A heavy silence lingered in the lab long after the Head Instructor's verdict. The truth of Bu He's power—his Dark Ascension—was a secret that now bound the four of them together in a pact of shared danger. Ci Ying and Lian Hua looked at Bu He with a new mixture of awe and fear. Jian Ming was frantically writing in his notebook, trying to reconcile this ancient, heretical path with the known laws of cultivation. Bu He himself was quiet, staring at his hands as if they belonged to a stranger.
Elder Bao finally broke the silence. He erased a complex formula from a large chalkboard and drew a single, crude figure of a man. "Your training philosophy changes today," he announced, his voice devoid of its usual mania. "Before, we were forging the body to make it stronger. Now… we will be scarring it to make it evolve."
He tapped the drawing on the chest. "Your body is a scroll. The Qi attacks of your enemies are the ink that will write your story of power. We cannot replicate a Golden Vein's Qi, but we can simulate the impact. To prepare you for the real battles ahead, you cannot dodge. You must learn to endure. You must learn to invite the blows."
His new training regimen was brutally simple. He took them to a sealed training chamber deep beneath the lab. In the center, he had constructed an alchemical puppet, its arms powered by steaming pistons.
"This puppet," Bao explained, "will strike you with a force equivalent to a low-level Qi-cultivator. It will not stop. Your task is not to defeat it. Your task is to stand your ground and use your Leyna Breath to absorb the pain, to channel the force of the impact into your Blood Core. You will turn their aggression into your fuel."
Bu He took his position before the puppet. The first blow landed on his shoulder like a sledgehammer. The pain was immense, and his body instinctively tried to recoil. "Do not retreat!" Bao's voice roared. "Embrace it! Feed your core!"
Bu He grit his teeth, forcing himself to stand firm. He took a ragged breath, pulling the searing pain inward, guiding it towards the hungry crimson spark in his chest. The second blow landed. Then the third. With each impact, something incredible happened. A faint crimson light would flicker across his skin at the point of impact, and the pain, while still agonizing, would be followed by a surge of warmth and strength. His body was learning.
Jian Ming stood at the edge of the chamber, his brush flying. "Subject B.H., Trial 1. Initial impact registered as severe trauma. After ten consecutive strikes, subject's dermal resistance increased by an estimated 5%. Subject reports a 'burning' sensation followed by a feeling of 'fullness.' The Dark Ascension is quantifiable."
Days turned into weeks. The training was a relentless cycle of agony and adaptation. Bu He's body became a canvas of bruises that healed at an unnatural rate, each time leaving the skin beneath tougher, more resilient. He was growing stronger, faster than any of them could have imagined.
But the power came with a price that was paid at night.
His dreams grew darker. He no longer dreamt of the bullies in the valley, but of a desolate battlefield under a bleeding, crimson moon. He saw himself standing over fallen enemies, his hands stained with blood, but there was no victory in his heart—only a cold, insatiable hunger for more.
One night, the dream was more vivid than ever. As his dream-self reveled in the carnage, a serene, shadowy hand settled on his shoulder. A familiar voice, the voice of Usta Mo, whispered in his mind. "The vessel must be stronger than the power it contains. A sword that is too sharp will shatter its own sheath. Do not become a slave to the hunger, child."
Bu He awoke with a gasp, drenched in a cold sweat. He stumbled to a polished sheet of metal he used as a mirror. For a fleeting second, he saw it: a faint, predatory red glint in his own eyes, a reflection of the thing that was growing inside him.
The physical training was forging his body into a weapon. He was terrified that the nightly hunger was sharpening that weapon for a master he did not know.
His thoughts were interrupted by Elder Bao entering the lab, a scroll in his hand. "Your private lessons are over," the alchemist announced, a grim look on his face. "The preliminary rounds for the great Inter-Sect Tournament begin next week. You will be facing disciples from every major sect. Hundreds of Qi-users."
Bu He looked at his master, and Bao saw the conflict in his eyes. "I know," Bao said softly. "It's too soon. But we have no choice. Your path requires you to face the onslaught. Your Dark Ascension is about to truly begin, whether you are ready for it or not."