Zhang Guanyu stood on the balcony until the night wind turned cold enough to bite through silk.
The sparring platform below was empty now. Only faint scuff marks and a broken spear shaft remained to prove that Murong Zi, Bai Jingyun, and Qin Xingxuan had been there at all—laughing, sweating, breathing hard under another man's gaze.
Not his.
The echoes still clung to the air. Murong Zi's unrestrained laughter. Bai Jingyun's soft, controlled exhale as she sheathed her sword. Qin Xingxuan's quiet, steady voice asking a question, just close enough that she had to tilt her head up to look at him.
Ren Ming.
Zhang Guanyu's fingers slowly loosened behind his back.
Enough.
His eyes cooled. The anger simmering in his chest condensed into something harder, sharper.
He turned.
His footsteps along the corridor were steady, measured. He didn't storm. He didn't slam doors. Heavenly Abode disciples bowed and pressed themselves to the sides, not daring to meet his eyes for long. They didn't need to.
The fury in those eyes was clear enough.
It wasn't just his.
Even without trying, he could feel the resentment simmering in the martial artists he passed. Many of them were Heavenly Abode elites, the pride of Sky Fortune Kingdom, disciples who had spent years cultivating under Seven Profound Martial House's strict guidance. Now, in a few days, an unknown "guest instructor" had turned their hard-won advantage into something that felt like a joke.
Cultivation walls they had bled against for years had fallen for others in a single breath.
Not for them.
Resentment was a kind of fuel. Zhang Guanyu had always known how to use it.
By the time he reached his private cultivation chamber, his expression had become calm again.
The room was refined and quietly luxurious. Sandalwood incense curled lazily in the air. A meditation cushion sat perfectly centered. A low table held a neat array of jade slips—cultivation notes, resource tallies, reports from the Allied Trade Association.
Near the center of the room, hidden beneath a woven rug, lay a transmission array. Its carvings were shallow, almost invisible, but every line had been etched with care.
Zhang Guanyu flicked his sleeve.
The rug rolled aside.
He sat without haste, fingers brushing the formation's outer ring. True essence seeped into the carved lines. One by one, the channels lit up, carrying his power outward—past the Martial House's ordinary communication network, past Sky Fortune Kingdom's borders, into a more distant, higher node.
To others, Seven Profound Martial House was already the pinnacle—a branch institution of a third-grade sect that ruled this region of the South Horizon Region, recruiting geniuses for the Seven Profound Valleys.
To Zhang Guanyu, it was only a step.
A faint smile touched his lips.
Acacia Faction.
Light condensed above the array, first as a hazy glow, then as a man seated on an ornate chair. Luxurious robes. Carefully styled hair. Narrow eyes, lips curved in a gentle smile that never reached them.
The projection lifted a cup of wine, swirling it lazily as if he were truly there.
"Ouyang Dihua."
Zhang Guanyu rose and cupped his fist, respectful.
"Senior Brother Ouyang."
The projected figure chuckled softly, voice carrying that practiced warmth that had fooled so many daughters of noble families.
"Junior Brother Zhang," he drawled. "You rarely take the initiative to contact me. Has Sky Fortune Kingdom already grown too small for you?"
Zhang Guanyu bowed his head.
"Senior Brother flatters me," he said. "There has simply been… a development at Seven Profound Martial House that touches upon your interests."
Ouyang Dihua's movement paused just slightly.
"Oh?" His interest sharpened. "Speak."
Zhang Guanyu did not rush.
He spoke of the last few days with precise care.
He described the sudden appearance of a "Pulse Condensation" guest instructor named Ren Ming—a man of unknown origin, with a casual smile and a depth no one could see through. He told of the first lecture that had shaken Human, Earth, and Heavenly Abode alike; of breathing patterns that had rewritten meridians; of an entire Martial House stirred into breakthroughs.
He spoke of Ling Sen's Ashura Intent being forcibly refined, of Ta Ku's axe growing heavier and cleaner, of Zhu Yan's pride finally tempered under another man's guidance. He mentioned the elders' wary silence—Sun Sifan, normally bold and laughing, now watching with a grave, measuring gaze; Hong Xi, the spear instructor, uncharacteristically quiet at the back of the hall.
And, most carefully, he spoke of the women.
"…and of course," Zhang Guanyu said slowly, "this guest instructor seems… very close to several of Heavenly Abode's outstanding female disciples."
Ouyang Dihua's fingers paused on the stem of his cup.
"Oh?" he said again, but this time the sound was softer, with an edge beneath.
