gave a slow nod.
Bai Yichen's eyes grew focused. The Deep Seeking Eye analyzed the Sect Master's robe—the legendary "Starry Night Abyss Silk," woven with defensive formations by a master artificer. It was a masterpiece. But to Bai's new sight, it was also… inefficient. The formations were beautiful but bulky, like heavy, ornate armor plates. They used power, but did not harmonize perfectly with the wearer's own flowing Qi.
He didn't touch the robe. Instead, his fingers began to dance in the air between them. This was not a single rune. It was a symphony. Dozens, then hundreds of shimmering, hair-thin lines of golden and azure Qi flowed from his fingertips, weaving an ethereal, three-dimensional tapestry in the air. It was a pattern of breathtaking complexity, mimicking the sect's constellation motif but refining it, connecting the stars with lines that thrummed with concepts of "Unity," "Resilience," and "Serene Authority."
Yun Hai watched, transfixed. This was an art beyond any formation-crafting he had ever witnessed. It was creation from pure will and understanding.
With a final, gentle push, Bai Yichen sent the shimmering, spectral tapestry floating forward. It settled over Yun Hai's robes like a second skin of light, then sank in, merging seamlessly with the fabric. There was no flash, no roar of power. Only a subtle transformation.
The deep azure of the robe seemed to deepen further, becoming the color of a midnight sky just before dawn. The embroidered constellations now pulsed with a faint, rhythmic light, perfectly in tune with Yun Hai's own breath and heartbeat. The fabric itself felt lighter, yet the spiritual pressure it emanated became more profound, more focused. It no longer felt like a separate artifact; it felt like an extension of the man wearing it.
Yun Hai looked down at his sleeve, his spiritual sense flooding his own garment. His eyes widened. The defensive formations were still there, but they were now fluid, adaptive. They would react not just to brute force, but to intent. The Qi cost to maintain them had dropped drastically, while their potency had increased. There was also a new, subtle array for mental fortitude, quieting the noise of a thousand sect worries.
"This…" he breathed, awe breaking through his composure. "This is not alteration. This is… enlightenment of the object itself. You didn't add formations; you rewrote its inherent nature." He looked at Bai Yichen, the last of his doubt burned away by the evidence before him. "How is this possible?"
Bai Yichen stood, feeling the first real fatigue of the day—not of Qi, but of spirit. The demonstration had been precise and costly in focus. "The world is filled with unwritten code, Yun Hai. I simply learned how to read it. Do not worry for me. The burden you carried… you can set it down. I will not be your weakness any longer."
He placed a fist in his palm and gave a formal, respectful bow—the bow of a Peak Elder to his Sect Master. But as he straightened, he offered a small, genuine smile—the smile of a friend.
"With your permission, I must take my leave. Five days is not much time to prepare a home for new disciples. There is much… rewriting to do."
Patriarch Yun Hai, clad in robes that now felt like a part of his own soul, looked at the transformed man before him. He saw the confidence, the cunning, the deep, unfathomable power, but also the lingering essence of the loyal, if flawed, friend he had always known. The relief that washed over him was so profound it was almost dizzying.
He nodded, his own smile finally reaching his eyes. "Go, Brother Bai. Write your code. Make your peak bloom. And," he added, his voice regaining a hint of his patriarchal gravity, "try not to humiliate too many of my Elders on the way. The sect still needs them to function."
Bai Yichen's smile turned wry. "No promises, Sect Master. But I will ensure any lessons I administer are… educational."
With that, he turned and walked back along the bamboo path, leaving the Sect Master of the Azure-Green Cloud Sect sitting under the ancient pine, staring at his newly enlightened robes, and wondering, for the first time in years, if the tide of their sect's decline might finally be turning. The storm had not come to destroy; it had come to awaken a sleeping dragon. And the dragon was heading home to rebuild its lair.
The whispering bamboo gave way to the open air of the main courtyard. Xiao Li was still there, pressed against a pillar as if hoping to become part of the architecture, his eyes wide with the aftermath of awe and the strange meal. Bai Yichen approached him, the strange serenity around him causing the few remaining loitering disciples to quickly find business elsewhere.
"Xiao Li," Bai Yichen said, his voice now carrying a quiet, matter-of-fact tone. "You have served diligently today. Return to your assigned quarters on the main peak. Rest. Come to the Azure-Green Peak at first light tomorrow. There will be work, but of a different kind."
