Chapter 7: Late Bloomer
The dust slowly settled, yet the aftershock of the battle remained.
A heavy silence spread across the training grounds, pressing down on all who stood there.
Mo Yuan stood beside Lin Xia, yet it felt as though an invisible boundary surrounded him. The disciples who once mocked or pitied him now avoided his gaze.
Fear was far stronger than ridicule.
Those who had called him the Cliff-Sitter and waste of talent only hours ago hurried away, their former laughter replaced by hushed whispers and uneasy glances, each silently weighing their own safety.
At the front of the plaza stood five figures, clearly separated from the rest. They were the Top Five of the Outer Sect.
Each had already reached the mid stages of the Qi Refinement Realm, most standing at the sixth layer, while some brushing against the seventh stage.
For cultivators like them, the Outer Sect was nothing more than a place of waiting.
Once they fully stepped into the seventh-stage of Qi Refinement, their ascent to the Inner Peaks was only a matter of time.
"Interesting," Han Li murmured. Ranked third among the Outer Sect, he was tall and lean, a sword on his back and his posture straight as a spear. He did not frown, but studied Mo Yuan with calm focus.
"His Qi is not vast, yet it is heavy," he said. "I have never seen a second-layer Qi Refinement cultivator stand so firmly."
"It was likely just luck," Liu Mei said coldly. Ranked fourth, she leaned against a testing stone, her arms crossed, her brow tightly furrowed.
"Wang Wei was careless. He let his ego stir his Qi, making his strike loud but empty. Anyone with good timing could have slipped past it."
"It's not about luck," Chen Feng said calmly.
Ranked first among the Outer Sect, he met Mo Yuan's gaze without flinching. His eyes were cold and steady.
"He is slow, and his cultivation advances little by little. But what he has is solid. Wang Wei was not defeated by a technique, but by strength. Remember this, something that moves slowly can still be dangerous."
The sparring continued as the sun climbed, yet the air had turned heavy and tense, thick with the scent of sweat and iron.
Wang Wei, clutching his injured arm and pale from blood loss, was driven back time and again. His foundation, already not stable from reckless pill use, now trembled under the weight of his recent injury, unstable and wavering like a mountain edge after an earthquake.
With his primary arm useless, he had become the easiest prey for those below him in skill.
One by one, disciples who had once feared Wang Wei stepped forward, eager to snatch a piece of his falling glory.
By noon, the once-proud tenth-ranked genius had been driven down again and again by opportunistic challengers.
When the final gong echoed, Wang Wei barely held onto the 30th rank, the edge of the elite circle.
He sank to the ground, battered and broken, rage burning in his chest.
'I will remember each and every one of you… just wait. The day will come when all who mocked me will kneel before my strength'.
In the Azure Mist Sect, he realized with bitter clarity, respect is measured only by your last victory.
High above on the wooden dais, the Elders murmured among themselves, their voices veiled by a soft curtain of spiritual energy.
"Steward Gao," a senior Elder in flowing silver robes said, his expression calm yet thoughtful, "that boy, Mo Yuan… His records show he remained stagnant for five months. Yet to reach such pure refinement in the Second Stage is rare among Outer Peak disciples. Most rush for the third or fourth-stage as if the Heavens were favoring him.."
Steward Gao's eyes remained fixed on his scroll, but his grip on the brush tightened as if the Qi in the air pressed against his fingers.
"He claims he focused on his foundation, Elder," he murmured. "Hundreds of days in solitude atop the North Cliff… I thought him lazy, a dreamer. Yet the testing stone… it did more than gauge his Stage. It shivered under the density of his Qi, as if sensing something ancient and unyielding. There is… an irregularity in him, unlike any Outer Peak disciple I have ever seen."
"A foundation honed with such patience is a rare jewel in these times," the Elder murmured, his eyes following Mo Yuan as he walked toward the resource hall. There was no greed, no envy only the careful watchfulness of a gardener tending a sapling that grows slowly but will one day tower above all others.
"Make sure he is guided well. A talent that blooms late often holds the truest strength, yet we must ensure he hasn't walked down dangerous paths for the sake of a sudden surge. Watch him closely, the Azure Mist Sect needs steady hearts like his to lead the next generation."
Mo Yuan felt their eyes on his back the curious gazes of the disciples and the careful watch of the Elders but he did not look back.
His heart was calm, like the still water in his mountain cave.
"Let them talk," he thought, calm as ever. "I walk my own path."
The Heavenly Dao Mirror in his mind remained silent, its bronze surface cold and impartial. It cared nothing for his new rank or the fear he stirred in others, it measured only the Correctness of his path.
He handed his identification jade to the stunned clerk. The man fumbled over the records, finally returning a pouch far heavier than anything Mo Yuan had ever held.
Today, he would not return to his cave with mere scraps.
Within lay the spirit stones and high-grade rations necessary for the long, arduous journey toward the higher stage, a path few Outer Peak disciples could endure, but one he would walk with steady resolve.
Filled with quiet ambition, he muttered, "Perfection was only the beginning. My ambition reaches for the Absolute itself."