The room was silent, filled only with the faint hum of Xuanyuan Zhen's purple-golden Qi spiraling within him. He sat on the cold floor, shoulders stiff, hair tangled, and clothes torn from months of neglect. His body ached—not from pain, but from the raw, unprecedented growth it had just endured.
He exhaled slowly. He needed to refresh himself. Eat. Bathe. Regain the strength to continue refining his newly awakened techniques. And Yin Mei… she, too, had suffered enough.
"Yin Mei," he called softly. "Do we have any food?"
Her face fell. "No, master… we've been ostracized for so long. The clan refuses to provide us with anything. Whatever we survive has to come from what we can do ourselves."
Xuanyuan Zhen nodded. It was expected. The clan had turned their backs on him, abandoning him after his crippling ordeal, leaving him to rot while they praised Xuanyuan Hao and his relatives. No matter. They would pay for it in time. But first… survival.
He rose, feeling the fused Qi coursing through every vein and meridian. His strength, agility, and endurance had all grown many times over, yet his mind remained razor-sharp. He turned to Yin Mei. "Then we hunt," he said simply. "Whatever we need, we will obtain ourselves."
She blinked, a mixture of awe and concern in her eyes. "H-hunting? Master… your body…"
"I can handle it," he said firmly. His voice, calm and unyielding, left no room for doubt.
He stepped toward the basin in the corner. Water, cold and still, had been left by some distant, apathetic servant long ago. He submerged himself, letting the water wash away months of filth, sweat, and the lingering aura of neglect.
When he emerged, the boy in the mirror—once tattered, fragile, and broken—was gone. His hair, now sleek and black, clung to his shoulders. His skin gleamed faintly with the light of the golden and purple Qi coursing beneath. He wrapped himself in white clothes, simple yet elegant, and every fold seemed to shimmer faintly, as if woven with light and energy.
Xuanyuan Zhen stared at his reflection. The boy who had been mocked, beaten, and abandoned now resembled an immortal god, ethereal and terrifying in the quiet power that radiated from him. Even his eyes, a blend of gold and deep purple, seemed to pierce through the world itself.
He turned to Yin Mei. "Arrange the room as you like. I will go. Gather whatever we can find, and… keep safe."
Her hands trembled as she nodded, unable to hide the awe she felt toward him.
With a steady breath, Xuanyuan Zhen stepped out of the room. The hallway was dimly lit, servants bustling about as usual, heads lowered to avoid notice. But when they saw him, they froze.
Some of the older servants gasped. Some dropped baskets, their eyes wide with shock. The aura emanating from him was like nothing they had ever witnessed: a swirling, coiling energy of gold and purple, terrifying yet majestic, demanding reverence. Whispers rippled through the corridor like wind through leaves:
"Is… that… Xuanyuan Zhen?"
"Impossible… he's… different… so powerful…"
"He's… terrifying…"
Xuanyuan Zhen walked calmly, each step deliberate, the golden Qi of the Battle Saint Body pulsing with quiet confidence, the purple Qi of the Firmament Tyrant Body radiating imperious weight. He was no longer the discarded prodigy—they would soon learn that the boy they had abandoned had become something beyond comprehension.
His plan was simple. First, obtain resources—food, materials, tools. Then, find a place to cultivate, to refine the fused Qi, to make the Battle Saint Dao Method and the Nine Heavens Tyrant Art even more potent.
Every heartbeat, every breath, every movement radiated power as Xuanyuan Zhen left the clan quarters behind, leaving everyone who saw him with looks of awe.