The boy blinked, bowing hastily. "Yes, Elder! Thank you, Elder! The… the food…"
Bai Yichen gave a slight nod. "A small thing. For tomorrow, a proper reward." He gestured for the boy to come closer. As Xiao Li stepped forward, Bai Yichen's hand dipped into his own sleeve. His fingers brushed against two ordinary, low-grade spirit stones he kept for minor transactions. With a thought so swift and subtle it stirred not a wisp of spiritual energy in the environment, he activated his Rune Scriber and Modern Engineer intuition.
Within the dark of his sleeve, the two dull, greyish stones shimmered. Their internal structure was rewritten, impurities purged, their capacity to hold and emanate Qi expanded a hundredfold. The process was silent, internal, a mere recalibration of existing matter. To any observer, even Patriarch Yun Hai if he were watching, it would seem Bai Yichen simply pulled two stones from his pocket.
He placed them in Xiao Li's calloused palm. They were no longer dull. They glowed with a soft, milky inner light, their surface smooth as jade and warm to the touch. Pure, concentrated spiritual energy pulsed from them in gentle waves.
Xiao Li stared, his breath catching. "E-Elder… these are… high-grade… I can't…"
"You can, and you will," Bai Yichen said. "Use them to meditate tonight. Cleanse your meridians. Consider it an advance on your labor. Now go."
The boy clutched the stones as if they were fledgling birds, his eyes glistening with something more than fear. He bowed so deeply he nearly toppled over, then scampered away, constantly looking back at the luminous treasures in his hand.
Alone now, Bai Yichen turned his gaze towards the distant, mist-wreathed silhouette of his own peak. It looked forlorn, a dark smudge against the vibrant greens and golds of the others. A corner of his mouth twitched. Not for long.
He took a step forward, then another, his movements fluid. He did not summon a flying sword; the old Bai Yichen's sword was of middling quality and currently gathering dust. Instead, he drew upon the Master Cultivator knowledge now woven into his soul. The Tranquil Waves Azure Method's movement techniques unfolded in his mind, not as rigid forms, but as principles of motion.
He focused on the concept of "Weightless Drift." His Qi, drawn from the infinite well within him, flowed through specific meridians in his legs and out through the soles of his feet. It did not push against the ground; it engaged with the world's own natural energies, like a leaf catching a current.
He took a third step, and instead of meeting stone, his foot met air. He pushed off gently, and his body glided forward as if sliding down an invisible slope. The wind rushed past, but he remained perfectly balanced, his robes streaming behind him without a sound. It was not the blazing, dramatic flight of sword riders, but something more elegant and unsettling—a man walking on the sky itself. He employed "Waves After Waves," triggering small, sequential bursts of Qi that propelled him faster, each burst smoother than the last, creating a rippling effect through the air around him. In minutes, he crossed the vast gulf between peaks and alighted on the barren main square of the Azure-Green Peak.
The silence was profound, broken only by the sigh of the wind through the skeletal trees. The dilapidation was even more apparent up close. The aura of neglect was a physical weight. But Bai Yichen saw not ruins, but a blank page.
First, he needed clarity. The demonstrations, the politics, the planning—it was mental clutter. He walked to the center of the dusty square, sat cross-legged on the cold ground, and closed his eyes. Drawing upon the Rune Scriber, he did not inscribe in the air. He inscribed upon his own mind.
With careful, internal focus, he traced a complex, three-part runic sequence directly onto his spiritual consciousness. The first was for "Eternal Spring"—a perpetual refreshment of mental energy, preventing fatigue. The second was "Mirror's Stillness"—calming the chatter of thought, allowing for flawless focus. The third, "Unbroken Flow"—ensuring his bodily vitality and Qi circulation would not waver from prolonged effort. They were not external boosts, but permanent adjustments to his own operating state. As the final lines connected, a profound calm washed over him. His mind became a clear, sunlit pool. His body felt rested, as if from a week's deep sleep. The fatigue of the day vanished.
He opened his eyes. Now, he could work.
He stood and faced the mountain path that served as the peak's main entrance. This was the threshold. It needed to be unmistakable, impregnable to hostile intent, and welcoming to those who belonged.
Raising both hands, Bai Yichen began to write in the sky before the entrance. This was not a single rune, but a grand, layered masterpiece that grew with every passing second. His Qi flowed from the Infinity Core like a brilliant ink.
