Morning mist blanketed the valley like silver silk. Chu Feng stood outside Granny Lin's cottage, the wind carrying the scent of pine and river water.
Today would decide his future.
He turned toward the door as Granny Lin came out with a small linen bag in her wrinkled hands.
Her eyes, usually sharp with humor, were soft now.
"Here," she said, pressing the bag into his palms. "Rations, a few coins, and our village's Sword Sect token. It will grant you entry to the selection."
Chu Feng bowed deeply. "Thank you, Granny. I'll succeed."
"Foolish child," she chuckled, patting his shoulder. "Even if you fail, you'll always have a home here."
He smiled, hiding the letter folded inside his sleeve—his confession, his truth. He dared not give it yet.
The Farewell
At the village gate, he paused and turned back one last time.
Granny Lin waved, her silhouette haloed by the rising sun. He bit his lip, then turned away, heart tight.
Hours later, she found the letter waiting on her table.
Reading his words—of the truth about the Feng Clan, the cosmic accident, the teleportation array—her tears fell silently.
When she finished, she whispered, "Silly boy… Go, Chu Feng. Heaven walks beside you."
Arrival at the Sword Sect
Two days later, towering peaks pierced the clouds like blades. Waterfalls roared down sheer cliffs. Floating above them, countless swords hung suspended, humming faintly with divine resonance.
Before this awe-inspiring sight, hundreds of youths stood in neat lines.
The Sword Sect was one of the Five Great Powers of the Central Plains, home to cultivators who had ascended as high as the Soul Dao Realm—some even rumored to have stepped into the Great Dao Realm itself.
Chu Feng joined the queue, clutching his token.
When his turn came, an elder in gray robes motioned him forward. "Place your hand upon the stone of truth."
He obeyed. The slab glowed with runes as characters formed across its surface:
Bone Age: 12 years
Cultivation: Late Soul Practitioner (27)
Soul Type: Mutated
The elder's brows lifted slightly. "At twelve? Impressive control for your age. But a mutated soul, hm…" He frowned. "That could mean limitless potential—or none at all."
Chu Feng remained silent.
"Summon your soul," the elder commanded. "Let me judge."
Light flared. Behind Chu Feng appeared a half-formed rune circle with a sword of twin light—black and white—spinning at its center. The aura rippled like calm water hiding the promise of a storm.
Before the elder could speak, a lazy voice drifted over.
"Tell that long-bearded goat, I'll take this one."
A dishevelled man staggered into view, clutching a wine gourd. His robe was stained, his beard wild.
"Elder Han Long…" the examiner breathed, stepping aside at once.
Han Long grinned, placed a hand on Chu Feng's shoulder—and both vanished in a swirl of mist.
The crowd erupted in whispers.
"The Drunken Elder took a disciple?"
"He hasn't accepted anyone years!"
High above, sect officials exchanged glances. The Sect Master himself only sighed. "If Han Long moves on his own, it means fate has stirred."
The Drunken Elder
When Chu Feng's vision cleared, he stood in a quiet courtyard ringed by bamboo. Han Long sat cross-legged on a stone bench, drinking leisurely.
"Good instincts, boy," Han Long said, eyeing him with a half-smile. "Tell me—ever practiced sword arts before?"
"A little," Chu Feng answered cautiously.
Han Long's grin widened. "Perfect. I like students who think they know something."
He downed another mouthful of wine. "From now on, you're my disciple in name. Don't get excited; it means I might train you, or I might forget you exist."
Chu Feng frowned. "When will I become a true disciple, then?"
"When you reach the Soul King Realm (40) before your sixteenth birthday," Han Long said flatly. "Otherwise, you're just another half-baked practitioner."
Chu Feng blinked. "Soul King Realm…?"
Han Long rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you don't even know the hierarchy. Listen carefully, boy."
He pointed his gourd toward the horizon.
"Cultivation climbs in stages:
Soul Scholar (10) – senses awaken.
Soul Practitioner (20).
Soul Master (30).
Soul King (40).
Soul Spirit (50).
Soul Realm (60).
Soul Sovereign (70)
Soul Ancestor (80), the next realm where each stage improvement has a difference of heaven and earth, is called..
Soul Dao (90) – early, mid…" He coughed. "Forget the rest for now. It's too far for you. Each realm holds its mysteries. You can be guided, but the path — that's yours to walk."
Chu Feng listened, wide-eyed. The path ahead seemed endless—and magnificent.
Han Long leaned closer. "Each realm tests not only strength but will. You can climb fast through greed and elixirs—but you'll collapse just as quickly."
