The courtyard behind Shadowmoon Peak lay bathed in dawn's pale light, dewy bamboo whispering in the soft breeze. In its center, a modest wooden hall stood surrounded by talisman-sealed pillars—Si Ming's chosen sanctuary for the past three months. Here, he had vowed to cultivate in absolute obscurity, avoiding tribulations, contests, and any display that might draw unwanted attention.
This was his grand strategy, inspired by the legends of low-key geniuses who lurked beyond notice. Though his peers sparred openly and showcased their every advancement, Si Ming buried himself in fundamentals: refining meridians, tempering spirit roots, and polishing techniques until each felt like an unbreakable law of nature.
Before the first light touched the bamboo tips, Si Ming settled cross-legged at the edge of a jade basin fed by mountain waters. He guided the ambient Qi through each of his five spiritual roots in turn—fire, water, wood, metal, light, dark, lightning, wind, ice and earth Each root demanded its own cadence. The fire root crackled with warm intensity under calm coaxing; the water root flowed with measured rhythm; the wood root spiraled outward, seeking flexibility; the metal root trembled with suppressed power; and the earth root settled like a mountain's heartbeat.
Over three months, what began as scattered surges had coalesced into smooth circulation. Though he remained in the same layer of the Third stage of the Foundation Establishment realm, the quality of his foundation had deepened beyond the measure of most disciples.
With his roots stabilizing, he devoted mid-mornings to swordplay. Under the waterfall's roar, Si Ming drew his slender saber and executed the Thousand Winds Barrage one thousand times a day. Each swing sliced bamboo leaves from afar, the blade never disturbing the vein of the stalk. He pivoted without flaw, his footwork a silent dance.
After lunch, while others studied hand seals or followed a senior's lecture, Si Ming retreated to the far end of his courtyard where he had erected a peculiar pavilion. Against the mossy stones, he installed counters carved from wood and a row of bronze rings suspended from steel arcs. He fabricated a makeshift gym—complete with carved-stone barbells, iron kettlebells, and lever-pulley devices that tested both muscle and Qi flow. His prized invention was the Qi Press Bench: a trough-like bench fitted with a chrome-like barbell that glowed faintly when infused with spirit energy.
"Cultivation is not only internal," he recalled his master's teaching as he lay under the weight, pushing upward through clenched teeth.
This training method was derived from his gained knowledge from the other world he went to along with knowledge from earth. Each rep made it so that he had to channel Qi to his muscle fibers like molten steel forging a sword. His torso hardened, sinew knitting around bone like braided steel cables.
Late afternoon saw he practiced unarmed combat against weighted dummies carved from spiritwood. He unleashed the Dragon Flame Fist against the straw constructs, each punch resonating with restrained thunder. The objective was not to shatter them but to refine the compression of Qi within his fists. Afterward, he ran precise sparring forms—Shadowless Steps, Heaven-Splitting Palm, and the unorthodox Five-Element Flow he had devised during a dream-bound study of foreign arts.
"Is that… weightlifting?" a random inner disciple whispered.
"I swear I saw him do pull-ups on a spiritwood beam," another said.
Elder Li Wei, master of Celestial Blade Arts, once sighed, "If muscular arms determined proof blades, I'd be a grandmaster by now."
Senior Chen Rong, barrier formation expert, frowned at the clamor of metal against stone. "He seems to practice more clanging than cultivating."
Yet despite the oddness, and rumors of Si Ming's unorthodox ways of cultivating spread like wildfire. He didn't let it bother him, his public appearances rare.
Although he had not crossed into the next subrealm, his progress marked itself in subtler ways:
• Spiritual Root Resonance: Each of his five roots could now emit a faint glow when engaged, a sign of perfect harmony rarely seen outside True Genius disciples.
• Qi Concentration: He could hold a storm of wind-Qi in suspension for thirty breaths—enough time to reshape any tactic on the fly.
• Technique Mastery: The Thousand Winds Barrage slashes had become pure wind petals—silent yet lethal. The Dragon Flame Fist strikes felt as if a miniature dragon roared within each punch.
After keeping to himself for three months, Si Ming reclined against a spiritwood trunk, his body invigorated. He lit a single incense stick and as he took a five minute break from his daily routine.
It was then that an unexpected knock came at his gate. He rose, buttoning his simple black robe, and opened the door to reveal Sun Tao, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with unspoken excitement.
"Junior Brother," Sun Tao said breathlessly, "I… I hear you have a place to refine blade Qi in peace. Might I… train there?" He glanced at the iron-tipped barbells behind him. "And perhaps lift a few weights?"
Si Ming inclined his head. "Of course. The courtyard is open to those who cultivate in earnest. Use anything you need."
Sun Tao's gratitude brimmed over. "Thank you! I shall cultivate quietly—only the clang of iron and the flow of Qi in my veins."
As Sun Tao disappeared inside, Si Ming closed the door, slipping back into silence. He wondered what that was about as he walked back. The gym he had built—an oddity no disciple had ever seen—had started to attract people unbeknownst to Ming.
He stepped out into the courtyard's moonlit mist. Bamboo shadows danced across the carved pillars. The air thrummed with the echo of his sword swings, pounding weights, Qi surges, rang through the peak.
From within, the faint clang of kettlebells heralded the start of a quiet revolution. Si Ming folded his hands behind his back and watched as Sun Tao performed his first set of pull-ups.
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