The eastern mountain path was quiet—too quiet. Most outer disciples avoided this direction unless assigned herb missions.
The terrain was uneven, the forests dense, and low-grade demonic beasts occasionally wandered down from higher ridges. Which made it perfect.
Xu Yuan walked steadily, head lowered, steps measured. Not fast enough to look suspicious. Not slow enough to invite trouble. Every movement was deliberate. He could not afford attention—not now, not ever, if avoidable.
The rain weakened as he left the sect's outer boundary. Mist curled between ancient trees, and the air grew richer with spiritual qi. Even without cultivation, one could feel the difference.
But Xu Yuan did not relax.
Instead, he reviewed his situation coldly:
Body Tempering Fourth Layer. Weak combat experience. Poor reputation. No backing. If he encountered a Sixth Layer disciple, he would lose. If he met a demonic beast, he might die.
In cultivation worlds, confidence without strength was suicide. He needed foundation—real foundation.
After nearly an hour of walking, the forest thinned. A shallow basin appeared ahead, hidden between crooked rocks and drooping willow branches.
There it was—the pond.
Still water. Pale surface. Silent surroundings.
Exactly like the novel described.
In the original story, it was mentioned once—a failed attempt by a side character. Later, a protagonist passed by and dismissed it as useless.
Which meant one thing.
It had never been properly explored. Unclaimed. Unused. Perfect.
Xu Yuan did not approach immediately.
Instead, he circled the area slowly. Observing. Listening. Checking mud patterns for tracks.
No recent footprints. No beast claw marks. No spiritual disturbances. Only wind and water.
Safe. Relatively.
He stepped closer.
The surface of the pond reflected the dim sky like cracked glass. Cold air rose from it, unnatural in early summer.
Xu Yuan closed his eyes and focused inward.
The Heaven's Ledger stirred faintly. A dull ache spread across his temples. Information surfaced slowly, like ink dissolving in water.
Hidden Effect: Bone Density Enhancement.
Condition: Moonlight Exposure + Stable Qi Circulation.
Risk: Internal fractures if stance breaks prematurely.
He opened his eyes.
Simple. Brutal. Effective.
This was what he needed—not flashy power, not instant breakthroughs, but stability.
In an era where multiple protagonists would clash, the strongest survivors were not those who rose fastest, but those who did not collapse.
He glanced at the sky. Clouds were thinning. The moon would rise soon.
Xu Yuan exhaled slowly and began preparing.
He gathered dry branches from beneath overhangs and placed them nearby—not for warmth, but as emergency fuel if his body temperature dropped too fast. He removed stones near the edge to ensure stable footing.
Then he waited.
No impatience. No excitement. Just stillness.
Because survival favored the patient.
Time passed. The forest darkened. Crickets replaced birdsong.
And finally—the clouds parted.
Moonlight descended like silver threads, pooling softly across the pond's surface.
Xu Yuan stood.
His heart beat faster now—not from fear, but from clarity.
This was the first deviation.
Small. Insignificant to the world. But everything to him.
He removed his outer robe and stepped into the pond.
The cold was immediate—violent. It felt like stepping into liquid ice. His muscles tensed instinctively, breath hitching.
But he forced himself to remain calm.
Panic would shatter qi circulation. And shattered circulation meant crippled meridians.
He inhaled slowly and assumed the Bone Tempering stance described in outer disciple manuals—knees bent, spine straight, shoulders relaxed.
Then the pain began.
Not surface cold. Deep cold. It seeped past flesh and marrow, biting directly into bone.
Xu Yuan's teeth clenched. A cracking sensation echoed faintly inside his body, like frozen branches snapping in winter.
His vision blurred. His breathing faltered.
For a terrifying moment, his knees nearly buckled.
"No…"
He steadied himself.
If he failed now, the backlash would be severe.
He slowed his breathing deliberately. Circulating qi along his meridians. Stabilizing joints. Reinforcing fragile points.
The Heaven's Ledger did not help him endure.
It only revealed the path.
Walking it was his burden.
Minutes stretched endlessly. Pain layered upon pain. His fingers trembled. His lips turned pale.
At some point, he bit his tongue just to remain conscious. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.
But he did not break.
Because he understood something the original Xu Yuan never did—
In this world, nobody saved you.
Not fate. Not Heaven. Not kindness.
Only preparation. Only will.
Far away, destiny holders cultivated under protection and guidance. He had none.
He only had stubbornness and calculation.
Then something changed.
The bone-deep agony shifted.
Not gone—but steadier. Like brittle glass slowly reforging into steel.
A faint vibration spread through his frame. Subtle. Yet undeniable.
Xu Yuan's eyes snapped open.
The moon reflected in the water, fractured by ripples.
He stepped out slowly, legs trembling but unbroken.
He sat cross-legged by the shore and circulated qi.
The difference was small. But real.
His foundation had solidified—denser, more stable, harder to shake.
A quiet breath escaped him.
Not triumph. Not relief.
Just acceptance.
This was how strength should be built—piece by piece, silently, without witnesses.
As he finished stabilizing his qi, the forest fell eerily still.
Xu Yuan's eyes narrowed slightly.
A faint heaviness lingered in the air. Subtle. Almost nonexistent. But he noticed it.
The first ripple.
Not Heavenly punishment. Not yet.
Just acknowledgment.
A deviation had occurred.
Tiny. But real.
He did not linger.
He extinguished the small fire pit he had prepared, erased footprints near the edge, and put his robe back on.
Before leaving, he glanced once more at the moonlit pond.
This place would never be famous. Never recorded in history.
But it marked the beginning of something.
He turned and walked into the forest.
Behind him, the water returned to stillness.
Above him, the moon continued shining—indifferent, unmoved.
Yet somewhere beyond the clouds, something vast had shifted ever so slightly.
Not enough to matter. Not yet.
But enough that—
If Xu Yuan kept walking this path—
The heavens would eventually notice.