The rain had quieted to a distant whisper outside the cavern, a soft rhythm tapping against leaves and stone. Inside, the cave felt like an entirely different world—cold, ancient, and silent except for the faint breath of two beings who should not have survived the day.
Ren sat cross-legged near Mao, the mythical panda who had saved his life twice in a single night. The gentle glow of Heavenly Qi still clung to her fur, but unlike before, the radiance was faint… flickering… almost fragile. She had spent too much, sacrificed too much, and yet she smiled softly whenever Ren glanced her way.
Beside her, Bao slept curled up like a small moon of black and white, unaware of the storm that had begun inside Ren's body. The corrupted qi pulsed faintly beneath his skin like tiny embers trying to ignite. Mao's Heavenly Qi was holding it down, suppressing the worst of it—but suppression wasn't a cure. It was only a temporary cage.
Deep in Ren's mind, the final presence stirred. Xuan. The ancient being, cold and heavy like a slumbering beast in the depths of a dark ocean, occasionally let fragments of his voice slip through. Messages Ren didn't understand. Warnings he couldn't interpret.
He inhaled—slow and steady.
Exhaled—controlled, measured.
His body still hurt everywhere. His thoughts felt heavier than usual, as if something inside him had expanded… widened… awakened. The world even smelled different now, sharper and deeper, like he could sense the flow of energy in the air with each breath.
A soft rumble stirred the silence.
Ren's eyes snapped toward Mao.
Her eyelids slowly lifted. She looked exhausted, breathing weakly, but her gaze was warm as ever.
"Ren… child…" her voice echoed directly into his mind, soft and weary. "Come here."
Ren immediately knelt beside her.
"Mao, you shouldn't talk yet—"
She raised a paw to silence him. Even that small movement left her body trembling.
"Let me speak while I still can."
His heart tightened at the implication.
"Mao… your life force—"
"I know," she whispered. "And that is why I must tell you everything now."
Her paw touched his chest, and a warm pulse spread through him—a reassurance, a comfort, and a reminder of how much she had already given.
"Listen, Ren. Your body contains something no mortal should ever hold."
Ren held his breath. A faint black mist shimmered beneath his skin, responding to her words.
"Is it the black qi?" he asked quietly.
"Yes… and no."
Mao shifted slightly, her breath shaky. "In this world, qi exists in many forms, but there are five that define the path of all living beings. And somehow… you carry the extremes."
A swirl of shadow appeared above Mao's paw, thick and suffocating—the corrupted qi he felt earlier. Vicious. Hungry. Alive.
"This is corrupted qi," Mao said softly. "The darkest form. Something born from despair so deep it becomes alive. It is the final stage of demonic qi… one that even the cults fear."
Ren watched it with a shiver. That was what had almost consumed him.
Her paw moved slightly, and the shadow softened into a violent purple haze—demonic qi.
"The path of the Demonic Cults. Power for a price."
Then the haze shifted to a soft white glow—mortal qi.
"The qi every living being breathes."
A moment later, the white fractured into countless colors—lightning, fire, steel, water, shadow.
"When a martial family reaches peak mastery, their qi evolves. Modified qi. The pride of clans. Lightning qi of Namgung. Poison qi of the Tang Clan. Sword qi of Mount Hua. And so on."
Finally, the colors faded into a shimmering gold-white radiance—Heavenly Qi.
"The purest qi in the mortal world," Mao whispered. "And one the heavens rarely allow mortals to touch."
She rested her paw on Ren's face, her expression soft.
"And yet… you carry both the Heavenly and the Corrupted."
Ren froze. His heart almost stopped.
"That's impossible," he said. "They should cancel each other out—kill me."
"That is why I fear for you," Mao whispered. "This balance does not exist in nature. Only in you."
A ripple passed through Ren's consciousness.
A cold voice emerged like a blade scraping across stone.
"…So you finally speak of me."
Ren stiffened. That voice—Xuan.
Mao's eyes narrowed. She recognized him too.
