Dawn painted the training grounds in shades of gray and gold.
Wang Ben arrived early, but not early enough. A figure already moved through the center of the practice yard, sword tracing patterns in the half-light. Each motion flowed into the next with the precision of water finding its path downhill. No wasted movement. No hesitation.
Dao Zhen.
[SUBJECT ANALYSIS: DAO ZHEN]
[Cultivation: Qi Condensation Stage 6 (mid-stage)]
[Combat capability: SIGNIFICANT]
[Threat assessment in direct confrontation: Defeat probability 99.7%]
Wang Ben watched from the entrance, studying the older cultivator's form. Twenty-four years old. Nearly a decade of additional training. A full major realm ahead. The Dao Clan heir moved like someone who had been born with a sword in his hand.
The form ended. Dao Zhen held his final position for a breath, then lowered his blade and turned.
"So. You're Wang Ben. The one who supposedly killed a spirit beast a full realm above him." His voice carried across the empty yard. "Some call it luck. Others call it cleverness."
Wang Ben walked forward, keeping his pace measured. "Dao Zhen. Thank you for agreeing to meet."
"I didn't agree. I requested." Dao Zhen's eyes swept over Wang Ben with the casual assessment of someone examining a horse at market. "You're shorter than I expected."
"I'm fifteen."
"I was taller at fifteen." Dao Zhen slid his sword back into its sheath with a soft click. "I've heard interesting things about you, Wang Ben. Some say you're clever. Others say you're lucky. A few claim you're touched by fortune itself."
"What do you think?"
"I think cleverness doesn't stop swords." Dao Zhen's expression didn't change. "I think luck runs out. And I think fortune favors the prepared, not the blessed."
Wang Ben felt the challenge beneath the words. The Dao Clan heir wasn't here to make friends. He was here to take measure of an ally he'd been forced to accept.
"Then it's good I try to be prepared."
Something flickered in Dao Zhen's eyes. Irritation, perhaps, that Wang Ben hadn't risen to the bait. He'd expected anger. Defensiveness. Not this calm acknowledgment.
"Words." Dao Zhen drew his sword again, the motion smooth as breathing. "I've heard enough words about you. Show me something real."
[ALERT: Combat challenge issued]
[Recommendation: Accept. Refusal damages alliance perception.]
[Strategic note: Display unusual competence without revealing full capabilities]
Wang Ben looked at the blade. Standard Dao Clan sword, well-maintained, slightly longer than average. The edge caught the growing light.
"I'm body refinement," he said. "You're qi condensation. This isn't a fair fight."
"I know." Dao Zhen's lips curved slightly. "That's rather the point."
Wang Ben considered his options. He could refuse, cite the power gap, maintain his dignity through withdrawal. But that would only confirm Dao Zhen's suspicions that the Wang Clan's rising generation was all talk.
"Unarmed?" Wang Ben asked.
"If you prefer. Though I'll still have qi reinforcement. That hardly makes it equal."
"Nothing about this is equal." Wang Ben moved to the center of the yard, rolling his shoulders. The bruises from last night's cultivation session ached slightly. "Shall we?"
Dao Zhen's smile widened. He set his sword aside and raised his hands in a standard martial stance.
Then he moved.
The first exchange lasted perhaps three seconds.
Dao Zhen's opening strike came fast, faster than anything Wang Ben had faced outside of spirit beasts. Qi-enhanced speed turned the older cultivator into a blur of motion.
But Wang Ben wasn't where the strike landed.
He'd read the attack in Dao Zhen's shoulders, in the slight shift of weight, in the way his eyes tracked. Instincts whispered from dreams he couldn't fully recall—fragments of endless battles, of reading opponents across lifetimes. The patterns lived in him like muscle memory he'd never earned.
He twisted, letting the punch slide past his ear, and countered with an elbow strike toward Dao Zhen's ribs.
The counter didn't land. Dao Zhen was already moving, flowing around the attack like water around stone. His palm caught Wang Ben's wrist and pulled, using momentum to send him stumbling.
Wang Ben turned the stumble into a roll, coming up three paces away.
"Interesting." Dao Zhen circled slowly. "You read that. Before I moved."
"Lucky guess."