The foundation was a "Mountain Root Binding" array, etched into the very stone of the path and the cliff faces on either side. It sank deep, tying the upcoming defenses to the spiritual veins of the mountain itself, making them not an added layer, but a natural extension of the peak.
Upon this, he wove the primary defense. First, a "Mist of Forgotten Steps" illusion array. To an intruder, the path would seem to twist and turn back upon itself, leading in endless circles, the very memory of their purpose fading with each step.
Second, he layered a "Sword Zone of Ten Thousand Echoes." This was not a physical forest of blades, but a conceptual space. If the illusion was breached, hostile intent would trigger it. The very air would solidify into slicing pressures, each "sword" a condensed echo of the mountain's own silent, cutting winds, attacking not the body, but the intruder's spiritual presence and will to advance.
Third, and most subtle, he added a "Pool of Drowning Will." A water-affinity array that exerted immense spiritual pressure, a weight that felt like sinking into the deepest, darkest ocean trench. It would crush morale and stifle the flow of an attacker's Qi.
Finally, the key. He created a master runic core, hidden deep within the mountain stone—a "Heart of the Peak." From it, he manifested a hundred small, palm-sized tokens that materialized in a pile at his feet. They were simple polished wood discs. But on each, he inscribed a tiny, symbiotic rune that hummed in harmony with the defensive arrays. To carry a token was to be recognized by the mountain as part of itself; the mists would part, the swords would still, the pressure would lift.
The entrance complete, he turned his attention inward, to the buildings—or lack thereof.
Starting with the dormitories. The old, long wooden hall was rotting. He placed his hands on its wall. Using the Modern Engineer understanding of structure and materials, and the transformative power of his Qi, he didn't repair it. He reforged it.
The wood liquefied, then reformed, merging with the stone of the mountain, growing upward and outward. In minutes, where a long hall stood, there was now a complex of elegant, multi-storied buildings with sweeping roofs and wide balconies. The architecture was serene, harmonious, yet possessed a clean, precise beauty. But the true work was inside. Room by room, he inscribed micro-arrays into the very fabric of the walls, the floor, the ceiling.
Spirit-Gathering Vortex Arrays in the center of each room, drawing in ambient Qi and refining it to a gentle, breathable density.
Dream-Weaving Runes in the sleeping mats, promoting deep, restorative sleep and consolidating the day's learning into muscle and spiritual memory.
Self-Cleansing Seals on the floors and walls, ensuring perpetual hygiene.
Silence Wards for privacy.
He worked with breathtaking speed, a blur of motion and light. Next was the dining hall. He erected a grand, airy pavilion with a kitchen at its back. Here, the arrays were for "Preservation," "Flavor Enhancement," and "Nutrient Purification." The very stoves he crafted had runes for perfect, controllable heat. A dining hall wasn't just for eating; it was for converting matter into the finest possible fuel for cultivation.
Then, the training grounds. He selected a wide, flat area and leveled it with a thought, the earth obeying his will. At its center, he raised a circular stone stage. This stage was his masterpiece of focused training. It was divided into four distinct pie-shaped sectors, each inscribed with concentric circles of increasing intensity.
The Sector of Weighted Earth (Gravity): From 2x to 50x normal gravity, to temper flesh, bone, and meridian resilience.
The Sector of Chaotic Mind (Mental): Arrays that generated whispering illusions, mental distractions, and pressure, training focus and spiritual defense.
The Sector of Gathering Storms (Qi Gathering): Zones where Qi density could be dialed from rich to overwhelmingly torrential, forcing the body to learn rapid absorption and refining.
The Sector of Mirror's Calm (Meditation): An area of absolute sensory dampening and spiritual stillness, for deep reflection and breakthrough attempts.
Around this central stage, he sculpted the environment. He carved a "Rockfall Valley" where stones would tumble at timed intervals for dodging and hardening the body. He diverted a mountain spring to create a "Pounding Waterfall" with crushing force. He tapped a faint geothermal vein to create a "Cleansing Heat Grotto" where searing, dry air would purify the pores and meridians.
