Three days had passed since the incident at the Southern Pass.
To the casual observer in the Xiao Clan, life continued as usual. The sun rose, the disciples trained in the main arena, and the elders drank tea while discussing clan politics. But in the secluded, steam-filled valley behind the clan estate, a quiet revolution was taking place.
The morning mist clung to the ground, swirling around the ankles of seven teenagers who stood in a rigid, tortured formation.
They were the "Wolves"—the bullies of the Jia Lie and Ao Ba clans. But right now, they looked more like disciplined monks undergoing penance.
"Lower."
The command was soft, spoken with a calm detachment that made it all the more terrifying.
Thwack.
A thin, flexible wooden stick whipped through the air, striking the back of a green-robed Ao Ba disciple's knee.
"Gah!" the boy yelped, his leg trembling violently.
"Your center of gravity is floating," Yoriichi Tsugikuni stated, standing behind him. "If you stand like a stork, you will be knocked over by a breeze. Root yourself. Grip the earth with your toes."
Yoriichi moved down the line. He walked with his hands clasped behind his back, the wooden switch held loosely in his right hand. He looked like a grandmaster inspecting his troops, despite being younger than all of them.
Jia Lie Ao, the 1-Star Dou Zhe, was at the front. Sweat poured down his face in rivers, stinging his eyes. His legs were screaming in agony. He was holding a Horse Stance—a basic martial posture—but Yoriichi had forced them to hold it for forty-five minutes straight.
"Breathe," Yoriichi commanded. "Do not gasp like a dying fish. Control it."
He stopped in front of Jia Lie Ao.
"Show me the rhythm."
Jia Lie Ao gritted his teeth. He closed his eyes and focused.
Inhale.
He didn't just suck in air; he pulled it deep into his diaphragm, expanding his lower lungs until his ribcage strained against his black robe.
"Total Concentration: Basic."
It wasn't the full Breath of the Sun or any other element. Yoriichi wasn't foolish enough to teach outsiders his supreme technique. What he was teaching them was the physiological foundation: how to maximize oxygen intake to pressurize the blood vessels.
By flooding the blood with oxygen, the body's natural limits could be pushed. For a cultivator, this oxygen-rich blood acted as a supercharger for their Dou Qi, allowing it to flow through the meridians with explosive speed.
Jia Lie Ao's face turned red. The veins on his forehead bulged like worms. He held the breath, compressing the air inside his chest.
One minute passed.
Most people would pass out. But Jia Lie Ao felt a strange, intoxicating heat rising from his core. His Earth-attribute Dou Qi, usually sluggish and heavy, began to vibrate. It felt lighter. More responsive.
"Exhale," Yoriichi ordered.
Hiss.
Jia Lie Ao let the air out through his teeth in a controlled stream. He opened his eyes. They were clear, sharp, and filled with a newfound power.
"Good," Yoriichi nodded, a rare compliment. "You held it for sixty-five seconds. Your Dou Qi circulation speed has increased by roughly 10% during that state."
Jia Lie Ao stared at his hands. "10%... just by breathing?"
In a fight between Dou Zhes, a 10% speed advantage was the difference between landing a hit and getting your throat slit.
"Do not get arrogant," Yoriichi said, turning away. "This is the limit of what you can handle. If you try to push harder without conditioning your veins, your blood vessels will burst."
He walked to the center of the clearing.
The seven boys watched him with a mix of fear and worship. Over the last three days, their resentment had evaporated. Why? Because Yoriichi delivered results. He didn't teach them fancy, useless flourishes. He taught them how to hurt people efficiently.
"Rest for five minutes," Yoriichi said. "Then we practice the Flash Step transitions."
As the boys collapsed onto the gravel, groaning and massaging their cramped legs, Yoriichi didn't sit.
He walked to the edge of the stream, facing the open air.
His hands were no longer bandaged. The Tier 1 Bone Healing Paste and his own vitality had worked miracles. The skin on his knuckles was pink and fresh, but the bone underneath felt different. It felt denser. Harder.
"My turn," Yoriichi whispered.
He took a stance.
He didn't use Dou Qi. He didn't use the Sun Breathing forms. He just used the raw biomechanics of his body.
He pulled his right fist back. He twisted his hip, engaging the core, the shoulder, and the arm in a kinetic chain that snapped like a whip.
Punch.
He struck the empty air.
BOOM!
A sound like a cracking whip—or a small cannon shot—echoed through the valley.
The air in front of his fist collapsed under the sudden pressure change. A visible ripple of distortion shot forward, tearing through the rising steam and blasting a hole in the fog for ten meters.