"Which ones?"
"Murong Zi. Qin Xingxuan." Zhang Guanyu let the last name fall with deliberate weight. "And… Bai Jingyun."
The smile disappeared from Ouyang Dihua's face.
The air in the chamber seemed to chill a few degrees, even through the transmission.
"My humble fiancée," he finished for Zhang Guanyu, voice light, but with an undercurrent that made lesser men's legs go weak.
Zhang Guanyu inclined his head.
"In the last few days," he continued, "they have been seen frequently around him. Accepting guidance. Sparring under his eyes. There are… rumors."
Ouyang Dihua placed his cup down.
The faint clink echoed unnaturally loudly through the transmission.
"Describe this Ren Ming," he said. "Not his cultivation. His conduct."
Zhang Guanyu's jaw tightened.
He thought back to the lecture field: Ren Ming sitting lazily at the edge of the platform, one leg propped up, speaking in simple words that made elders go pale. The casual motion of his fingers as he summoned a wisp of flame that contained Law essence at Pulse Condensation—flame that had cracked disciples' understanding of the world.
He remembered the way Murong Zi's laughter brightened when Ren Ming teased her form. The way Bai Jingyun's usually distant, snow-pure gaze had softened by degrees as she listened, sword calluses easing for the first time in years. Qin Xingxuan, expression calm, standing just a little closer to him than etiquette demanded, her eyes quietly focused like a flame behind frosted glass.
"He is… very casual," Zhang said finally. "He smiles easily. Speaks in plain language, as if nothing in the world can shake him. Toward men, he is indifferent. Toward women…"
His lips thinned.
"…toward women he is gentle. Teasing. As if he is already certain they will one day belong to him."
To Zhang Guanyu, that was the most intolerable part.
Ouyang Dihua was silent for a long moment.
Then he chuckled.
"That kind of man," he murmured. "I see."
There was no warmth in the sound.
Zhang Guanyu bowed his head slightly.
"Senior Brother, Bai Jingyun is your fiancée," he said. "Murong Zi and Qin Xingxuan are both talents Seven Profound Valleys has been eyeing. This matter… should not be left unattended."
A sliver of cold light passed through Ouyang's eyes.
Ouyang Dihua cultivated the Divine Acacia Power. He had spent years "experiencing" neighboring kingdoms, seducing or coercing noble daughters to fuel his dual cultivation art. A proud, icy girl like Bai Jingyun—who would rather die than follow him into Acacia Faction's halls—was precisely the kind of prey he liked to break.
He had no intention of letting another man leave his fingerprints on her.
"Calm yourself," Ouyang said, leaning back. "A few days of guidance cannot overturn years of arrangements. A woman's cultivation can be polished by anyone, but marriage… that is written by elders."
His eyes narrowed.
"But… it is indeed irritating."
Zhang Guanyu risked a glance up.
"What do you intend, Senior Brother?"
Ouyang Dihua tapped a finger on the chair's armrest, thinking.
"A guest instructor of unknown background appears out of nowhere," he mused. "Displays Law essence at Pulse Condensation, shakes an entire Martial House, and begins collecting outstanding female disciples around him like stars around the moon. If this were in the core sect, he would already have been thoroughly investigated."
He smiled thinly.
"You say the Martial House elders are… cautious?"
"Yes," Zhang Guanyu said. "They are wary of offending someone whose background they cannot see clearly—but they are not at ease."
"Good." Ouyang's smile deepened, lazy and cruel. "Then listen carefully."
His voice sank, unhurried, outlining each step as if he were describing the brewing of fine tea.
"First, you spread a few seeds," he said. "Nothing that can be traced back to you or to Seven Profound Valleys. Just whispers. That this guest instructor's methods are too overbearing. That he is getting too close to young maidens. That his reckless use of True Essence will damage foundations. That his breathing patterns resemble certain… demonic methods that twist meridians forcefully."
Zhang Guanyu's eyes flickered.
"In other words," Ouyang went on, amused, "you hand their own pride back to them. Use the jealousy of Heavenly Abode instructors and older disciples. They already dislike having their authority overturned by an outsider. Give them something to bite."
"And if that fails?" Zhang asked, brows knitting.
Ouyang Dihua raised the wine cup again.
"Then we ascend." His tone was calm, almost bored. "I will soon arrive at Sky Fortune Kingdom as Seven Profound Valleys' envoy. When that time comes, I will also inspect this 'guest instructor'. If he truly has some powerful origin, we will make formal inquiries through the proper channels. If he is merely a rogue cultivator who bit off more than he could chew…"
His smile turned almost gentle.
