The morning bell of the Black Crane Sect rang like a funeral knell.
Li Yun opened his eyes before the sound finished echoing through the mountain valleys. His body ached, meridians still throbbing from the violent Qi infusion of the previous night, but his breathing was steady.
He sat up on the cold stone bed and exhaled slowly.
Still alive.
That alone was an achievement.
Outside, shouts and hurried footsteps filled the outer disciple quarters. Stone corridors echoed with panic as new disciples scrambled to dress and assemble. Those who moved too slowly were dragged out by guards without a word.
Li Yun stepped outside calmly.
The outer disciple compound was vast but crude—rows of stone huts clinging to the mountainside like parasites. No spirit arrays. No nourishing Qi. Only thin air and indifference.
A place meant to grind people down.
"Outer disciples—assemble!"
A man in gray robes stood atop a stone platform, whip coiled at his waist. His cultivation pressure rolled outward deliberately, forcing several disciples to their knees.
Qi Condensation (Mid Stage).
Li Yun felt the pressure but remained standing, face expressionless.
The man's eyes flicked toward him for half a second.
Then he sneered.
"Welcome to the Black Crane Sect," the man announced. "I am Instructor Han. From today onward, you belong to the sect."
Belong.
The word tasted like blood.
"Outer disciples are not cultivators," Han continued coldly. "You are labor. You are cannon fodder. You are tools."
Someone swallowed audibly.
"You will obey. You will train. You will fight when ordered. If you die—"
Han smiled thinly.
"—the sect loses nothing."
The whip cracked.
"Now move."
Hell Begins with Chores
The first lesson of the Black Crane Sect was humiliation.
Li Yun and the others were sent to haul massive stone slabs up steep mountain paths. No Qi was allowed. Any disciple caught circulating energy would be whipped.
By midday, blood stained the paths.
A young disciple collapsed beside Li Yun, foam spilling from his mouth.
"Help…" he whispered.
A guard kicked him aside.
"Dead weight."
Li Yun said nothing and kept moving.
This is deliberate, he realized. They want to break us.
Only those with iron wills—or hatred strong enough to replace fear—would endure.
When night fell, they were sent to train.
No techniques. No manuals.
Only fists.
Outer disciples were forced into combat rings, ordered to fight until one side could no longer stand. Winners received a single low-grade spirit pill.
Losers received nothing.
Li Yun was pushed into the ring.
His opponent was a familiar face.
Zhao Feng.
The youth Li Yun had defeated during the second trial stared at him with venom-filled eyes. His nose was crooked, hastily healed, and his gaze burned with humiliation.
"You think you're better than me?" Zhao Feng hissed.
Li Yun rolled his shoulders.
"Fight," he said simply.
The gong sounded.
Zhao Feng attacked immediately, his fists coated in Qi. He had stabilized his cultivation since the trial, pushing himself to the peak of Body Tempering.
Li Yun met him head-on.
Their fists collided.
Boom!
Pain surged up Li Yun's arm, but he didn't retreat. He twisted Zhao Feng's wrist, stepped inside his guard, and slammed a knee into his abdomen.
Zhao Feng gagged.
Li Yun followed with a headbutt.
Crack.
Blood sprayed.
The fight ended quickly.
Li Yun stood over Zhao Feng's unconscious body, chest rising and falling.
The guard tossed him a spirit pill.
"Next."
Enemies Are Made Quickly
By the third day, Li Yun had earned a reputation.
Not for talent.
For violence.
He fought efficiently. Ruthlessly. Never overextended. Never showed mercy. He endured injuries in silence and returned the next day as if nothing had happened.
Other outer disciples avoided his gaze.
Some watched with fear.
Others with hatred.
One night, as Li Yun returned to his stone hut, three figures blocked his path.
They wore outer disciple robes—but their postures were confident. Predatory.
"You're Li Yun," one said. "Senior Brother He Qiang wants a word."