The seven boys on the ground jumped, their eyes bulging.
"What the hell was that?" one of the Ao Ba disciples whispered. "Did he use an explosion talisman?"
"No," Jia Lie Ao swallowed hard, watching the steam swirl in the vacuum left by the punch. "That was just... physical force. He punched the air so hard it broke."
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Yoriichi continued. He threw a flurry of punches, each one creating a small sonic boom. The air pressure in the clearing dropped. The leaves on the nearby trees shook as if a gale were blowing.
Yoriichi's face remained stoic. He was testing the Iron Fist technique without the Dou Qi, relying solely on the velocity his tempered muscles could generate.
"The vessel is ready," Yoriichi analyzed, feeling the lack of pain in his knuckles. "The bone density is sufficient to handle the recoil of the Sun Breathing sword forms. Now I just need the sword."
He stopped. He turned back to the group.
"Break is over," he said calmly.
The boys scrambled to their feet instantly, terrified that if they moved too slowly, he might use that air-shattering punch on them.
The training continued for another two hours. It was brutal. Yoriichi corrected their footwork with the wooden stick, forcing them to unlearn years of bad habits. He made them sprint across the slippery rocks of the stream, punishing every slip.
By the time the sun was high in the sky, signaling noon, the seven bullies were broken.
They collapsed onto the ground with a collective thud. Their chests heaved. Their robes were soaked with sweat and stream water. They couldn't move a finger.
But amidst the exhaustion, there was euphoria.
Jia Lie Ao lay on his back, staring at the sky. He felt his Dou Qi cyclone spinning in his lower abdomen. It was dense. The impurities were being sweated out.
"I feel it," Jia Lie Ao wheezed, a grin spreading across his face. "The bottleneck... I'm close to 2-Star Dou Zhe."
"Me too," a 8-Star disciple gasped. "I feel like I could break through tonight."
They looked at Yoriichi, who was standing there, barely winded, wiping his hands on a cloth.
"Training is dismissed," Yoriichi announced. "Rest. Eat protein. Do not drink alcohol tonight, or you will undo the work."
The group struggled to their feet. They bowed deeply to him—deeper than they bowed to their own clan elders.
"Thank you, Boss Xiao Ning!" they shouted, their voices hoarse but sincere.
"Go," Yoriichi waved them off.
They limped away, supporting each other, already excited for tomorrow's session. They had come as wolves, but they were leaving as Yoriichi's hounds.
Yoriichi watched them go, shaking his head slightly.
"They are simple creatures," he thought. "Give them strength, and they give you loyalty."
He tidied his robes. He checked the position of the sun. It was barely past noon.
"I have time," Yoriichi noted.
He patted the heavy pouch of gold hidden in his inner pocket.
"The Master Smith."
He didn't know the man's name. Grandfather Xiao Lu had simply referred to him as "Old Tie" or "Master Tie," a recluse who lived on the edge of the clan estate. He was technically a guest elder, a man who forged weapons for the clan's elite guards but refused to take apprentices.
Yoriichi left the Southern Pass.
He walked towards the Southern Division of the Xiao Clan estate. This area was distinct from the bustling disciple dorms or the luxurious main courtyards. It was quiet, lined with old pine trees and simple, single-story houses.
It was where the retired elders and specialized craftsmen lived. The air here smelled of pine needles and woodsmoke.
Yoriichi walked calmly, asking a passing servant for directions.
"Master Tie?" the servant asked, looking surprised. "He lives at the very end of the lane. The house with the black chimney. But... be careful, Young Master. He has a temper. He threw a hammer at the Second Elder last month."
Yoriichi thanked the servant and continued.
"A temper," Yoriichi mused. "It's okay. A blacksmith without passion creates cold steel. I need someone with fire."
He reached the end of the lane.
The house was humble. It was built of dark gray stone and sturdy timber. Unlike the other polished houses, this one looked like a fortress. There was courtyard where it filled with piles of scrap metal, broken cauldrons, and slag.
A massive stone chimney rose from the back, puffing out thin, white smoke.
The gate was made of heavy ironwood, reinforced with steel bands. There was no guard.
Yoriichi stood before the gate. He could hear the faint, rhythmic clang, clang, clang of a hammer striking metal from inside.
He didn't shout. He didn't kick the door.
He raised his hand and knocked.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Three distinct, polite raps.
The hammering stopped instantly.
Silence stretched for a moment.
"Who is it?"
The voice from inside was gruff, sounding like two stones grinding together. It carried a tone of irritation, the sound of a man who disliked being interrupted in his sanctuary.