"…then we will simply press him with status. Let us see how long his calm expression can last when a core disciple of Seven Profound Valleys—Bai Jingyun's fiancé—asks him to step back."
Zhang Guanyu exhaled slowly.
His heart, which had been constricting since the moment he saw Bai Jingyun smile under another man's gaze, steadied.
"Yes," he said. "Senior Brother's plan is wise."
"Begin with the rumors," Ouyang said, flicking his fingers as if dismissing a trivial matter. "Subtlety, Zhang Guanyu. You are not to move against him directly. For now, we only muddy the water. Let those girls hesitate. Let the elders frown. The more he stirs the pond, the louder the splash when he finally falls."
The transmission flickered.
Ouyang Dihua's image dissolved, leaving only the faint scent of wine and the lingering sense of venom smiling from the dark.
Zhang Guanyu stared at the dimmed array for a long breath.
Then he rose.
"Ren Ming…" he murmured. "Let us see how long you can stand."
He stepped out into the night.
The wind had grown colder.
It felt like the air before a storm.
…
The storm did not arrive as thunder.
It arrived as silence.
Three days later, the Martial House's main training field was once again packed from edge to edge. Human Hall robes, Earth Hall robes, and Heavenly Abode's darker uniforms mingled like a sea of colors. Every stone seat, every section of the gallery, every spot on the rooftop eaves was taken.
The elders' row was fuller than before.
Sun Sifan stood near the center, hands clasped behind his back, gaze sharp. Beside him sat Hong Xi, bare upper body covered in old scars, red hair tied back, the black saber across his back seeming almost tame compared to the pressure in his eyes.
Several other Heavenly Abode instructors lined the platform. Some wore neutral expressions. Some had stormy eyes. More than a few carried a faint trace of unease.
"Again," one older instructor muttered under his breath now, arms folded. "What is he planning to do this time?"
"Whatever it is," another replied quietly, "we'll see it with our own eyes."
The murmurs died as a familiar figure stepped onto the stone platform.
Ren Ming's robe was the same as before—simple, clean, without sect marks. His hands were tucked into his sleeves. His True Essence was suppressed so thoroughly that he seemed like a relaxed inner disciple.
But no one doubted him now.
The memory of a Law flame smaller than a candle that had shaken their Dao Hearts was carved into every disciple's bones.
Ren stopped at the center of the field.
He let his gaze sweep over the sea of faces—scarred veterans, nervous new disciples, hungry eyes, desperate eyes, proud eyes forced to bow. He smiled.
"A while ago," he said lightly, voice carrying without a trace of True Essence, "we talked about breathing."
A ripple passed through the crowd.
Shoulders unconsciously loosened. A few disciples' breathing patterns shifted on reflex, slipping back into the method he had shown them—breath following a thread of light down the spine, pooling at the dantian, True Essence watching quietly until it moved on its own.
"Breath is the first step," Ren continued. "You learned to stop fighting your True Essence. To let it move, not drive it like a tired ox."
He lifted a hand and tapped his chest.
"Today, we talk about what carries that True Essence."
He paused.
"Your body," he said. "And your meridians."
Simple words. But in the ears of martial artists whose lives revolved around those things, they fell like stones into a still pond.
"There are two main ways to change your path from here," Ren said. "Some of you have already realized that your current manuals are… limited. They work, but they're like a road that stops halfway up the mountain."
Faces tightened.
More than one disciple lowered their eyes, hands unconsciously clenching behind their backs.
Ren's smile didn't change.
"So," he said. "I'll give you two choices."
He raised his right hand, palm up.
"The first path strengthens what you already have," he said. "It opens more 'gates' in your meridians, lets you draw in more heaven and earth origin energy at once, and tempers your body to withstand that pressure. It favors explosive power and rapid growth. If you want to stand taller quickly, cut down enemies in a few years instead of many, this is a good path."
Excited murmurs stirred. Even among the elders, several pairs of eyes sharpened.
"In my homeland," Ren went on lazily, "this art was called something a bit complicated. I've trimmed away the parts that would cripple you and reshaped the rest. Here, we'll call it the Heaven-Opening Origin Art."
He didn't say the name "Heretical God Force".
He didn't need to.
In truth, it was his heavily modified version—its brutal gate-opening turned into spiraling flows that compressed and refined power instead of simply flooding the body, and an "inner governor" bound to the Ancient Ming Bloodline and Hell Suppressing Immortal Physique principles that silently monitored stress.
