The sun crept over Sunflower Town, painting the streets gold. At the Lin family inn, the smell of congee and fresh buns drifted through the air.
Lin Feng sat with his mother and sister, laughing at Xue's messy attempts to peel a bun without tearing it.
The front door creaked open.
"Morning, Aunt Lin." Qiao Wen's voice carried its usual self-assurance as he strode in. He reached down to ruffle Xue's hair, earning a delighted giggle, before bowing politely to Lin Ruyin.
"Young Master Wen," Ruyin said, shaking her head. "If you keep visiting like this, people will think you live here more than at your father's mansion."
"Wouldn't that be better?" Wen teased. "Better food, warmer company."
The table erupted in light banter before Feng dragged Wen toward the courtyard.
There, Feng's expression turned serious.
"Wen, I need to tell you something."
Wen raised an eyebrow.
"I… have a master now."
"What?" Wen almost laughed. "Don't tell me it's that stranger staying at the inn."
Feng nodded firmly.
Wen scowled. "Cancel it. If he was a true master, he wouldn't be wasting away in some town inn. You're being tricked, Feng."
At that very moment, somewhere in the busy market, John paused while stall owners shoved herbs and talismans into his hands. He scratched his ear, muttering, "Why do I feel like someone's bad-mouthing me again?" Then he sneezed, brushing it off.
Back in the courtyard, Feng shook his head. "No. Watch."
He lowered his stance, circulated his qi, and vanished in a blur—reappearing ten meters away as if the world itself bent for him.
Wen's jaw dropped.
"This… this isn't Frog Burst anymore."
Feng explained everything—the quiet advice, the corrections, the rewritten manual, his kowtow, and John's refusal of formalities.
Wen bit his lip, clearly embarrassed. "Then… can you show me?"
Feng grinned. "I already asked him. He said he doesn't care."
They spent the morning practicing together, laughter echoing through the courtyard. Wen nearly tripped a dozen times, but each success sent him grinning ear to ear.
"Brother Feng," Wen panted, "with this… the Starveil Sword Sect exam… we'll blow everyone away!"
Feng nodded, excitement shining in his eyes. "No one will match our speed. Even if they're stronger, they won't touch us."
For a moment, the two boys just stood there, chests heaving, sweat dripping—but faces filled with unshakable determination. Their dream didn't seem so distant anymore.
The more Wen practiced, the more his shock grew. He muttered, almost to himself:
"…this is stronger than the Black-grade movement art Father bought at auction…"
Finally, he looked at Feng, eyes wide. "I need to show this to my father."
Feng shrugged. "Go ahead. John won't mind."
At the City Lord's mansion, Qiao Liang sat in his study, reviewing reports. Wen burst in, panting.
"Father, look at this!"
"You should be cultivating, not wasting time," Liang chided. "If you had Lin Feng's diligence—"
"I'm serious!" Wen insisted. He handed over the manual.
Liang sighed, but when his eyes scanned the pages, his composure cracked. His breath quickened, his brows furrowed.
"…this… this is at least Heaven-grade."
He snapped the book shut. "Mai! Ready the carriage. I must pay my respects to this senior immediately."
"Yes, City Lord!"
As the carriage rolled out, watchers stirred.
At the Fang estate
In the ancestral hall, incense smoke curled toward the rafters. Fang Heshan, the family's grey-bearded elder, sat cross-legged in meditation. A younger clansman hurried in, kneeling.
"Elder, the City Lord himself has left the mansion in haste. He ordered a carriage, heading toward the western district."
Heshan opened one eye, a sharp gleam flashing. "The City Lord moves personally… over what? Not bandits, not taxes. No, this reeks of cultivation secrets."
He rose slowly, bones cracking, and his qi pressed down like a heavy mountain. "Send word to our enforcers. If the City Lord is courting some hidden master, the Fang clan will not be left behind."
"Yes, Elder!"
Heshan's gaze turned toward the west. "A storm is coming."
At the Ren compound
Ren Huailin, patriarch of the Ren family, sat beneath a carved pavilion, sipping tea. A messenger bird landed on the table, its tiny talisman glowing faintly.
Huailin broke the seal, scanning the report. His calm expression stiffened.
"The City Lord… going personally to a shabby inn?"
He tapped the table, and two armored retainers appeared silently.
"If Qiao Liang has found a master strong enough to refine techniques at Heaven grade… our Ren family cannot fall behind. Shadow the carriage. Do not act rashly—yet."
The retainers bowed. "At once, Patriarch."
Huailin exhaled slowly, setting his cup down. "Heaven-grade… here, in Sunflower Town? Impossible. Unless…" His voice trailed off, face darkening.
By dusk, three great forces of Sunflower Town were converging—toward a small, humble inn.