"Boy," Xuan rumbled inside Ren's mind, "you only survived because I held back the corruption when it tried to claim your soul."
Mao growled faintly, even in her weakened state.
"You held back because destroying him would have destroyed your vessel. Do not pretend heroism."
A low click of annoyance echoed from Xuan.
"Tch."
Ren looked between them—one within his body, one beside him.
"So the corrupted qi came from you," Ren said slowly, trying to piece it together. "From your presence?"
Xuan's voice deepened.
"The ritual was meant for me. This body was supposed to be mine. When you were dragged in… the corruption intended to erase your soul."
Ren swallowed hard.
"But you survived," Mao said quietly, "because I suppressed the madness, and Xuan held back its instincts."
"…Thank you," Ren whispered, unsure whom he was thanking more.
Neither responded.
Mao's paw trembled as she touched his cheek again.
"Ren… there is more. Much more."
Her Heavenly Qi flickered softly, illuminating his face.
"You are beyond talented."
Ren blinked. "Me? But I—"
"No." Mao shook her head slowly. "Your mind, memory, instincts, sensitivity to qi… everything about this body is beyond the realm of natural talent. Even prodigies of the peak sects do not possess what you possess."
Xuan's voice vibrated in agreement.
"Even among the divine races of old, I have never seen a vessel built so perfectly for growth."
Ren felt something in his chest tighten.
He had never been special.
Never been chosen.
Never been the protagonist of anything in his old life.
Yet here—
Mao looked into him as if she could see his very soul.
"You possess a hidden bloodline, Ren. One erased from history. Even I cannot see its name clearly. It is as if the world hides it."
Xuan added coldly:
"Even I cannot read it. Something—or someone—buried that lineage deeper than memory itself."
Ren exhaled slowly.
So that was why his clan name was always blurred in the memories.
Why even this body didn't know where it came from.
No clan.
No roots.
No past.
Just Ren.
He accepted it quietly.
Maybe a name didn't matter.
Maybe what mattered was the path ahead.
Mao lifted his chin gently.
"You must balance the darkness and the light inside you. If either overwhelms the other, your body will collapse."
Ren nodded, jaw tightening.
"What must I do?"
Her eyes softened with deep warmth.
"You breathe. Slowly. Gently. Calmly. Learn the foundation of martial arts. Learn to purify your heart. Learn to listen."
Xuan scoffed from within.
"Breathing? Hmph."
Mao glared up at the cave ceiling.
"Try surviving without a body, old spirit. If he dies, you die."
Silence.
Xuan didn't argue again.
Ren straightened his back.
His mind sharpened.
His breaths deepened.
He felt the pulse of corrupted qi like a sleeping serpent.
He felt the glow of Heavenly Qi like a guardian flame.
He felt the cold cave air.
He heard Bao breathing softly.
He felt Mao's weakening pulse.
And he sensed Xuan looming like a shadowed giant behind his consciousness.
For the first time, he felt like someone entirely new.
Not Ren from Earth.
Not the nameless boy this body once was.
Someone in between.
Someone who could become anything.
Mao placed a paw gently on his back.
"Ren… your journey begins now."
His eyes opened—calm, sharp, steady.
"I'm ready."
And the world outside the cave shivered without knowing why.
Inside that small cave, a child balanced heaven and hell in his veins—
and the future Martial Sovereign took his first breath.
The cave felt different after that moment—quieter, heavier, more alive. Ren sat still, letting the words of Mao and Xuan pulse through him like an echo he couldn't ignore. His heart thumped softly, guided by something between instinct and awakening.
For a long while, no one spoke.
Not Mao—resting with shallow breaths.
Not Xuan—silent like a shadow folded deep within him.
Not Ren—who was trying to understand the enormity of what he had become.
Then, faintly, Mao's voice brushed against his mind again.
"Ren… close your eyes."
He obeyed without hesitation, letting the cave's darkness envelop him. It wasn't pure darkness now—not to him. His senses felt heightened, sharpened like a blade drawn from its sheath.
"Feel the breath entering your body," Mao whispered.