For combat practice, he built a vast, sunken arena. Here, he did not create puppets from scratch. Instead, he gathered piles of loose stone and earth from his renovations. Upon each pile, he inscribed a complex, animated runic script—a "Command Core." The stone and earth assembled themselves, forming ten humanoid puppets of rough-hewn rock and packed soil. He programmed them not with simple swings, but with the principles of battle arts he knew: two used a flowing, adaptable "Flowing Water Sword Art"; two used a precise, long-range "Azure Bow Art" of condensed Qi arrows; two employed a solid, defensive "Earth Shield and Hammer Art." They were mindless but could execute basic combat patterns and respond to threat levels.
The bathhouse was next—a serene building over the hot spring. Here, the runes were for "Impurity Extraction," "Muscle Soothing," and "Meridian Flushing." The water would not just clean; it would heal.
He created a sheltered "Herb Garden" with arrays for accelerated growth, ideal sunlight, and pest repellent. A "Food Grove" with similar enhancements for spirit fruits and grains.
Finally, he turned to his own pavilion. The old structure was gone. In its place stood a sleek, three-story tower of polished stone and resilient spirit-wood, with wide windows overlooking the entire transformed peak. It was both a command center and a sanctuary. At its door, he placed two larger, more sophisticated stone puppets as guardians, their cores programmed with a blend of the three combat styles, capable of coordinated defense.
As the second moon rose, casting a silvery pallor over the mountains, Bai Yichen finished. He stood once more at the peak's new entrance, where the mystical mists now curled obediently behind the runic boundary.
He was not tired. The runes on his mind saw to that. He looked upon what he had wrought in a single afternoon. The Azure-Green Peak was no longer a desolate scar. It was a sleeping dragon of stone and spirit, its scales the gleaming new buildings, its breath the gathering mist, its claws the hidden arrays. It hummed with latent power and promise. It was a realm apart, a world within a world, built from a vision no one in this sect could yet comprehend.
In five days, the recruitment would begin. The first disciples would walk this path. They would not see a pathetic elder in a ruined hall. They would step into a legend being written, one silent, perfect rune at a time. Bai Yichen allowed himself a single, slow breath of the crisp night air, his eyes reflecting the starlight above his newly forged domain.
The twin moons had long since completed their arc across the sky when Bai Yichen finally stirred from his meditation. He had not slept. The runic scripts for "Eternal Spring" and "Mirror's Stillness" etched upon his consciousness made sleep an optional indulgence rather than a necessity. The night had been spent in a state of deep, wakeful calm, his mind reviewing the transformed arrays of his peak, sensing their silent hum like a network of peaceful, sleeping hearts. The first light of dawn was just beginning to bleed indigo into the eastern horizon, painting the new, clean lines of the buildings with a cool, grey light.
He rose and walked to the new dining pavilion. The air inside was warm and carried the faint, mouthwatering aroma of roasting grains and simmering broth. The cooking puppets—two humanoid figures of smooth, dark stone inscribed with glowing amber runes—moved with a silent, precise rhythm before the stoves. One tended a large pot of congee that bubbled with chunks of spirit-root and fragrant herbs. The other was rotating skewers of marinated fungus and tender shoots over a heat rune that glowed with a consistent, perfect temperature.
Bai Yichen served himself a bowl of congee and took a skewer. The first spoonful was a revelation. The flavors were clean, deeply layered, and the ingredients had been cooked in a way that preserved every drop of their spiritual essence. The warmth that spread through him was more than physical; it was a gentle, nourishing wave that settled into his meridians. He ate in contemplative silence, watching the dawn fully break through the wide windows, illuminating the mist that still clung to the entrance path, now holding a soft, golden glow.
As the sun crested the distant peaks, a small, hesitant figure appeared at the edge of the training grounds, just outside the boundary of the entrance array. It was Xiao Li. The boy stood frozen, his jaw slack, his eyes like twin full moons as he stared at the impossible scene before him. The derelict peak of yesterday was gone. In its place was a serene, majestic sanctuary that looked like it had been lifted from an ancient painting of an immortal's retreat. The gleaming buildings, the perfect stone paths, the gentle mist—it was a vision that clashed violently with every memory he had of this place.
Bai Yichen finished his meal and walked out to meet him. The boy flinched as he approached, then bowed so low his nose nearly scraped the gravel. "E-Elder! This disciple… I came as instructed, but… this is…"
"This is the Azure-Green Peak," Bai Yichen said simply. "Come. You have earned a proper meal."