Li Yun's eyes hardened.
He Qiang.
A name whispered among outer disciples. A Qi Condensation cultivator who ruled the outer ranks through brute force and sect favoritism.
"I'm busy," Li Yun replied.
The man laughed.
"You don't understand your position."
Li Yun moved.
He struck without warning, fist crashing into the speaker's throat. The man collapsed, choking.
The second attacker lunged. Li Yun ducked, grabbed his arm, and shattered the elbow with a twist.
The third froze.
Li Yun stepped forward, eyes cold.
"Tell He Qiang," he said quietly, "that if he wants me—"
He leaned closer.
"—he can come himself."
The disciple fled.
Li Yun exhaled slowly.
Good.
Let them come.
A Forced Breakthrough
That night, Li Yun sat cross-legged in his hut, spirit pill dissolving on his tongue. Warm Qi flowed through his body, stabilizing his damaged meridians.
But he didn't stop there.
He pushed.
Circulating Qi again and again, grinding against his limits. Pain exploded through his limbs as his body resisted, cells screaming under the pressure.
Blood seeped from his pores.
His bones rang like struck metal.
Not enough, he thought.
Still too weak.
Images of his father's death surfaced. The burning house. The Black Crane insignia. The cold smiles.
Li Yun roared silently.
Qi surged violently.
Crack—crack—crack!
His muscles tightened, skin hardening like tempered steel.
His cultivation surged.
Body Tempering — Mid Stage.
Li Yun collapsed, gasping.
A smile tugged at his lips.
He Qiang Makes His Move
The next day, Li Yun was summoned.
The outer disciple arena was crowded. Whispers rippled through the spectators as Li Yun stepped inside.
At the center stood a tall man with sharp features and a lazy grin.
He Qiang.
Qi Condensation Realm.
"Junior Brother Li," He Qiang said smoothly. "You've been… disruptive."
Li Yun said nothing.
"I'll give you a choice," He Qiang continued. "Kneel. Apologize. Become my subordinate."
He leaned forward.
"Or be crippled."
The crowd held its breath.
Li Yun raised his head slowly.
"No."
He Qiang laughed.
"Good."
The gong sounded.
Pressure slammed down on Li Yun like a mountain. Qi Condensation was an entirely different level—Qi flowed like a raging river, overwhelming and precise.
He Qiang moved casually, palm glowing.
Li Yun barely dodged.
Stone shattered where the palm struck.
Pain flared as shockwaves tore through his body.
He Qiang smiled wider.
"This is the difference."
Li Yun wiped blood from his mouth.
"Yes," he said quietly.
"And I'll cross it."
He charged.
The crowd gasped.
Li Yun ignored defense, pouring everything into offense. His unstable Qi flared violently, body screaming under the strain.
He Qiang frowned.
Too reckless.
Too desperate.
Too—
Dangerous.
Li Yun slammed into He Qiang's guard, fists moving like a storm. Each blow carried killing intent far beyond his cultivation level.
He Qiang staggered.
"Impossible—!"
Li Yun headbutted him.
Crack.
The crowd erupted.
He Qiang roared in rage, unleashing his full Qi. Li Yun was sent flying, ribs snapping, vision blurring.
He struggled to stand.
The instructor moved to intervene—
Then stopped.
Li Yun stood.
Broken. Bleeding.
Smiling.
His Qi surged again.
Not a breakthrough.
But something close.
He Qiang hesitated.
And that hesitation cost him.
Li Yun threw a punch.
It landed.
He Qiang flew backward, crashing into the arena wall.
Silence fell.
Instructor Han's eyes narrowed.
"This match," he announced slowly, "ends here."
Li Yun collapsed.
But he was still alive.
And the message had been delivered.
That Night
As Li Yun lay unconscious in the infirmary, a shadow stood at the doorway.
An elder.
The same one from the trial.
"Interesting," the elder murmured. "Very interesting."
He turned away.
"Prepare him."