The nights in the tower were no longer silent. In the wake of their success in the Forbidden Garden, a cold war had descended upon the lower levels. The rivalry was no longer just about pride; it was an ideological battle. The disciples of the traditional Qi paths now saw the "Body-Forgers" of the Alchemy Division not just as rivals, but as heretics.
The tension became a physical thing one morning when they found a note slipped under the laboratory door. Scrawled in rough, angry characters were the words: "There will be no victory for the body-forgers."
Ci Ying's hand trembled as she held the note. "This isn't just a threat," she whispered. "This is a promise."
That day, Elder Bao gathered them, his usual manic energy replaced by a cold, hard seriousness. He held up the note. "In a proper duel, there are rules. In the real world, there are none. Your enemies will not challenge you on a fair platform. They will come for you in the dark. They will try to poison your well and burn your granary. Tonight, you learn to protect what is yours."
He announced the next stage of their training: the "Material Defense War." Each division had to protect the rare ingredients they had gathered. Sabotage was not only permitted; it was encouraged. "This is not a game," Bao finished, his eyes boring into each of them. "This is a lesson in survival."
Night fell like a shroud. A tense energy filled their lab. Guided by Jian Ming's strategic mind, they set up a defense. He drew a map of their territory, marking lookout points and potential ambush spots. Ci Ying, channeling her Fire Vein, created subtle heat traps near the entrances. Lian Hua, with her heightened senses, became their early warning system, her ears attuned to the slightest unnatural sound. Bu He stood in the center of their makeshift fortress, a silent, waiting anchor.
Hours passed. Then, Lian Hua's head snapped up. "Movement. North wall. Two of them."
It was a diversion. As Bu He and Ci Ying moved to intercept the two intruders, three more figures slipped in from the south, heading directly for the chest containing the essence of the Iron-Bodied Vine.
"The vine!" Jian Ming hissed from his lookout post.
Bu He spun around, his body a blur of motion. He arrived just as one of the Golden Vein disciples—the same one who had thrown the oily pellet—was prying the chest open.
"Drop it," Bu He said, his voice dangerously low.
The disciple smirked, holding a vial of the precious sap. "What are you going to do, muscle-freak? Hit me?" He taunted, taking a step back. "Your kind is an abomination. You don't deserve this power."
Something inside Bu He, already frayed from the Crimson Agony Pill and the constant tension, finally snapped. He didn't think. He just moved. A surge of raw, uncontrolled power flooded his limbs. He closed the distance in a single step, his fist lashing out.
CRACK!
The sound was sickeningly loud, a wet snap of bone that cut through the night. The disciple's taunting smirk vanished, replaced by a mask of shock and agony as Bu He's fist connected with his jaw. The force of the blow lifted him off his feet and sent him flying several meters, where he landed in a crumpled heap, unmoving.
An absolute silence fell over the garden. The other intruders froze, staring in horror at their fallen comrade. They grabbed their friend and retreated into the darkness, their faces etched not with anger, but with pure fear.
Bu He stood over the dropped vial, his chest heaving. He looked down at his own fist, at the knuckles that had just shattered another person's bone. He felt a wave of nausea. This wasn't like the fight with Zhan Wei. This was real. This was ugly.
From the shadows, Elder Bao emerged. He walked slowly towards Bu He, his gaze fixed on the boy's trembling hand.
"And now," Bao said softly, his voice heavy with a profound sadness, "the real trial begins." He looked at his stunned disciples. "Power is not just muscle. When the time comes, it also spills blood. Remember this night. Crossing the line is instantaneous. Coming back… is sometimes impossible."
Later, back in the lab, no one spoke. The ingredients were safe, but the victory felt like a defeat. Lian Hua and Ci Ying huddled in a corner, their faces pale. Jian Ming sat at a table, staring at a blank page in his notebook, unable to write.
Bao finally broke the silence, his back turned to them. "I, too, once struck someone in a moment of anger," he said, his voice rough with memory. "He was not a rival. He was my closest friend. I did not mean to break him. My power did."
He looked down at his own hands, stained with decades of alchemical reagents. "I hid in this lab not to find strength, but to find control. I am teaching you what I had to learn from regret: you must master your own darkness before it masters you."
That night, Bu He sat by the window, staring out at the tower and the starless sky. The sound of the opponent's bone breaking echoed in his mind. He looked at his fist, no longer seeing it as a tool of his will, but as a dangerous, alien thing he was now shackled to. The hunger in his core was still there, but now, it was mixed with a new, colder feeling. Fear.