Instead of tearing meridians, the flows would temper them as they widened.
He lifted his left hand.
"The second path is harder," he said. "Slower. It asks you to rebuild your foundation from the ground up. To temper your muscles, bones, and marrow with each breath, each movement. It turns your body into a divine weapon and your meridians into rivers that can hold more and more without bursting."
He let his gaze drift over the field, lingering on certain faces.
"Along with this," he added, "you'll also cultivate Heaven-Opening Origin Art. The benefits… will only truly show later. But when they do, they'll be bigger."
"In my homeland, this was a body art from a harsher realm," Ren said softly. "I've altered its circulation to fit the Dao of this world and the way your bodies are built. We'll call it the Primal Chaos Meridian Canon."
That was his revised Chaotic Virtues Combat Meridians—strength training turned into force memory, each perfect motion carved into bone as a nascent Dao Fruit. Imperfect circulation was no longer wasted; it fed back into tempering, shrinking the gap between "ordinary" and "genius" with every cycle.
The field felt like it was holding its breath.
"Both paths require trust," Ren said. "In me, in yourselves, and in the Dao."
He met eyes, not all, but enough. Disciples flinched, then steadied, as if something in his gaze brushed against the core of their martial hearts.
"For most of you," Ren continued, "Heaven-Opening Origin Art will mesh with your current cultivation. You won't need to abolish your cultivation, only adjust your circulation and add new patterns. Your True Essence will grow more quickly. Your perception will sharpen. Your bodies will become sturdier without you needing to start over."
Ling Sen's fingers twitched.
Deep within his chest, the Ashura Intent he had tempered in battlefields of slaughter stirred restlessly. The thought of compressing that wild killing intent into a tighter, colder edge, instead of letting it bleed into his organs and spirit, sent a strange thrill down his spine.
"For a smaller number," Ren said, turning slightly, "Primal Chaos Meridian Canon will be better. It will hurt more. Some of you will have to tear down parts of what you've built and rebuild them cleanly. But when you reach the same realm as your peers again…"
His voice lowered.
"…your bodies and meridians will be several times stronger. Even if you cultivate the same True Essence manuals later, your achievements will be higher."
He smiled.
"I won't force anyone," he said. "I've walked both roads. I know what they cost. Today, I'll explain each art in detail. After that, you'll have three days to decide. Once you step onto one path, it's best not to jump back and forth like a drunk crossing a bridge."
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
Even some elders smiled despite themselves.
On the platform, Sun Sifan's gaze deepened.
"He's offering complete cultivation arts," an instructor whispered hoarsely. "Not just a small breathing method…"
"Is he insane?" another hissed. "To spread such things in a Martial House…"
Hong Xi's fingers tightened on his knee.
"Watch," Sun Sifan said quietly. "Then judge."
....
Three days later, the choices were made. They were not shouted. They were not announced in any formal ceremony. They simply appeared.
On a quiet morning, Ren stood beneath the same sky he had arrived under, the Martial House's arrays humming faintly above him like hidden constellations. The air was cool, the scent of pine and stone mixing with the faint metallic smell of weapons oil. In front of him, two groups formed.
On his left: those who had chosen Heaven-Opening Origin Art. Ling Sen stood at their head, Ashura killing intent tightly reined in, gaze like a drawn sword. Beside him, Bai Jingyun, robe neat, face calm, grip on her sword hilt half a degree tighter than normal. A scattering of talented Human and Earth Hall disciples filled their ranks, along with a surprising number of Heavenly Abode elites. Pride and calculation mingled in their eyes.
On his right: those who had chosen Primal Chaos Meridian Canon and Primal Chaos Meridian Canon. Murong Zi was first, spear on her back, grin wide, and eyes burning. Qin Xingxuan stood at her side, expression as composed as always, but her aura… rooted, like a sapling that had found firm soil. Ta Ku loomed behind them, massive arms crossed, face honest and eager.
Around them clustered dozens of Human and Earth Hall disciples whose robes were clean but frayed at the edges—outer and inner disciples who had never had a chance to touch such methods before.
Ren looked at them. Then he smiled, slow and warm.
"Alright," he said. "Let's change your lives."
…
The first step was pain.
Ren did not stand still and read from a jade slip. He moved.
He began with Heaven-Opening Origin Art.
"For this one," he said, "we start here."
His True Essence rose—warm, neutral, without edge. It flowed into the first disciple's meridians like clear water, tracing pathways, nudging here, slowing there.