"No." The heir's eyes had sharpened. "That was experience. Where did a fifteen-year-old body refinement cultivator learn to read qi condensation attacks?"
Wang Ben didn't answer. He shifted his stance, lowering his center of gravity.
Dao Zhen came again.
The next minute was a masterclass in humiliation. Dao Zhen was simply better. Faster. Stronger. His techniques flowed with the precision of someone who had drilled them ten thousand times until they became as natural as breathing.
But Wang Ben made him work for every point.
He used the terrain, forcing Dao Zhen to adjust angles. He exploited the slight predictability that came with formal training, the ingrained responses that a qi condensation cultivator wouldn't expect a body refinement opponent to recognize. He retreated when he should have attacked and attacked when he should have retreated, breaking every pattern Dao Zhen tried to establish.
A palm strike caught Wang Ben's shoulder and sent him spinning. He hit the ground, rolled, and came up just in time to block a follow-up kick with crossed forearms.
The impact rattled his bones.
"You're still standing." Dao Zhen wasn't even breathing hard. "Most body refinement cultivators would have gone down by now."
Wang Ben's arms ached where he'd blocked. His shoulder throbbed. Blood trickled from a split lip he didn't remember receiving.
"Most body refinement cultivators," he managed, "aren't stubborn enough to keep getting up."
"Stubbornness isn't a martial art."
"No. But it's surprisingly useful."
Dao Zhen's expression shifted. The dismissive certainty was cracking, replaced by something more complicated. Curiosity. Confusion. The beginning of reluctant interest.
He attacked again.
Wang Ben lasted another thirty seconds before a leg sweep took his feet out from under him and a palm strike to his chest pinned him to the ground. He lay there, staring up at the lightening sky, feeling every ache accumulating across his body.
Dao Zhen stood over him, not even winded.
"You fight like you've seen a thousand battles." His voice held genuine puzzlement. "How?"
Wang Ben considered his options. The truth was impossible. A lie would be obvious. So he chose something in between.
"I pay attention."
For a long moment, Dao Zhen just looked at him. Then he extended a hand.
Wang Ben took it and let himself be pulled to his feet.
"You lost," Dao Zhen said.
"I know."
"Badly."
"I know that too."
"But..." The heir paused, as if the words were difficult to form. "Not as badly as you should have."
He turned and walked to retrieve his sword. At the edge of the training ground, he stopped.
"Tomorrow. Same time. Bring a practice sword."
Then he was gone, disappearing into the compound without looking back.
[ANALYSIS: ENCOUNTER OUTCOME]
[Physical damage: Minor contusions, split lip, muscle strain]
[Alliance status: Improved. Subject displayed unexpected interest.]
[Assessment: Initial objective achieved. Curiosity established.]
Wang Ben touched his split lip and winced. His whole body felt like one massive bruise.
But he was smiling.
The compound hummed with activity throughout the day.
Cultivators who had been on extended assignments filtered in through the gates in small groups. Some came from patrol routes, others from trade missions to neighboring cities. All wore the same expression: grim determination mixed with quiet worry.
Wang Ben watched them from a bench near the training grounds, letting the Body Tempering Pill continue its work. Every welt from the morning spar accelerated the absorption. Pain became fuel.
[STATUS UPDATE]
[Body Tempering Pill absorption: 45.1%]
[Physical enhancement: +65% baseline]
[Projected advancement to Stage 8: 1-2 days]
[Note: Combat stress has accelerated metabolic integration]
Zhao Yu found him there an hour past noon.
"You look terrible." His friend dropped onto the bench beside him, eyeing the purple mark spreading across Wang Ben's cheekbone. "The Dao heir did that?"
"He did more than that." Wang Ben rotated his shoulder, feeling the joint protest. "He's nine years older and a full realm ahead. I'm lucky I'm walking."
"You lasted longer than anyone expected." Zhao Yu's voice held a note of pride. "I was watching from the second-floor gallery. Most people thought you'd go down in the first exchange."
"Most people were almost right."
"But you weren't. You made him actually try." Zhao Yu leaned back, studying his friend. "He looked confused when he left. The mighty Dao Zhen, puzzled by a body refinement cultivator half his age. That's worth a few bruises."
Wang Ben thought about Dao Zhen's final words. Tomorrow. Same time.
"He wants to spar again tomorrow."