"Then feel the qi beneath it."
Ren inhaled slowly.
The air entered cold, passed through his throat warm, and reached his chest like a soft wave. Beneath that wave, he sensed something dense and heavy. It coiled and uncoiled, sluggish but potent—corrupted qi.
But behind that, deeper still, he sensed a gentle warmth flickering like a candle—Heavenly Qi.
Two extremes. One vessel.
Ren steadied his breath, letting the sensations settle—like observing two beasts sleeping on opposite sides of his body, neither aware of the other yet.
Inside his mind, footsteps echoed.
No—not footsteps.
A presence.
"You are doing it wrong."
Ren didn't even flinch.
"I figured you'd say that."
Xuan materialized in the darkness of Ren's consciousness—not fully visible, just outlines of something ancient, monstrous, and regal. A silhouette sitting upon a throne of memory.
"The Heavenly Beast teaches slowly," Xuan muttered, "but you do not have the luxury of slowness."
"Then teach me," Ren answered calmly. "You keep talking like you know better."
Xuan's eyes—faint, silver, and ageless—seemed to open.
"First, understand this: breathing is not qi control. Breathing is alignment."
Ren nodded slowly, absorbing every word.
"The corrupted qi in you is violent. It moves on instinct. It tries to dominate."
The shadowy mass pulsed in the dark.
"The Heavenly Qi does not dominate. It harmonizes. It calms. It purifies."
A soft golden glow appeared across from the shadow.
"Your task is not to choose which one to follow."
Ren opened his eyes in the mental space.
"…It's to balance them."
Xuan smirked.
"Correct."
Outside, Ren's real body trembled. Sweat formed across his forehead. Mao watched silently, her tired eyes tracing every reaction.
"Good…" Mao whispered weakly. "Listen closely to his guidance. He may speak sharply, but he speaks truth."
Ren breathed out, releasing a wave of heat that condensed into a faint wisp of golden-white vapor.
His body was responding.
Healing.
Changing.
"You said alignment," Ren said toward Xuan. "Show me how."
The ancient presence lifted a finger.
Suddenly the corrupted qi surged—violently, like a tidal wave crashing into his veins. Ren clenched his teeth as pain burst through his limbs.
"What the—Xuan!" Ren shouted.
"Match it."
The Heavenly Qi reacted immediately, flaring bright—its gentle glow reinforcing his core, soothing the tearing sensation inside him.
The two energies collided for the first time.
Shadow and light.
Corruption and purity.
Madness and clarity.
Ren screamed soundlessly in his mind. It was too much. Too intense. Too foreign.
"Stop!" Mao pleaded from outside, sensing the waves of qi tearing through him. "He is still a child! His body cannot handle—"
"He must."
Xuan's voice shook the entire mental world.
Ren's breaths turned ragged. His body trembled uncontrollably. Blood began trickling from his nose in the real world, but he didn't stop.
He couldn't stop.
If he lost control now, he would die.
Xuan's voice thundered:
"Control is not about power. Control is about will.
Now—BALANCE IT."
Ren focused everything—every instinct he had ever learned, every heartbeat, every breath. He visualized the two forces not as enemies, not as rivals—
—but as halves of a broken circle.
Shadow surged.
Light answered.
Darkness recoiled.
Radiance softened.
He found the rhythm—slowly, painfully, but surely.
The two forms of qi settled like oil and water finally finding their boundary.
Xuan leaned back in his mental throne.
"There. You see? The impossible is merely the unfamiliar."
Ren collapsed forward, gasping as the connection faded.
When he opened his eyes in the real world, Mao was watching him with awe—pure, unfiltered awe.
"Ren…" she whispered, voice trembling. "That balance… normal humans spend decades learning to control even two types of qi. And you… you just balanced the most extreme two in existence."
Ren wiped the blood from his lip and gave a weak smile.
"I… didn't do it alone."
Mao looked confused for a moment—until she felt it.
Ren's qi, previously a storm of corruption and light, had stabilized into something new.