He did not seize control. He guided.
"Your original manuals run in straight lines," he said. "You pour True Essence in and let it rush. It's like flooding fields with a broken irrigation system."
He drew a simple spiral in the air. Dao lines flickered faintly along his fingertip.
"Heaven-Opening Origin adds spirals," Ren said. "Pressure valves. Refining mills. Each revolution pulls more origin energy into the Spiritual Sea, compresses it, and then releases it into muscle and bone."
He adjusted the disciple's breathing and circulation. The young man's face went red, then pale, then slowly steadied. His aura, which had always spiked and dipped like a nervous heartbeat, smoothed out.
"Remember this feeling," Ren said. "This is the new 'normal' for your meridians."
He moved on.
To Ling Sen, he pointed at a channel across his chest.
"Your Ashura battlefield leaks here," Ren said calmly. "It sprays killing intent everywhere. Impressive, but wasteful. Let's tighten it."
A thin strand of True Essence slipped into Ling Sen's body. Under Ren's guidance, Ling Sen adjusted his own circulation, channeling the Ashura Intent into Heaven-Opening's spiral flows.
Pain flared through his meridians.
His Aura lurched.
Then something clicked.
The bloody, feral pressure that had always surrounded Ling Sen shrank in an instant, drawing inward until it coiled coldly around his bones and dantian. The killing intent didn't diminish—it condensed. Instead of a leaking furnace, it became a thin, invisible blade.
Ling Sen opened his eyes.
The world looked sharper.
"Again," he said hoarsely.
Ren chuckled under his breath.
"Greedy," he said. "Good. Greed is fine. Just don't let it make you stupid."
To Bai Jingyun, he stood just behind her, hand hovering a hair's breadth above her wrist.
"Raise your sword," he said.
She did.
"Circulate your True Essence the way you normally do."
She complied.
Ren watched the flow—how it surged past her dantian, rushed up her spine, then stumbled slightly between shoulder and elbow before pouring into her fingers and blade.
"Your sword intent is sharp," he said quietly. "But you waste strength between shoulder and elbow. Heaven-Opening Origin will fix that."
His True Essence brushed the meridian.
"Here," he murmured. "Let the spiral form. Don't push. Let it turn."
Bai Jingyun inhaled.
True Essence that had always run in a straight, slightly rough line shifted. It twisted, hugging her bones more closely. Her arm felt… lighter. No, not lighter.
Aligned.
She swung.
A simple sword arc, the same basic movement she had performed tens of thousands of times.
The air whispered. The blade left a thin, quiet line on the training field's distant stone wall—so clean it seemed to separate the stone's grain itself.
Bai Jingyun's lashes trembled.
"This is only the beginning?" she whispered.
Ren's smile curved, warm.
"For you," he said, "this path will be very suitable."
One by one, he walked Heaven-Opening Origin's pattern into the bodies of those who chose it. Meridian by meridian, he introduced spiral flows, tightened leaks, smoothed blockages. Each time, the effect was small—just a slight clarity in the eyes, a faint change in the way a disciple stood.
In aggregate, it was terrifying.
By the time he finished, those who had chosen Heaven-Opening felt their bodies humming with a restrained power. No one had broken through a realm yet. But if any of them had fought themselves from three days prior, they knew they would win.
…
The Primal Chaos Meridian Canon group had it worse.
Ren didn't hide that.
"Those of you on this side," he said, turning to face them, "will suffer more up front. Some of you will need to abolish portions of your cultivation and rebuild. Don't decide lightly."
Murong Zi snorted, flipping her spear onto her back.
"If it's just pain," she said, grinning, "we're used to that. Right?"
Ta Ku bared his teeth.
"Pain means growth," he rumbled. "I don't mind."
Qin Xingxuan didn't speak. She simply inclined her head, eyes clear, aura steady.
Ren's smile held a hint of pride.
"Good," he said. "Then let's begin."
He walked among them, one by one, asking each disciple to display their current body cultivation. He listened to their meridians with his True Essence, fingers hovering near, never touching.
"For you," he told one Earth Hall disciple, "your bones grew along a twisted line. If you push forward as you are, your limit will always be low. Break it now."
The young man went pale.
"Abolish… my cultivation?" he whispered.
Ren's gaze didn't waver.
"You can limp along with a crippled foundation," he said. "Or you can suffer once and build properly. Your choice."
Tears burned at the disciple's eyes.