He led the stupefied boy into the dining pavilion. Xiao Li's eyes darted everywhere—the polished floors, the elegant tables, the silently working stone puppets. When a puppet placed a steaming bowl of congee and a skewer before him, he stared at it as if it were a profound treasure. He ate slowly at first, then with growing wonder as the nourishing energy flowed into him. The two high-grade spirit stones had already worked through the night, clearing some of the sludge from his meridians; this meal felt like a gentle rain on parched earth.
When he was done, Bai Yichen led him out to the central training stage. "Xiao Li," he began, turning to face the boy. "You have shown loyalty not born of ambition, but of simple duty. In a world that values only brilliant sparks, the steady, enduring ember is often overlooked. I am not currently accepting official disciples."
The boy's face fell, a mask of resigned acceptance. He had expected nothing more.
"However," Bai Yichen continued, "loyalty and effort should be met with opportunity. I will guide your cultivation personally. If, by the time of the Mid-Year Tournament, you have proven your dedication and growth, a formal position on this peak will be yours."
Hope, fierce and desperate, reignited in Xiao Li's eyes. He dropped to his knees. "This lowly one thanks the Elder for his magnanimity! I will work until my bones break! I swear it!"
"Stand," Bai Yichen said. "Do not swear to break your bones. Swear to temper them. Now, let me see your roots."
He activated the Deep Seeking Eye. The boy's spiritual landscape became clear. A low-grade, common Hearth Fire Root—the most mundane of fire affinities, good for little more than keeping a forge warm or cooking evenly. But there was a faint, almost invisible thread of vitality intertwined with it, a trace of unawakened wood element, likely from a distant ancestor with plant spirit heritage. It was beyond weak; it was dormant. To any other elder, this was confirmation of lifelong mediocrity.
To Bai Yichen, it was a unique opportunity. A hearth fire was steady, controllable. Combined with even a whisper of wood element, it could become something more—a fire that nurtured growth rather than just consuming.
"Your current cultivation method is the common 'Mountain Hearth Circulation,' yes?" Bai Yichen asked.
"Y-yes, Elder. It is all this disciple was permitted to learn."
"It is inefficient and dulls your latent potential," Bai Yichen stated. "I will teach you a new method. It is called the 'Verdant Cinder Heart Scripture.' It does not seek to turn your hearth fire into a wildfire. It seeks to make it a perpetual, nurturing ember—one that can coax life from ash and temper resilience rather than just burn."
Xiao Li listened, rapt.
"For a weapon, the sword is too straightforward for your nature. The staff is too balanced. I will give you this." Bai Yichen walked to a stand of young, flexible ironwood trees he had cultivated near the training ground. He selected a straight, sturdy sapling. Placing his hand upon it, he channeled his Qi. The wood hardened, its fibers compressing and aligning, gaining the tensile strength of seasoned steel while retaining a slight, purposeful flex. He then sharpened one end to a wicked point, not with a blade, but by guiding the wood's growth into a natural, sleek spearhead. He inscribed a series of tiny, interlocking runes along its length: "Flexibility," "Piercing Intent," and "Rooted Strike." It was not a glorious spirit spear, but a Willow Spear—resilient, adaptable, and deadly in its simplicity.
He handed it to Xiao Li. The spear felt alive in his hands, perfectly balanced, humming with a faint, warm-cold energy.
"The movement technique is 'Searing Tangle Path.' You will not move in straight lines. You will move like a fire spreading through undergrowth—unpredictable, weaving, using obstacles to your advantage." Bai Yichen demonstrated, his feet moving in quick, shifting steps that seemed to curl around imaginary trees and rocks, his body flowing like smoke caught in a breeze.
"Now, for battle," Bai Yichen said, taking a defensive stance. "First form: 'Cinder-Tipped Thrust.'" He demonstrated with a finger, a quick, focused lunge where all force and fiery Qi concentrated on the very tip, designed to pierce defenses and leave a smoldering, disruptive energy within. "Second: 'Verdant Entrapment.'" He swept his hand in a circle, and a faint, greenish-gold energy shimmered, suggesting vines of Qi that could entangle and sap an opponent's strength. "Third: 'Fire Root Point.'" He stomped the ground, and a small, controlled burst of fire-tinged Qi shot through the earth to erupt at a distant point—an attack from an unexpected angle. "And the core concept: 'Minor Zone of Fire and Plant.'" He extended his awareness, creating a small, ten-foot zone around himself where the air grew warm and dry, sapping moisture, and faint spiritual pressures suggested grasping roots underfoot. It was a weak, rudimentary domain, but for Xiao Li, it was a glimpse of a realm far beyond his station.
