Yan Xuan did not sleep that night.
Not from restlessness, but from clarity.
The resistance within him was no longer something he probed cautiously. It stood firm, complete—like a sealed door that would only open if struck from the correct angle. Beneath it, the warmth waited, no longer curious, no longer reactive.
It was ready.
At dawn, Mu led him beyond the river, farther than before, to a stretch of bare stone where the wind cut cleanly and the ground held no softness at all.
"This is as neutral a place as you'll find," Mu said. "Nothing here will help you. Nothing will interfere."
Yan Xuan stood barefoot on cold rock.
Mu turned to face him fully.
"You've reached the end of preparation," Mu said. "From this point forward, every step leaves a mark. There is no testing. Only entry."
Yan Xuan nodded once. "What do I do?"
"For the first time," Mu said, "you stop holding back."
Yan Xuan inhaled slowly.
He did not rush inward. He did not force attention.
He aligned.
The resistance responded immediately, tightening—not as an obstacle, but as a container. The warmth surged upward to meet it, stronger than ever before, no longer hesitant.
For the first time, Yan Xuan did not stop it.
The moment the two met—
Pain exploded.
Not sharp.
Not chaotic.
Total.
His body felt as if it were being compressed from every direction at once. Muscles seized. Bones vibrated. His breath locked in his chest as if the air itself refused to move.
Yan Xuan did not scream.
He did not move.
He focused on holding shape.
The warmth poured through him—not randomly, but following paths he had never known existed. Wherever it passed, resistance collapsed and reformed, denser, stronger.
Something cracked.
Not bone.
Limitation.
Yan Xuan staggered, dropping to one knee, palms pressed to stone. Blood rushed in his ears. Heat rolled through his limbs in heavy waves.
Then—
It settled.
The pain faded as abruptly as it had arrived.
Yan Xuan remained kneeling, breath steadying, heart calm.
His body felt… present.
Not tired.
Not light.
Complete.
He rose slowly.
The wind struck his skin—and for the first time, it did not bite as deeply. The cold stone beneath his feet felt firm, supportive, almost familiar.
Mu watched him closely.
"Say what changed," Mu said.
Yan Xuan closed his eyes briefly.
"My body is… heavier," he said. "But not slower. It reacts before I think. And there's something else."
He opened his eyes.
"The air feels different," he said. "Like it's pressing back."
Mu nodded once.
"That pressure," Mu said, "is Qi."
Yan Xuan absorbed the word without reaction.
"Qi exists between heaven and earth," Mu continued. "Until now, your body could not hold it. It passed through you without leaving a trace."
Mu paused.
"That is no longer the case."
Yan Xuan looked down at his hands. His fingers flexed, skin warm, steady.
"What is this called?" Yan Xuan asked.
Mu met his gaze directly.
"Body Tempering Realm," he said.
The name settled into place—not dramatic, not overwhelming.
Accurate.
"You've stepped onto the cultivation path," Mu continued. "Your body will now refine itself continuously. Injury will heal differently. Effort will compound. And mistakes will cost more."
Yan Xuan nodded.
"This is the first realm," Mu said. "And the last one I will take you to."
Yan Xuan did not ask him to stay.
He already understood.
Mu turned away. "Rest today. Tomorrow, you train alone."
He took a few steps, then stopped.
"One last thing," Mu said without turning. "From now on, alignment is not enough. Power will listen to you—but it will also demand payment."
Yan Xuan bowed deeply.
Mu left.
Yan Xuan remained standing on bare stone, wind cutting past him, Qi pressing gently against skin that could finally feel it.
The boy who had endured was gone.
In his place stood someone who had entered.
And the path ahead—now clearly named—would no longer allow him to remain unchanged.