He thought of his poor village, the sacrifices his family had made to send him here. He thought of being forever stuck in a mediocre realm, forever looking up at geniuses like Ling Sen and Bai Jingyun from the pit.
He gritted his teeth and bowed.
"Please… guide me."
Ren nodded once.
He didn't make a show of it.
He guided the young man's True Essence in a reverse circulation, gathering it at the dantian and along key nodes, then slowly dissolving it along pre-etched channels. The disciple's realm crumbled—but his meridians did not fracture. His dantian did not collapse.
It felt like exhaling after holding one's breath for too many years.
Then the pain came.
"Primal Chaos starts here," Ren said, tapping a point on his own forearm. "Strength training. Not just power. Memory."
He demonstrated a simple punch.
"It's not enough to hit hard," he said. "You have to hit correctly. Every perfect motion you carve into bone and tendon will become a seed. A Dao Fruit, if you like. You plant them now. They sprout later."
Murong Zi stepped forward first.
"Show me," she said.
Ren's eyes glinted.
"Good," he said. "Spear on your back. Empty hands."
She obeyed.
He stood beside her, adjusting her stance.
"Feet shoulder-width. Weight on the balls, not the heels. Power starts from the ground, travels up the leg, through the waist, then out your arm. Right now, you use too much shoulder."
His True Essence traced the path as he spoke.
"Breath in… now."
Murong Zi inhaled.
"Breath out, punch."
She drove her fist forward.
Pain lanced through her legs, hips, spine, shoulders, arms—as if red-hot wire had been wrapped around her bones and pulled tight. Her vision went white at the edges. Sweat burst from her skin.
The punch landed against a stone pile Ren had set up.
The stone cracked.
Not an impressive explosion. Not a shattering. Just a clean, spiderweb fracture around the impact point, as if something had pressed on exactly the right spot.
Murong Zi staggered, one knee hitting the ground.
"That…" she gasped. "That was…"
"Half a percent more correct than your usual," Ren said mildly. "Don't get arrogant. Again."
She stared at him, then laughed breathlessly.
"I picked the right path," she muttered.
Qin Xingxuan's training was quieter.
Ren did not need to tear down her foundation; her meridians, while not perfect, were stable.
"You're steady," he said. "Good. Primal Chaos will reward that."
He had her move through basic sword forms—nothing fancy, just the simplest strikes and guards. Each time she moved slightly wrong, he corrected her, not with harsh criticism, but with precise words.
"Your weight slips here. Breathe into your lower back. Let the force travel through your waist, not around it."
The pain was no less than Murong Zi's, but Qin Xingxuan's face barely changed. Sweat dripped from her chin; her arms shook.
Her eyes shone brighter.
Ta Ku's training shook the field.
Ren gave him a heavy axe, its weight tuned by formation to stretch his limits.
"Slow," Ren said. "If you rush, I'll knock your teeth out."
Ta Ku laughed.
"That's harsh, Master Ren."
The axe carved an arc through the air, slower than his usual wild strikes but frighteningly heavy. Each movement made the ground tremble. With every swing, Ren called out corrections.
"Too much shoulder."
"Your waist isn't turning enough."
"Breath and True Essence aren't aligned."
Each time Ta Ku adjusted, the axe felt less like a foreign weapon and more like an extension of his spine. The pain of forcing muscles and bones into new patterns was brutal.
By the end of the day, the Primal Chaos group lay scattered across the grass and stones, limbs shaking, meridians aching, some having fallen realms, all exhausted.
Yet under the pain… there was a strange comfort.
They could feel something under their skin, something subtle but undeniable.
A new foundation.
Ren let them rest only when their breathing had calmed.
"Eat well," he said. "Sleep if you can. Tomorrow, we do it again."
Murong Zi groaned into the stone she was using as a pillow.
"Master Ren," she muttered, half delirious, "if you keep this up, I'll die before I get to show off to anyone."
Ren crouched beside her.
"Murong Zi," he said softly.
She blinked up at him.
"If you die from this," he said, smiling, "you never had the qualifications to walk the road you wanted."
She stared at him for a heartbeat.
Then he laughed quietly, reached out, and brushed a damp strand of hair away from her forehead. His touch was light, natural, as if he'd done it a hundred times.
"But you won't," he added. "You're too stubborn."
Murong Zi's cheeks flushed hotter than any training burn.
Qin Xingxuan, sitting cross-legged nearby to recover, glanced over once—then looked away, lips pressed together, a faint warmth in her eyes.
Something complicated rippled in her heart.