A faint swirl of black and gold circled around his dantian like twin rivers meeting at the center.
"You…" Mao gasped. "You stabilized a Middle-Hell, Middle-Heaven flow. Without a manual. Without guidance. You did it by instinct!"
Ren stared down at his hands, marveling quietly.
"…So this is qi."
He finally understood why Murim obsessed over it. Why warriors trained for decades. Why people killed for it.
It wasn't just energy.
It was life.
Will.
Spirit.
Identity.
And the qi within him was no longer fighting.
It was following.
Xuan's voice broke through again, quieter this time.
"Do not misunderstand. You have aligned them, not mastered them. If your emotions spiral… if your mind wavers… either qi will consume you."
Ren nodded.
"I know."
Mao exhaled slowly, relief flooding through her tired voice.
"You have a long path ahead of you, Ren. But today… you took your first real step."
Ren straightened his spine.
"Then I'll take the next one too."
He opened his senses. The airflow. The earth beneath him. The circulation of qi. The warmth around Mao. The faint, calming rhythm of Bao's heartbeat.
Everything felt connected.
And Ren felt alive.
The path of the Martial Sovereign had begun.
The air in the cave shifted again, almost imperceptibly—like a quiet sigh from the mountain itself. Ren steadied his breath, letting the aftermath of balancing those two monstrous energies settle in the deepest place of his core. Even exhaustion felt sharp, precise, like he was aware of every fiber of muscle and thread of qi within his body.
Mao watched him with a look that mixed relief and sorrow. Her breathing had grown steadier after a moment of rest, the faint glow of Heavenly Qi pulsing under her fur once more—but anyone with a shred of sensitivity could see it:
She was forcing her body to continue living.
Bao crawled onto Mao's side, pressing its tiny head into her fur. The little creature's trembling was barely noticeable, but Ren caught it. He always did. He was starting to see details he would've missed before—things too subtle for ordinary eyes.
Mao lifted her paw again, calling Ren closer.
"Come," she whispered. "There is not much time before your next circulation must begin."
Ren immediately moved to her side, though worry flashed across his face.
"You used too much Heavenly Qi earlier," he said softly. "You should rest."
Mao reached up, brushing his cheek with her paw—a quiet reassurance.
"That may be true."
Her voice broke for a moment.
"But I am not done guiding you."
Ren froze as Mao's pupils glowed faintly gold.
He could feel it—she was preparing something dangerous.
"Mao," he said quietly, "don't tell me you're—"
Her paw pressed to his chest, and a blinding warmth flooded into his meridians before he could speak again.
The Heavenly Qi rushed through him like liquid fire, threading through every torn channel, purifying every pocket of corrupted energy trying to awaken. The transition was brutal; Ren clenched his jaw so hard he tasted blood.
"Mao—stop! You'll—"
"That is enough, Ren," Mao whispered, her voice trembling from the strain. "This surge… will hold the corruption dormant long enough for you to refine the first layer of your core."
Ren's breath shook.
He felt the Heavenly Qi mending micro-tears in his meridians, turning raw agony into something sharp but manageable.
But Mao—
Her glow was fading again.
Bao whimpered softly and pressed itself into her fur. Ren could hear the distressed pulse in its tiny body, see the way its little claws dug into Mao's side as if trying to anchor her soul by touch alone.
"Mao…" Ren whispered. "You'll shorten your lifespan. You said earlier—Heavenly Qi drains your life force."
Mao didn't deny it.
Instead, she opened her eyes fully, letting Ren see the truth in them.
"Ren. Listen carefully."
Her mental voice softened, like a mother speaking to a child she loved dearly.
"My body will not last. That much was decided long before you arrived. But death is not an end for my kind."
Ren blinked, the words anchoring something heavy inside him.
"My race is unique," Mao continued. "We are not bonded to flesh. When we die, our bodies fall… but our souls remain. We choose a successor, someone who can bear the weight of our essence."
Ren's breathing paused as the realization hit him.
"Are you saying… you intend to—"
"Yes."
Her paw rested against his forehead.
