The morning sun crept slowly over the horizon, across the tiled rooftops of the Seven Strike Martial Sect.
Within this shifting light, Zheng Xie stirred awake.
His body ached faintly from the night's cultivation. The other disciples had returned sometime before dawn—he'd heard the shuffling and low grumbling as they collapsed into their cottages after whatever hell they'd put poor Liang Yu through.
Zheng Xie didn't bother greeting them. He rose silently, clothed himself in a fresh robe, tied his hair into a loose knot, and walked down the stone path that led to the eastern ridge lake.
The water was cold, mountain-fed, and pure. Zheng Xie stripped to the waist, walked to the edge, and stepped in without hesitation.
The chill bit into his skin.
He let out a sharp breath as he submerged fully, then floated, eyes closed, allowing the cold to seep into his bones. Washing away the fatigue.
After a while, he emerged, drying himself with a qi surge that pushed the water off his skin in a light vapor. With his robe once again draped across his frame, he made his way straight to the training grounds.
The sun hadn't risen fully yet, the sect was still sleepy.
There were still hours before the classes began—but time was precious. He used it to better hone his techniques.
He reached into his spatial ring and retrieved the manual he had acquired the day before.
[Flowing Swift Fist]
He also had another technique, [Flying Crane Kick], but that one was Celestial Grade and would take longer to digest. For now, he'd start with the more grounded one.
He opened the manual and began reading it carefully, tracing each stroke of calligraphy with his eyes.
'Two paths define every technique…'
The manual stated.
First—movement. The body must imitate the fluidity of water and the grace of air. Every motion should be smooth, uninterrupted.
Flexible but not flimsy. Swift, but not scattered. The body was not meant to emulate a simple stream—it was to embody a violent current, controlled, decisive, fast, and precise.
Second—qi circulation. This was where the real challenge lay.
The manual emphasized total bodily synergy. Unlike [Stone Palm], which channeled energy into a single strike from the palm, [Flowing Swift Fist] was a complete form. It required the waist to be the axis, the legs the root, the back the coiled spring, and the fists merely the executioners of all that energy.
Qi had to course through every tendon, every muscle. The hips, the spine, the shoulders, and even the toes. Anything less would result in a half-hearted strike, no better than a brute's punch.
Zheng Xie let out a long breath as he rolled the scroll shut. His eyes closed briefly, visualizing the instructions. Mapping the qi flow. Tracing the movement patterns. Once. Twice. Thrice.
Then he stepped forward.
Before him stood a spirit-grade dummy, carved from dense blacksteel wood, the kind that could take repeated strikes from Qi Establishment cultivators without splintering.
Zheng Xie exhaled again and entered a stance—feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, arms loose at his sides.
His breathing slowed.
Then—movement.
He shifted his weight onto his back foot, then twisted his waist sharply as his qi surged from his dantian, flowing out in timed pulses.
Like water channeled through a narrow crevice, it shot through his spine, down his thighs, and up his back. His shoulder blades retracted. His elbow bent. He planted his foot, grounded it with force, and released the momentum—
BAM!
His fist collided with the dummy.
There was a dull crack—like hitting stone. His hand stung immediately, skin bruised, but the dummy barely flinched. A shallow mark formed on the surface—nothing more than a thin scratch, a hairline scar.
Zheng Xie grimaced, stepping back and shaking his hand. He flexed his fingers once, twice. They moved, albeit with pain.
"Tch… my waist didn't align properly with the leg support. And the qi scattered halfway through."
He reviewed it in his mind again, slowly. Not the words from the scroll—but the movement itself.
Visualized how the force had broken apart mid-rotation. His timing had been off. His stance a fraction too high. His shoulder had tensed too early.
He inhaled deeply.
'Again.'
His qi pulsed again. This time slower. Controlled.
He didn't strike. Not yet.
Instead, he walked through the motion. One slow step at a time. The flow of water, the grace of air, the weight of a waterfall behind his limbs. It had to become natural.
…
Hours passed like a slow drip of water carving stone. Zheng Xie stood in the middle of the dusty training field, chest heaving, knuckles raw with faint drops of blood.
The spirit-grade dummy in front of him bore more than a dozen faint indentations—none deep, none impressive—but it was progress.
Slight, barely noticeable to others, but progress nonetheless.
He exhaled deeply, wiping the sweat from his brow using a channeling thread of qi, evaporating the moisture off his skin.
'At this rate… two weeks at minimum before I can execute it properly,' he thought grimly, staring at the faint bruises forming along his forearm. 'And even more to increase my mastery. A long road…'
But that was nothing new.
He understood his limits better than anyone. Better than any instructor who ever told him to "try harder" or "trust in your roots." He didn't have miraculous roots. His talent was, by all definitions, average. Truthfully even slightly worse.
Every technique required qi—refined, controlled, and forceful. Most of his peers couldn't breathe and shape their qi like an extension of thought only the elites, the prodigies could.
