Dawn arrived quietly.
The horizon bled violet and gold as the first strands of heavenly purple Qi descended from the eastern sky. The courtyard stones were cool beneath Xuanyuan Zhen's bare feet as he stood at its center, halberd set aside, spine straight.
He inhaled.
Heavenly purple Qi flowed toward him in fine, imperial threads, drawn into his lungs and guided along precise meridian pathways according to the Nine Heavens Tyrant Art. At the same time, his body moved through the solemn combat stances of the Battle Saint Dao Method.
Step.
Turn.
Lower stance.
Fist aligned with breath.
Golden holy Qi circulated through his limbs, bright and pure, responding to the rhythm of his movements. Each posture grounded him like an ancient monument. Each breath carried weight.
Within his dantian, the purple-golden Qi sea churned steadily. His second-stage Qi Condensation cultivation had stabilized over the past days, its foundation compact and dense. With every full circulation, his meridians widened slightly. His flesh hardened subtly. His bones felt heavier, yet lighter.
His blood—
Boiled.
Purple-golden blood Qi pulsed beneath his skin like molten light. For brief moments, faint phenomena shimmered around him—heat distortion in the air, the illusion of a radiant war god standing behind him, vast and silent.
Yet—
Something was missing.
His movements were flawless.
His breathing precise.
His Qi circulation was perfect.
But the techniques themselves felt… incomplete.
The Battle Saint Dao Method required battle intent—true comprehension born from unyielding will in combat.
The Nine Heavens Tyrant Art required Tyrannical intent—the natural authority to suppress all under heaven.
He possessed the combat strength.
He possessed a solid foundation.
But intent could not be imitated.
It had to be realized.
His eyes opened slowly.
Not yet.
He was still tempering himself.
Still refining.
It was enough for now.
The final thread of heavenly purple Qi dissolved into his Qi sea. The golden holy Qi settled into stillness.
Xuanyuan Zhen exhaled and lowered his stance.
Only then did he notice—
Yin Mei stood near the corridor, watching him.
Morning light softened her features. She held her hands together in front of her, fingers nervously entwined. Her complexion remained faintly pale, as it often did, though he had assumed it was merely due to long years of hardship.
"Young master…" she began softly.
He turned toward her.
"Yes?"
She hesitated. Her eyes lowered briefly before lifting again with unexpected resolve.
"I want to learn cultivation."
The words came out in a rush, as though she feared losing courage if she delayed.
"To protect you," she added quickly.
For a moment, Xuanyuan Zhen simply looked at her.
Protect him?
A faint warmth stirred in his chest.
This girl—who had endured mockery alongside him, who had shielded him from humiliation despite being powerless—wished to step into a cruel world for his sake.
He walked closer, his voice gentler than usual.
"Yin Mei, cultivation is not gentle. It is blood and death. Schemes and betrayal. You do not need to entangle yourself in it."
She shook her head stubbornly.
"I don't want to only stand behind you," she said, her voice trembling slightly but firm. "If danger comes again… I want to at least stand beside you."
He could see it in her eyes.
Fear.
But also determination.
She insisted.
Again.
And again.
Until even Xuanyuan Zhen, who had hardened himself against the world, felt his resolve weaken before her sincerity.
"Fine," he said at last. "Let me check your aptitude first."
Relief flashed across her face.
She stepped closer obediently.
Xuanyuan Zhen placed two fingers lightly against her wrist and released a thread of purple-golden Qi into her meridians. Carefully. Slowly. He guided it through her internal pathways to examine their condition.
At first, he frowned.
Her meridians were not narrow.
They were not damaged.
In fact, they were surprisingly stable for a mortal.
But as his Qi approached her lower abdomen—
He froze.
There.
At the location of her Qi sea.
A dark intricate rune. Embedded deeply, almost fused with her flesh.
It pulsed faintly, emitting a sinister aura. Sealing her Qi sea and absorbing trace amounts of Qi and blood vitality continuously.
His purple golden Qi recoiled as if encountering something unnatural.
So that was it.
No wonder she had always appeared pale.
No wonder she fatigued easily.
It was not weakness.
It was theft.
Something had been draining her without her knowledge.
A cold fury erupted from deep within him.
The purple-golden Qi sea churned violently.
Killing intent burst outward in an instant.
The courtyard air thickened.
Pressure descended like a falling mountain.
Yin Mei staggered back, her face paling further, eyes wide with sudden fear.
"Young master…?"
Her voice trembled.
The sight of her expression struck him harder than any blade.
Xuanyuan Zhen inhaled sharply.
The killing intent vanished as abruptly as it had appeared.
The pressure dissipated.
He stepped forward quickly and caught her before she lost balance.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
She looked confused, still shaken.
He gently pulled her into his arms, one hand resting protectively against her back.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, softer this time.
His heart burned. Not at her. At whoever had done this. This was no natural condition. No accident. A deliberate seal. A calculated suppression.
Someone had bound her potential and slowly siphoned her vitality for years. And she had endured it silently.
Xuanyuan Zhen held her until her breathing steadied.
His gaze, however, had already grown cold.
Whoever placed that rune—
Would answer for it.