"When my body fades, I will rest inside you. As a guardian spirit. As a mentor. As family."
Bao made a tiny noise, caught between panic and confusion.
Mao lowered her head to nuzzle her child, whispering something only Bao could hear. The little panda clung tighter, as if trying to stop fate with its tiny paws.
Ren felt his throat tighten.
He had not known Mao long.
But in those hours—those moments—
she had become something irreplaceable.
"Mao…"
His voice cracked despite how hard he tried to steady it. "You don't owe me anything."
"That is why I choose freely," she whispered. "Not out of debt. Out of fate."
Xuan stirred quietly in the back of Ren's mind, watching with an unreadable presence. For once, he said nothing. No mockery. No lectures. No commands.
Maybe even he respected this moment.
Mao shifted weakly, leaning back against the stone wall.
"Now… listen closely. You must understand the world you will walk when you leave this mountain."
Ren's expression sharpened.
Mao continued:
"The martial world is divided between two great forces: the Orthodox Sects… and the Unorthodox."
Ren's breaths slowed.
He had read enough in his old world to know the tropes—
but hearing it from a mythical beast gave each name weight he'd never imagined.
"Shaolin… Wudang… Mount Hua… Emei… the Beggar's Sect," Mao murmured. "These are pillars of the Orthodox faction. They protect kingdoms, uphold honor, and seek balance."
Ren could almost see them—ancient temples, blades gleaming in moonlight, monks training beneath waterfalls.
But Mao's tone sharpened.
"Yet righteousness does not guarantee mercy. They fear what they do not understand. And you—"
She lifted a paw toward his chest.
"—possess a constitution that defies the heavens."
Ren nodded slowly.
"And the Unorthodox?" he asked.
"The Demonic Cult moves like a storm," she whispered. "Their warriors are brutal, feared… and they would tear your body apart if they sensed the Corrupted Qi you carry. Not for fear—"
Her eyes hardened.
"—but to claim it."
A chill ran through Ren's bones.
"For now… you must hide," Mao said. "Until your power grows. Until you can choose your own path. Righteous, demonic… or neither."
Ren exhaled, steady and calm.
"I'm not choosing a faction. I'm choosing my own way."
Mao smiled faintly.
"As you should."
She gazed at him for a moment longer… then her expression shifted.
"Ren… now I must tell you about your body."
Ren leaned forward, sensing something monumental.
"You are not talented."
She paused.
"You are impossibly talented."
Ren blinked.
"…That sounds contradictory."
"You do not simply learn fast," Mao whispered. "You adapt. Instantly."
Her paw brushed his shoulder.
"When I healed you, your meridians adjusted to Heavenly Qi as if they had always known it. When Xuan tested you, your mind stabilized energies no mortal mind should withstand. When you balanced the two… your core responded like it had been waiting."
Ren blinked slowly.
"Are you saying… this body was born to cultivate both extremes?"
Mao nodded.
"Yes. And that is why I fear your future."
Her gaze softened with pride.
"And why I believe in it."
Her eyes dimmed slightly, her breath weakening again.
"You must begin the refinement now," she whispered. "Before the corrupted qi stirs again."
Ren straightened his back.
His mind was calm.
His heart steady.
Bao pressed its tiny head against his leg, sensing emotions it didn't understand.
Ren placed a gentle hand on its head.
"I'm here," he whispered. "I'll protect you both."
Mao smiled softly.
"Then breathe, Ren. Draw in the two forces. Align them. Begin the cycle."
Ren closed his eyes.
Darkness rose.
Light answered.
Corruption pulsed.
Heaven soothed.
His breathing slowed.
The qi began to move.
Not fighting.
Not struggling.
Following.
Mao watched him, her body growing weaker, her spirit preparing for the path she had chosen.
Xuan watched too—silent, calculating, but strangely… invested.
Inside that cave, the boy who would one day become the Martial Sovereign began crafting the foundation that would shake the entire murim world.