Chu Feng silently counted on his fingers. "Four years to reach Soul King… That's too long. I've heard that new disciples can choose mentors after entering the sect. Maybe that's better." He thought bitterly, I can't wait that long. I need to go back. I have to see Father.
Han Long crossed his arms. "No. You're mine, even if it's only in name. Not even that long-bearded goat can say otherwise."
Frustration welled in Chu Feng's chest. "Is it because you're stronger? You're just bullying me!" His voice cracked, and tears brimmed in his eyes. "Why does everything depend on strength?"
Han Long studied him quietly. "Why are you so agitated, boy? You think I'm worse than the other mentors? Meeting you is fate — and I don't ignore fate."
"I just want to go home," Chu Feng said softly, tears streaming. "I don't even know if my father is still alive." Then, kneeling before Han Long, he said, "If you promise to take me back to see him, I'll obey you without complaint."
Han Long's eyes flickered with surprise, then amusement. So that's what happened, he thought. Out loud, he said, "You haven't even met my requirements. If I take you back and you fail, wouldn't that mean I worked for nothing?" His tone turned cold. "A man's knees are as precious as gold. You don't kneel easily. Have I chosen wrongly?"
"No!" Chu Feng said firmly. "I'll work harder than anyone to become your true disciple!"
Han Long sneered. "Words are easy. Everyone says they'll reach the Soul Ancestor realm someday. So what? And yes — I'm stronger. So what?" With a mocking laugh, he said. "Rest tonight. Training begins tomorrow. Don't die too early; it's annoying."
He vanished before Chu Feng could reply, leaving behind only the faint smell of wine.
After a long silence, Chu Feng clenched his fists. "If I don't train, he won't keep me forever."
The next day, the new recruits began classes. All except Chu Feng — he never showed up. Not that day, nor the next. An entire week passed, and he still didn't attend.
Then, one morning, Han Long appeared again, amusement dancing in his eyes. "You've been lazy. Let me guess — you thought if I wanted a genius, you'd just act like trash so I'd kick you out?"
Chu Feng said nothing.
Han Long chuckled. "That won't work. You have two paths before you: cultivate properly and earn freedom… or waste away in this courtyard forever." With that, he vanished.
The next day, he returned, seemingly sober. He began lecturing on cultivation, not caring whether Chu Feng was listening or not.
"From Soul Disciple to Soul King, the energy you absorb exists in a gaseous state — that's the growth phase of your soul. In the first two stages, you temper your body; when you begin tempering your bones, you step into the Soul Master realm. The first three stages feed strength back to your soul.
"The fourth stage, Soul King, is special — the prelude to the Soul Spirit Realm. There, the energy nourishes your soul directly. At that point, the difference between weak and strong becomes clear. The stronger the soul, the more energy it can devour. Some souls… simply consume everything."
He paused, eyeing Chu Feng.
"Next is the Soul Spirit stage. Your energy changes from gas to liquid, washing your marrow. That's when you start opening the eight extraordinary meridians. Your soul grants you its own powers — armour, abilities, or unique manifestations. But those, you'll discover on your own."
He turned, half-smiling. "I've guided you enough for now. Digest what you've learned. When you truly become my disciple, I'll teach you more."
With a loud laugh, Han Long's figure faded into the air, leaving Chu Feng alone with his thoughts — and a newfound determination burning quietly in his heart.
The Days That Followed
The next morning, a sealed message arrived:
To all new disciples, the Inner Sect Trials will be held in one year.
Train well, or be expelled.
Han Long appeared soon after, looking unexpectedly sober.
"Don't waste time with lectures. Cultivation isn't memorising dogma—it's living through pain."
He pointed to a stone pillar rising from the courtyard. "Strike that, using only your soul force."
Chu Feng obeyed. The pillar didn't even tremble.
"Again."
He tried until blood ran down his arm. The pillar remained pristine.
Han Long smirked. "Good. Weakness is honest. Come back tomorrow."
So began his torment.
Days turned to weeks, weeks to months. Han Long's methods were brutal but precise: physical drills that broke his body, meditation that tore open his mind.
Whenever Chu Feng collapsed, Han Long's faint spiritual energy would stabilise him, preventing death but not mercy.
"You don't want to see your father again?" Han Long would taunt whenever Chu Feng's resolve began to waver.
That sentence struck deeper than any blade. Each time Chu Feng heard it, he would grit his teeth, clench his fists, and force himself to endure.
Seeds of Power
. "Old man, don't you ever rest? If your hands are itching, go find someone your size to bully!"
Han Long blinked in mock shock, then rubbed his neck. "Naughty brat. You wound me. Look at your progress! My old bones nearly broke training you." He sighed exaggeratedly, though his grin betrayed him.