The boy's head was swimming, but his eyes burned with a fierce, newfound light.
"Now, we begin with the foundation," Bai Yichen said. "Sit. I will guide your Qi to establish the Verdant Cinder Heart."
Xiao Li sat cross-legged. Bai Yichen placed a hand on his back, his spiritual sense flowing into the boy's meridians. They were narrow, gritty with impurities, and flowed in the clumsy, broad patterns of the Mountain Hearth method. With infinite patience and precision, Bai Yichen used his own Qi as a delicate scalpel and a gentle river. He did not force; he guided. He carved new, more efficient pathways alongside the old ones, burning away the impurities with controlled arcs of his own boundless energy. He awakened the dormant wood-affinity thread, not to make it strong, but to make it a conduit, a wick for the hearth fire.
It was a painstaking process. Xiao Li's body trembled, sweat pouring from him as his spiritual system was rewritten. But he did not cry out. He bit his lip until it bled, focusing solely on Bai Yichen's calm, guiding voice.
"Feel the fire not as destruction, but as the heart of the home," Bai Yichen murmured. "Feel the wood not as fuel, but as the frame of the house that contains and directs the warmth. Let them become one cycle."
Hours passed. The sun climbed high. Slowly, shakily, a new Qi circulation pattern established itself in Xiao Li's dantian. It was a slow, steady pulse, like a heartbeat of warm embers, with a faint, refreshing whisper of green vitality cycling through it. He had broken through. From Qi Condensation Layer 2 to Layer 3. A minor step for a genius, a monumental leap for him.
Then came the physical training. Bai Yichen was a relentless, but precise, taskmaster. He drilled the Searing Tangle Path until Xiao Li's legs were rubber, forcing him to weave through the Rockfall Valley, the tumbling stones grazing him, teaching him to move with instinct rather than thought. He had him practice the Cinder-Tipped Thrust against one of the earth puppets until his shoulders screamed, focusing solely on concentrating every ounce of force into the spear's point.
They broke only for more of the puppet-cooked food, which now tasted to Xiao Li like the food of the gods, each bite repairing his muscles and refilling his meager Qi reserves far faster than anything he'd ever known.
As the second moon rose, bathing the peak in silver once more, Xiao Li stood panting in the center of the training ground, his spear held in blistered hands, his body a tapestry of aches and minor burns. But he stood straighter than he ever had. His eyes, once dull with resignation, now held a steady, smoldering glow. The spiritual pressure around him, while still weak, was clean, focused, and held a unique, harmonious signature—the nascent Verdant Cinder Heart.
Bai Yichen stood before him. "You have done well. More than well. You have endured a rewriting of your very cultivation nature. That requires a fortitude many 'geniuses' lack."
Xiao Li sank to one knee, not out of fear, but out of profound respect. "Elder… you have given this worthless one a future. You saw something in the ashes no one else did. I… I do not have grand words. But from this day forward, my life is yours. My spear is yours. I will be your shield, your steady ember. I will protect this peak and any who dwell within it with my last breath. I swear this upon the Verdant Cinder Heart you have planted in my soul."
It was an oath, not of a disciple to a master yet, but of a man to his savior and guide. It was spoken with the raw, unpolished sincerity of the truly grateful.
Bai Yichen looked down at the kneeling boy. This was the first seed. Not a towering oak, but a resilient, fast-growing shoot that would cling to the mountain with deep roots. It was a start.
"Remember this feeling, Xiao Li," Bai Yichen said softly. "The feeling of being seen. Of being given a chance when the world sees only refuse. Carry that. Let it inform your loyalty, your kindness, and your protection of others who are weak. Rise. Your quarters are the first room in the eastern dormitory. Rest. Tomorrow, we continue."
As Xiao Li limped away towards the beautiful dormitory that felt like a dream, Bai Yichen turned his gaze back to the starlit entrance of his peak. The resolve within him crystallized. He would build more than just a powerful faction. He would build a refuge for the overlooked, a forge for the resilient, and a school for a new kind of cultivator. And it would all begin with loyalty earned not through fear or empty prestige, but through the transformative power of a second chance, written in runes and sealed with an oath under the moonlight.