And with every breath, Ren stepped closer to the destiny the heavens had tried to hide
The cave deepened into silence again—
not the silence of emptiness,
but the silence of something being born.
Ren sank into his breath, allowing the world to drift away. The flow of qi inside him shifted like a great river rediscovering its source. Heavenly Qi descended gently through his meridians, illuminating each pathway with faint gold radiance. Corrupted Qi rose from below, uncoiling like a beast waking at the bottom of a cold abyss.
Two forces that should have destroyed each other…
…were learning, slowly, painfully,
to coexist.
Ren felt sweat forming along his temple. His spine heated and chilled at once. Every breath carried weight, every exhale released a fragment of strain. He didn't fight the qi, didn't resist it—
he guided it.
Held it.
Balanced it.
Mao watched with weakening eyes, her breathing shallow.
Xuan remained quiet, but his presence filled the cavern like a massive creature lying coiled in the darkness.
Bao pressed against Ren's leg, whimpering softly, tiny paws shaking.
Ren inhaled again.
The two qi brushed each other—
and this time, they didn't clash.
A pulse rippled through his body.
Small, controlled.
But powerful enough to send dust falling from the cave ceiling.
Mao's weary eyes widened.
"…He's forming it," she whispered. "The first ring."
Ren didn't hear her.
His consciousness had sunk too deep.
Inside him, the mental world shifted—
from darkness
to something clearer,
sharper,
almost reflective.
He stood at the center of his inner sea—a vast space of black and gold water stretching in all directions. Above him, the sky of his mind split into two halves:
One shimmering gold-white like dawn.
One pitch black like a moonless void.
Their borders swirled where they met, forming an unstable horizon.
Ren stepped forward, the reflection rippling under his bare feet.
"I need equilibrium," he murmured.
Calm.
Focused.
As if he'd always known this place.
A faint echo ran through the mental sky.
"You seek to tame forces meant to devour worlds."
Xuan's voice rolled like ancient thunder.
"But you… you attempt to shape them into a cycle."
Ren closed his eyes, letting instinct lead the way.
His hands rose slowly.
Darkness surged.
Light followed.
Two rivers of qi spiraled around him—violent, sacred, deadly.
"Cycle…" Ren whispered. "Hell and Heaven… rising and falling… giving and taking."
The qi pulsed as if responding to his words.
Xuan watched him without interfering.
There was no mockery in his voice now. Only observation.
And a strange, heavy interest.
"You create what does not exist," he said. "Heaven and Hell do not share paths. Yet you attempt to create a middle road… a forbidden axis."
Ren took a slow breath.
"Not forbidden."
His eyes opened, gleaming with a quiet fire.
"Just unseen."
He lifted both hands.
The two forces slammed toward each other—
not colliding,
but crossing.
A ring formed at his center—
half gold, half black,
spinning slowly like a celestial wheel.
The moment it completed a single rotation, Ren's real body trembled violently.
Outside, Mao gasped.
"He—he actually—!"
Her voice cut off as Heavenly Qi burst outward from Ren's dantian, mixing with a swirl of corrupted qi that coiled like smoke around his torso. The clash should have shattered his meridians. It should have ruptured his veins.
But instead—
The energies flowed.
Synchronized.
Threaded into each other like opposing rivers forming one tide.
The first ring solidified.
A Middle-Hell, Middle-Heaven cycle.
Impossible.
Unthinkable.
Miraculous.
Ren exhaled sharply, feeling something settle deep within him.
A foundation stronger than anything he'd ever felt in his old world.
He opened his eyes.
And the cave itself seemed to pause.
His gaze was calmer than before.
Sharper.
Older.
As if he had lived through years of meditation in a single breath.
Mao stared at him, stunned.
"Ren…" she whispered. "Your qi… your core… There are elders who would kill entire clans to form a ring that pure."
Ren blinked once, grounding himself back in reality.
"…How long?"
Mao's smile trembled.
"Ten minutes."
Ren froze.
"…What?"
"Ten minutes, Ren."
Her voice shook with awe.
"Prodigies take months. Master-level experts take weeks. Peak elders take days."