They had to wrestle with it. Bend it. Force it into shape. Every technique was a war.
Yet what gnawed at him more wasn't the difficulty. It was who he was.
A member of one of the prominent families of the Central Continent—a son of a high branch, born into power, lineage, prestige.
And talent. All his siblings had it in abundance. Prodigies. Praised. Admired.
While he… was the rot in the branch. The blemish. The one everyone stopped comparing to the others because it was no longer worth the mockery.
He stared at his bruised knuckles.
"Still… I haven't stopped."
One breath at a time.
Behind him, the sect began to stir. Other disciples were waking up, appearing in the open fields, stretching, yawning, greeting each other.
A few of them walked over to him and exchanged brief greetings—friendly nods, some words of gossip.
Soon, the ground began to fill with more chatter. The energy picked up.
There was still one hour until classes began.
Zheng Xie sat on a nearby bench, letting himself rest. Not idle rest—his mind remained active, replaying every mistake he had made during training. Every misplaced step. Every off-angle strike. He closed his eyes, correcting them in his mind again and again.
Then—
"Zheng Xie!"
He cracked an eye open to see Wan Ruo approaching, followed by Liang Yu—his hair still a mess—and Yun Shi, who was carrying a half-eaten steamed bun.
Wan Ruo, blunt as ever, crossed his arms. "Where were you last night? We were chasing after that traitor bastard and you just vanished. Then when we finally come back, you were already there at your cottage like nothing happened."
Liang Yu groaned. He looked like he hadn't slept in a century. "Maybe he was just tired from traveling. Unlike you all he didn't think tormenting me was an important task. I was tormented from evening till night. You're all crazy."
Yun Shi shook his head, his expression one of righteous disapproval. "Don't even try to act innocent. You betrayed us, Liang Yu. You left us to take punishment from Elder Gao and ran like a damn coward."
Liang Yu rolled his eyes. "What? Was I supposed to not take the manual? You were all too busy cheering over Zheng Xie's return like his admirer ladies. You forgot the task. That's not my fault."
Wan Ruo smacked the back of his head.
"Should've stayed with us like a proper friend. Also—if you were so innocent, why did you run when Elder Gao arrived?" His voice dropped, teasing. "Guilty conscience, maybe?"
Liang Yu winced and turned his head away, arms folded like a sulking child. Truthfully, he'd wanted to enjoy their suffering. Just a bit. No, a lot. Make fun of them later. But they had tied him to a stake, burned incense around him like a heretic, and nearly threw him off a cliff.
He still had flashbacks.
These lunatics were not right in the head.
…But he couldn't say he wouldn't have done the same if the tables were turned.
Zheng Xie chuckled softly, finally stepping in. "Alright, enough. You've tormented him enough. Let's bury the grudge. From now on, let's promise not to run from punishment. If the elders don't punish us, that's their decision. But we should at least face it together."
Yun Shi narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Somehow that whole 'elders not punishing' part sounds shady especially when you say it… But fine. As long as it settles our 'betrayal' issue."
Zheng Xie extended his hand forward. One by one, they each placed theirs atop his. Wan Ruo. Then Liang Yu, who grumbled something about still having bruises. Then Yun Shi.
Together, they raised their hands in practiced unison. "Always together!"
They had done it many times before.
Each time, someone broke the promise.
And each time, they still came back to repeat it.
Because deep down… they were together. No matter how chaotic or strange that bond was.
Even if one of them ended up tied to a stake again tomorrow.
It was just another day in the Seven Strike Martial Sect. Even the elders were used to it.
Liang Yu suddenly chimed in, his voice the usual smooth melody of teasing sarcasm. "By the way, Zheng Xie, just in case your brilliant memory failed you, today's class is alchemy. Hope you do well, brother. Your past records are, ah... legendary."
Zheng Xie, who was lost in his thoughts, nearly choked. His breath hitched, and his brows furrowed with visible distress. He turned his head slowly, eyes narrowing into dangerous slits.
There was genuine disgust in them.
"Again?" His voice came out strained, as if he were being sentenced to execution. "How many times do we need to attend that damn class? It's like they want to torment me. Can't they just let people choose the classes they actually want? No—of course not. The sect's sole purpose is to humiliate me."
Wan Ruo barely held in his chuckle. Yun Shi snorted. Liang Yu simply smirked with a hand on his hip.
"Why should I attend that class? I'm not an alchemist. Never have been. Never will be. The heavens know I tried! But no, apparently being born without a shred of talent is a crime punishable by weekly suffering!"
Zheng Xie's calm and composed aura had evaporated into the morning air. Usually, he was the dependable one of the group—the rational one who analyzed risks, considered outcomes, and seldom let his emotions rule him.
But the moment the word alchemy was uttered, something inside him snapped. Like flipping a switch, the cold strategist became a sulking child.
Liang Yu held up both hands in surrender. "There it is. The transformation. Honestly, I never get tired of this. You're like a character out of a comedy play—cultivator by day, alchemy-hater everyday by passion too."