"Of course he does. You got under his skin." Zhao Yu grinned. "The proud sword prodigy can't figure out how a fifteen-year-old almost made him work. It's going to drive him crazy."
Around them, the compound continued its transformation into a war camp. Disciples ran through combat drills on every available patch of ground. The distant ring of hammers echoed from the forge, where Zhao Daniu and his apprentices worked to repair equipment and sharpen blades.
"My father's heard things," Zhao Yu said, his voice dropping. "Whispers from his contacts in Ironforge. The Xue Clan is hiring people. Not local muscle. Professional mercenaries."
"How many?"
"Three squads, maybe. Mid-level cultivators. Expensive."
Wang Ben filed the information away. It matched what the System had calculated about the external funding. Someone was paying for the Xue Clan's war.
"Does the Patriarch know?"
"Grand Elder does. Father passed the information through official channels." Zhao Yu's jaw tightened. "It's really happening, isn't it? War."
"Yes."
"I always thought..." He trailed off, staring at the disciples training across the yard. "When I was younger, I imagined what it would be like. Glorious battles. Heroic victories. It seemed exciting."
"And now?"
"Now I think about Wang Liang." Zhao Yu's voice was quiet. "About his empty eyes when they brought him back. About how he'll never cultivate again. About how that could be any of us."
Wang Ben didn't have comfort to offer. The truth was ugly. War meant death. It meant crippled cultivators and grieving families and choices made in moments of chaos.
"We'll get through it," he said instead. "Together."
Zhao Yu was quiet for a moment. Then he punched Wang Ben's uninjured shoulder, lighter than usual.
"Together. Just try not to get too beaten up before the actual fighting starts."
A summons from the Grand Elder arrived an hour later. Wang Ben made his way across the compound, ignoring the ache in every muscle.
Wang Feng's study smelled of old paper and weapon oil.
Wang Ben stood before the scarred warrior's desk, trying not to wince every time he shifted his weight. The soreness from the morning spar had stiffened considerably.
"You look like you lost a fight with a stone wall," Wang Feng observed.
"Dao Zhen."
"Ah." Something like approval flickered in the Grand Elder's eyes. "And you're still walking. That's better than most."
"He wants to spar again tomorrow."
"Good. The alliance needs the junior generations to build connections." Wang Feng leaned back in his chair, his scarred face unreadable. "But that's not why I summoned you. The surveillance you recommended has produced results."
Wang Ben straightened despite the pain.
"Wang Rui met with his contact again last night. Different location, same pattern. Our people got close enough to identify the contact." The Grand Elder's voice hardened. "Mid-stage qi condensation. Wears Xue Clan colors under a traveling cloak. One of their retainer family members, we think."
"Have they been apprehended?"
"Not yet. That's what I wanted to discuss with you." Wang Feng rose and moved to the window, looking out at the busy compound. "If we grab Wang Rui now, the contact escapes. The Xue Clan knows we've identified their network. They'll go to ground, and we'll lose our only insight into their operations."
Wang Ben understood the calculation. "But if we leave Wang Rui in place..."
"He continues feeding them information. Real information. The risk increases every day." Wang Feng turned back to face him. "You identified the pattern. What would you do?"
The question wasn't rhetorical. The Grand Elder was genuinely asking for input.
Wang Ben thought carefully before answering. "Controlled information. Let Wang Rui continue his meetings, but ensure he only has access to intelligence we want the Xue Clan to receive. False patrol schedules. Exaggerated weakness reports. Troop positions that are slightly wrong."
"Counterintelligence."
"If they're going to spy on us, we might as well decide what they learn."
Wang Feng's scarred face twisted into something that might have been a smile. "Your father was right about you. The mind behind those eyes is older than it should be."
Wang Ben kept his expression neutral. "I read a lot."
"So I've heard." The Grand Elder returned to his desk. "I'll implement your suggestion with modifications. Wang Rui will be fed specific information through channels he thinks are secure. When the Xue Clan acts on that information, we'll know exactly how they received it."
"And then?"
"Then we decide whether a captured spy is more valuable than a dead one." Wang Feng's voice held no particular emotion. "War is coming, Wang Ben. The grace period is just a formality now. Six days remain."
"I know."