She inhaled weakly.
"You… did it in minutes."
Ren swallowed.
He had known the body was talented.
But hearing it from Mao drove the truth deeper.
He was standing on the kind of foundation people would slaughter kingdoms for.
Bao nudged Ren's hand suddenly, tiny eyes wide with worry.
Ren shook off the rush of revelation and placed a gentle hand on the creature's head.
"I'm alright," he whispered.
But Bao shook its head furiously and pointed its little paw at Mao.
Ren's heart sank.
He turned—
and saw her.
The golden glow around her was flickering.
Her fur looked thinner, grayer at the edges.
Her breaths had become so faint that each rise of her chest seemed like a struggle.
Ren moved to her instantly.
"Mao…"
She lifted her paw weakly.
"Don't… look like that," she whispered, voice softer than wind. "This body was never meant to last. Everything I've given you… I gave because I chose to… with no regrets."
Ren clenched his teeth, emotions tightening in his chest.
"But you shouldn't have had to—"
"Ren."
A single word silenced him.
Not forcefully,
but gently.
Firmly.
"I saw your destiny the moment you stepped into this cave. Not with foresight… but with instinct. A Sovereign is born from extremes. And you carry both the heavens and the abyss."
Her paw touched his cheek for the last time.
"And I… am honored to be part of your beginning."
Ren felt his throat burn.
His mind shook—
not with qi,
but with something far more human.
"Mao… don't go."
But she smiled—tired, warm, eternal.
"I'm not leaving you."
Her body glowed softly—
Heavenly Qi rising like golden petals drifting into the air.
Her physical form trembled once—
—and began to fade.
Bao let out a small, broken cry.
Ren reached out instinctively.
Light brushed his fingers—
warm, pure, and gentle—
and flowed into his chest, settling beside the swirling dual qi in his dantian.
Mao's voice, now faint and soft as starlight, whispered:
"I will be with you… until the end of your path."
The glow faded.
Her body collapsed silently into Bao's tiny arms—
lifeless,
weightless,
gone.
Bao cried in a small, trembling voice.
Ren lowered his head beside the little creature, tears he didn't realize were forming falling quietly onto his hands.
Xuan remained silent longer than Ren had ever heard him.
Until finally—
"…The beast chose well," he said.
Low.
Quiet.
Almost respectful.
Ren clenched his fists.
The warmth of Mao's lingering presence pulsed faintly inside his core.
He lifted Bao into his arms, holding the trembling creature against his chest.
"Bao…" Ren whispered. "I made you a promise."
The tiny panda looked up at him, eyes wet.
Ren's expression sharpened.
"…I'm keeping it."
Outside, the storm had passed.
But inside the mountain,
a new storm was being born—
not of qi,
not of fate—
but of a boy's resolve,
carved in grief
and tempered by two opposing heavens.
The path forward awaited.
And Ren took it with eyes that no longer belonged to a child.
He took it
with the gaze of the Sovereign he would become.
Time moved strangely inside the cave after Mao's passing.
It didn't feel like seconds or minutes.
It felt like breaths—each one heavy, deliberate, echoing louder in Ren's chest than the one before.
He remained kneeling beside the faint remnants of Mao's physical form. Bao clung tightly to him, small paws trembling, face buried against his robe. Ren gently stroked the little creature's head, grounding both of them.
The warmth Mao left inside him pulsed softly—gentle, steady, like a heartbeat that wasn't his.
Her presence lingered.
Not loud.
Not overwhelming.
Just… there.
Like a mother watching from behind a veil.
Ren closed his eyes and let that warmth sink deeper into his spirit. He didn't cry anymore—not because the pain had passed, but because it had planted itself into something sharper. Something unyielding.
Resolve.
"…She's part of you now," Xuan's voice murmured, quieter than usual. "Do not waste the gift."
Ren didn't respond with anger this time.
Not with grief.
Not with denial.
Just calm acceptance.
"I won't."
Xuan seemed to observe him for a moment.
"Good."
Another rare word spoken by the ancient being.