"'Broke,' you say? More like your hobby is torturing me," Chu Feng shot back with a smirk.
"Enough nonsense," Han Long said, expression turning serious. "Six months from now will be the first-year examination. You're part of the sect now, so you'll participate—and listen carefully, boy, you cannot lose. My disciple must not be a loser."
Chu Feng blinked, scratching his head. "Wait… when did I become your disciple again?"
After half a year, Chu Feng's cultivation surged quietly to the Eighth Level Soul Master Realm (38). His body, once frail, now carried the hidden strength of tempered steel.
Han Long eyed him one evening. "Not bad, brat. But you're still walking someone else's path. The Heavenly Sword Mantra you found? Forget it for now. Learn what your soul can do."
Only you can uncover its secrets. I can light the path, but you're the one who must walk it."
He flicked a finger; a small book flew into Chu Feng's hands. The single word Rune shimmered across the cover.
"Study that," Han Long said. "Merge rune with sword. Understand how to create, not imitate. The day you fuse them perfectly, you'll be worthy to call yourself my disciple."
He turned away, his laughter fading into the night.
"Until then, don't die. The Sword Sect hates paperwork."
Chu Feng watched him go, then looked down at the glowing book. His reflection shone faintly upon its surface—black-and-white eyes, steady and determined.
My revolution isn't over. It's only beginning.
He immersed himself in study, trying to merge rune and sword—again and again, failing more often than not. Yet with each failure came insight.
Han Long occasionally appeared in secret, watching his progress from afar. Seeing the boy's determination, he would smile faintly and leave without disturbing him.
Time flew by quickly, and by now, word had spread throughout the sect: the mysterious new student named Chu Feng—who had never once attended class—would participate in the upcoming exam.
The news caused an uproar. Bets were placed immediately, with odds favouring Qin Hao and Feng Yan, the two prodigies of Class One. But when rumours spread that Chu Feng's mentor was none other than Elder Han Long—the eccentric "Drunken Elder" himself—his odds flipped overnight.
In one villa, an elderly man spoke to his disciple Qin Hao. "I heard he's to become Elder Han's disciple. That man doesn't take students lightly. Don't underestimate him if you face him."
"Yes, Master," Qin Hao replied, his tone respectful but confident.
In another villa, an elegant woman stroked Feng Yan's hair. "Do not let anything disturb your heart. Face every storm with calm."
Feng Yan nodded silently.
Across the sect, whispers and anticipation grew.
Finally, the day of the examination arrived.
The training arena buzzed with energy as Class One students gathered alongside mentors, elders, and curious spectators. Chu Feng stood quietly among them, unmoving, his calm presence contrasting with the excitement around him.
The Class Head Teacher, a refined man in his thirties, stepped forward. His spiritual pressure spread across the arena, silencing the crowd instantly.
"Now that everyone is present," he said, flicking his sleeve. Dozens of talismans flew into the air and hovered above the students' heads. "Your task is simple: hunt as many beasts as possible and collect their cores. You have three days.
"These talismans will protect your lives. If you are gravely injured, you'll be transported back immediately—and that means failure. Out of thirty, only twenty will advance. You may use any means necessary, but only low-grade weapons are permitted. Anything stronger will be nullified."
He turned, bowing to two elders standing beside a massive sword monument. "Elders, please."
They nodded and activated a grand formation. A swirling gate of light opened before the students.
"The exam begins now. You will return here after three days," the teacher announced.
Some students rushed in immediately, eager and reckless. Others, like Qin Hao and Feng Yan, entered calmly and without haste.
Chu Feng was the last to step forward. He paused briefly before the portal, studying the glowing runes etched around it. These look similar to the ones that sent me to the Central Plains… but different.
His lips curved faintly. Then, without hesitation, he stepped through.
When he opened his eyes again, he stood on a misty mountain surrounded by dense forest. No one else was in sight.
"Seems we were all sent to different locations," he murmured, then sat cross-legged on the ground, closing his eyes to meditate.
Back at the arena, a giant crystal screen displayed scenes from the examination grounds. When Chu Feng's image appeared—sitting calmly in meditation—many in the audience burst into laughter.
"What's he doing? Is he scared?" someone jeered.
But among the elders, a few exchanged thoughtful glances.
High above, unseen by most, the Sect Master himself watched. His presence shocked the observing elders; the Sect Master rarely attended such tests.
When he noticed Chu Feng's image, a flicker of curiosity passed through his eyes. He turned slightly to the figure standing beside him.
"Is that him?" the Sect Master asked quietly. "Did you give him any hints?"
The figure beside him smirked faintly.
End of Chapter 5