"Make sure you're ready. That body of yours is close to a breakthrough. I can see it in how you move." He waved a hand in dismissal. "Get some rest. You'll need it for tomorrow's beating."
Wang Ben returned to his courtyard as the sun began its descent toward the western walls.
His body ached in places he hadn't known could ache. The Body Tempering Pill worked steadily, converting the stress and damage into cultivation fuel, but the process wasn't painless. He settled into a meditation position beside the small garden, letting his breathing slow.
The tea cup appeared on the stone beside him without sound.
"You should really work on your awareness." Shen Ruoxi materialized on the opposite bench, legs crossed, expression amused. "I've been here for nearly ten seconds."
Wang Ben didn't startle. He'd half-expected this visit. "The Mortal Shedding cultivator who can hide from spiritual senses entirely. I'm sure my body refinement awareness will catch you any day now."
"Sarcasm. Delightful." She studied his battered face with apparent interest. "The Dao boy hit you quite hard. You're lucky he wasn't trying to kill you."
"It was a spar."
"Mmm. The bruise on your cheek says otherwise." She picked up the tea cup and sipped. "He's been trained since birth, you know. The Dao Clan breeds their heirs like racehorses. Optimal nutrition, perfect technique instruction, carefully selected sparring partners. Everything designed to produce a weapon."
"Is there a point to this observation?"
"The point is that you lasted three minutes against a weapon that's been sharpened for twenty-four years." Her eyes gleamed. "That's not supposed to happen. He's going to spend all night trying to figure out how a fifteen-year-old body refinement cultivator made him actually think during a fight."
Wang Ben said nothing. The less he explained, the better.
Shen Ruoxi set down the tea cup. "I have a gift for you. Consider it payment for entertainment provided."
"I'm not sure I want your gifts."
"This one you'll want." She examined her nails with studied casualness. "Your enemies are hiring mercenaries through a broker in Ironforge. Three squads. Mid-level qi condensation and early-stage foundation establishment. They'll arrive within two weeks."
Wang Ben kept his expression neutral, though the information matched what Zhao Yu had shared. "Why tell me this?"
"Because if the Xue Clan kills you before this gets interesting, I'll be very disappointed. You're the most entertaining thing I've found in a long time."
"I'm flattered."
"You should be." She rose from the bench in a single fluid motion. "Also, your father's pill refinement schedule is too predictable. Same time each morning, same duration, same recovery period. An assassin could time it perfectly."
Wang Ben felt a chill that had nothing to do with the evening air. She was right. He hadn't considered the pattern.
"Vary his routine," Shen Ruoxi continued. "Random start times. Different workshop locations. Keep them guessing."
"Why do you care about my father's safety?"
"I don't, particularly. But if he dies, you'll be too busy grieving to be interesting." She smiled, and there was something almost warm in it. Almost. "Consider it investment protection."
Then she was gone, vanishing between one blink and the next.
Wang Ben sat in the fading light, processing everything she'd said. Mercenaries. Assassins. A war that was coming whether anyone wanted it or not.
He would need to talk to his father about the schedule. Tonight.
[STATUS UPDATE]
[Body Tempering Pill absorption: 45.8%]
[Projected advancement to Stage 8: 1-2 days]
One to two days. The breakthrough was close now. He could feel it building in his muscles, in his bones, in the gradual densification of his physical form.
Six days until war.
Wang Ben rose from his meditation position, ignoring the protests of his battered muscles. Shen Ruoxi's warning echoed in his mind. His father's schedule. The same time each morning, the same duration, the same workshop.
An assassin could time it perfectly.
He found his father in the family courtyard, helping Li Mei settle Wang Chen for the night. The scene was so ordinary, so peaceful, that Wang Ben almost hesitated to disturb it.
Almost.
"Father," he said quietly. "We need to talk about your pill refinement schedule."
Wang Tian looked up, and something in Wang Ben's expression made the older man's eyes sharpen. He handed the baby to Li Mei and rose.
"What have you learned?"
Wang Ben glanced at his mother, then back to his father. Some conversations weren't meant for everyone.
"In private. Now."
Wang Tian nodded once and followed his son into the shadows of the evening compound.
Behind them, Li Mei watched with worried eyes, holding her youngest son close.
END OF CHAPTER 34