Ren stood slowly, adjusting Bao so the little one rested safely in his arm. He reached forward and picked up Mao's pendant—the small, round charm tied to a thread of golden fur. He didn't know its meaning, its origin, or its power.
But she wore it.
So he would carry it.
He tied it carefully around his wrist.
Bao sniffed once, then hugged his arm as if agreeing.
The cave suddenly felt larger. Colder. Lonelier.
Ren walked deeper inside—not to run, not to hide, but because instinct pulled him forward. He reached a smaller chamber illuminated by faint mineral light reflecting off crystal-like stone.
A perfect place for meditation. A perfect place for cultivation.
A perfect place
to honor Mao's last act.
Ren sat down calmly.
Bao curled beside him.
The pendant pulsed faintly.
Xuan materialized in the mental space again.
"You are ready?" he asked.
Ren breathed once.
"I have to be."
His qi stirred like a great wheel behind his navel. The first ring rotated slowly—black and gold, hell and heaven. Stable, yet clearly demanding refinement.
"This is where your seclusion will begin," Xuan said. "Three years is not long. But for one like you… it will be enough to touch foundations that take others half their lives."
Ren nodded.
"What must I do first?"
Xuan extended his hand.
A scroll appeared—faded, ancient, sealed with a sigil Ren did not recognize.
"This technique was meant for the body I was supposed to inhabit," Xuan said. "But as much as I despise this situation… you are the vessel now. And your physique far surpasses what I was originally given."
Ren reached for it slowly.
"What is it?"
Xuan's tone deepened until the cave's air itself seemed to tremble.
"The Primordial Axis Breathing Method.
A forbidden art that harmonizes diametrically opposed qi flows."
Ren's fingers brushed the scroll—
—and the moment he touched it, a shockwave of information exploded into his mind.
Cycles. Rings. Breaths.
Heaven descending. Hell rising.
A body becoming the axis between two extremes.
Ren gasped, clutching his chest for a moment.
Bao flinched in surprise.
Xuan's voice echoed inside the mental world.
"This will allow you to refine your first ring into a stable foundation—your Middle-Hell, Middle-Heaven flow. Without it, your body will collapse within months."
Ren nodded through clenched teeth.
"Then… I'll learn it."
"And you must also practice what Mao began teaching you," Xuan added. "Her guidance will remain inside your core. Listen. Feel. Her Heavenly Qi will teach you purity and calm."
Ren placed his hand over his heart.
"I will."
Xuan watched him—silent, heavy, unreadable.
"…Three years," the ancient being muttered. "Three years until your bones stop being those of a child and begin the path toward an adult martial frame. Three years until your mind shapes itself fully. Three years until you walk out of this cave reborn."
Ren inhaled.
The ring inside his dantian pulsed once.
Bao settled into his lap, eyes determined despite the tears still drying on its fur.
Ren closed his eyes and sank into cultivation posture.
The cave responded instantly.
Wind swirled.
Dust lifted.
Stones trembled.
The flow of qi gathered around him like a gentle storm.
Then—
Xuan placed a hand upon Ren's back from within the mental world, guiding the first circulation.
"And one final warning," the ancient being said.
Low.
Grave.
Absolute.
"The moment you walk out of this cave… the world will feel you."
Ren's breath deepened.
"You will not be a wandering child. You will not be a nameless survivor. You will not be a forgotten orphan."
Bao looked up at Ren, eyes shining.
The pendant pulsed gently.
Xuan finished his proclamation quietly:
"You will step out as the mysterious martial master—the anomaly born from heaven and hell."
"And nothing in this realm will understand what you are."
The cave dimmed as Ren drifted deeper into meditation, qi spiraling around his body like two dragons circling a single star.
Above him, the mountain remained quiet.
Below, the world continued unaware.
But deep inside the cave, a child with no clan, no past, and no destiny—
began forging a path
that would one day shake
the entire Murim.
This was the first night
of Ren's three-year seclusion.
And the world
had just lost its chance
to stay peaceful.