Zheng Xie folded his arms across his chest with dramatic flair. "This isn't a joke, you bastard. You know I've tried more than anyone in our group. Countless times. And I still can't even extract a single herb's essence properly."
That was the truth.
He had spent days, weeks even, trying to perfect just one mortal-grade pill. The simplest possible one—a rejuvenation pill. But each time, he failed. He couldn't even extract the essence of the herbs, the most basic step in pill refinement.
"I swear," he muttered under his breath, "I'm cursed."
Yun Shi patted his shoulder with exaggerated pity. "Don't worry, brother. Just this year. Once this year is over, we'll be allowed to choose our disciplines. You'll finally be free. Free from cauldrons. Free from explosions. Free from Elder Fei Yu's judging eyes."
Wan Ruo nodded, joining in. "One more year of hell. Think of it as karmic retribution for all the evil things you did in your past life."
"Evil things?" Zheng Xie scoffed. "What did I do? Refuse to help a maiden in distress?"
They all laughed, even Zheng Xie a little.
The hour passed. Then came the soft chime of the pavilion bell.
…
Alchemy Pavilion — Mid-Morning
Perched at the eastern edge of the upper terrace, the Alchemy Pavilion was a large, circular building with curved roof tiles and elegantly carved stone swords guarding the entrance. It would have been majestic, had it not reeked of burnt ginseng, boiled beetles, and failure.
Zheng Xie's nose crinkled the moment they got close. He didn't know what that other scent was—some bizarre combination of sour apricot and wet dog—but it made him question if it was possible to lose cultivation levels from exposure alone.
"Come in, disciples," a serene voice echoed from inside.
Elder Fei Yu, the sect's resident alchemy instructor, sat poised at the front of the class. Cross-legged on a raised dais, her posture was straight, robes pristine, and her jet-black braid coiled tightly around her shoulder like a serpent. She looked graceful, ethereal even—like she'd stepped out of a celestial painting.
As they entered, each disciple moved toward their usual seat. Liang Yu and Yun Shi elbowed each other with smug little grins, while Wan Ruo gave Zheng Xie a sympathetic clap on the back.
He sighed and sat down. Third row. Fourth column. Second seat. In front of him was a polished black cauldron that glared at him like an old nemesis.
Once the students were seated, Elder Fei Yu began. Her voice was composed, as always.
"Today, we will be refining a mortal-grade Rejuvenation Pill. It is the most basic among basic pills, and yet—" she paused, her eyes drifting toward Zheng Xie's general direction "—some of you still find it… troublesome."
Zheng Xie resisted the urge to curse on the spot.
"Exams are in three weeks," she continued. "This is a revision session. Perform as if your sect's honor depends on it. Because it does."
A low murmur rippled across the class.
Seven Strike Martial Sect didn't hold internal-only tests. Their exams were joint examinations—shared with rival or allied sects. This meant if someone messed up, they didn't just embarrass themselves—they dragged the sect's reputation through the mud.
"Silence!" Elder Fei Yu snapped. "You may panic after class. Now, focus. Your herbs are beside your stations. Begin."
Zheng Xie stared at the small pouch beside his cauldron. He opened it reluctantly and saw the same trio of ingredients: redroot, green vine, and lily petals.
He sighed. Again.
He already knew the process by heart. He had memorized it out of sheer trauma.
Step one: ignite the cauldron.
He flicked his fingers and a spark of Qi flared beneath the black vessel. The flame steadied. That much, at least, was easy.
Step two: add herbs by temperature reading. Redroot first at 30.45°C.
He dropped it in.
Step three: after 12 seconds, add green vine and lily petals simultaneously.
Done.
Now came the nightmare—extracting the herbs' essence and condensing them into pill form.
This was where talent came in. Subtle manipulation of fire, spiritual sense, pill intent, and Qi control.
Zheng Xie didn't have the most important one Pill intent.
He tried everything over the months. Altering the temperature. Changing the rotation of the herbs. Adjusting angles. Varying quantities.
Nothing worked.
At first, the liquid began to bubble.
Then hiss.
Then, the color turned a healthy green… followed by a violent shade of black.
Zheng Xie's eyes widened.
"Wait, no no no—!"
BOOM!
The cauldron exploded.
Smoke. Ash. A blast of scorched petals scattered across the floor like confetti.
Zheng Xie stood there, hair singed, face blackened with soot, one eyebrow missing.
Elder Fei Yu didn't even blink.
"Zheng Xie," she said calmly, "you are banned from using Sect-supplied cauldrons for the next of the week. Bring your own next time. Or borrow one from a friend. If they'll let you."
The class stifled their laughter. Yun Shi quietly turned away. Wan Ruo covered his mouth. Liang Yu offered a silent thumbs-up behind his back.
Zheng Xie, jaw clenched, muttered to himself. "One more year. Just one more damn year. I swear if I ever become any Sect's Leader not that I want to but if I did, the first thing I'm doing is banning alchemy."