The journey back from the arena was a haze of pain; the gash on his chest was deep enough that every breath felt like a hot iron was being pressed into his lungs.
On the balcony of the arena, the atmosphere remained tense long after the stretcher had carried the boy away.
"That brat, Xueling... she struck with killing intent," Elder Wei said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. He watched the arena floor with visible dissatisfaction. "Hanyuan has the heart of a warrior. He bled for every inch of progress, only to be cut down by a girl who had her meridians paved with gold by Elder Zhang."
Elder Ling nodded slowly, his anger at his grandson's loss replaced by concern for Hanyuan. "That wound was terrifying. Any deeper and his cultivation path would have been severed. He would have been a cripple at ten."
Bai Feng remained silent, but the armrests of his Patriarch's chair were now nothing but splinters. His eyes remained fixed on the direction of the medical pavilion.
Elder Zhang simply let out a light, airy laugh, leaning on his cane. "Haha, brothers, do not be so gloomy. Young people should be a bit energetic. Competition is what fuels growth, after all."
In the quiet of the medical room, the only sound was the steady drip of a water clock. Hanyuan lay on a wooden cot, thick medicinal paste applied to his chest beneath tight bandages.
He stared at the ceiling beams, his mind unusually clear. Most children his age would be weeping or screaming about the unfairness of the world. But as Hanyuan touched the bandages, feeling the sharp throb of his heartbeat against the wound, a cold, focused light surfaced in his obsidian eyes.
"Resources... talent..." he whispered. "I won't be a petty person and cry over this. If I lost, I lost. But the mistake she made was not finishing me."
He tried to lift his upper body, hissing as the skin on his chest pulled. The pain was a reminder. I will work harder. I will train until my spear is the wind and my Qi is the mountain. If talent is the gap between us, I will bridge it with my own blood.
He clenched his knuckles until they popped. Just then, the door slammed open.
"Hanyuan!" Lin Ruo rushed to his side, her eyes red from crying. She grabbed his hands, her voice trembling. "My son... don't be discouraged. It's just one match. Your father and I can find other ways to help you."
"Mother," Hanyuan said, his voice sounding steadier. He looked her in the eyes, surprising her with his calm. "Don't worry. Even though I'm sad that I lost, I'm fine. My heart isn't broken. If anything, it's finally awake."
Outside, the competition concluded with a roar of applause for the winners. Xueling stood on the podium, looking down at the crowd with an expression of icy triumph. As part of the top three, she—along with two older disciples—would receive the greatest reward: entry into the Spirit Cleansing Pool, a sacred spring that would wash away physical impurities and skyrocket their cultivation.
Because Hanyuan was defeated and injured in the first round, he was ranked at the very bottom.
A servant later brought a small, pathetic grey bag to his room. Inside were ten low-grade spirit stones and two low-grade Qi Gathering pills. It was the bare minimum—the scraps left over after the "geniuses" had taken their fill.
Night fell over Spirit Springs City. Hanyuan lay in his bed at home, the aching in his chest keeping him from sleep. Suddenly, the door to his room creaked open. He expected his father, but to his shock, a tall, scarred figure stepped out of the shadows.
"Elder Wei?" Hanyuan stammered, trying to sit up.
"Stay down, lad," he grunted. He reached into his robes and pulled out two items: an old, weather-worn manual and a jade bottle that seemed to emit a faint frost.
"Take these," Elder Wei said, his voice gruff but sincere. "I can't stand watching Elder Zhang pamper that girl with the clan's treasures while you're left with scraps. This manual is the Glacial Spear Art. It's a mediocre technique by some standards, but for a boy your age it will serve as the perfect foundation."
He set the jade bottle on the nightstand. "And that is the Thousand Frost Tempering Pill. It cost me a significant sum, and it's dangerous. If you take it, you will feel a cold so intense it will feel like your marrow is turning to glass. You must endure it for three days without losing consciousness. If you survive, the rewards will be huge.
Elder Wei looked Hanyuan in the eyes. "The path of the strong is not given; it is stolen from those who would keep it from you. Are you ready to suffer for it?"
Hanyuan looked at the pill, then at the manual.
"I've been cold before, Elder," Hanyuan said, reaching for the bottle. "Three days is nothing."
The medicine paste was effective, but the three days spent confined to his bed felt like three years of imprisonment to Hanyuan. When he finally stood up, his skin felt tight and new, the jagged scar on his chest now faded to a pale, silvery line—a permanent reminder of his first defeat.
His mother was waiting in the Main Hall, her face lighting up with a mix of relief and lingering worry. "Hanyuan! You're finally up. Are you feeling better?"
"I'm fine, Mother," he said, giving her a reassuring nod. "I just need to clear my head. Is Father around?"
"He was summoned to the City Lord's Estate," Lin Ruo explained. "There are talks of new tax regulations and disturbances in the outlying villages. He won't be back until evening."
Hanyuan nodded.He headed straight for a small, secluded courtyard in the back of their residence. This was his private sanctuary, where he had swung his first wooden stick years ago. In the center stood a single, weathered training dummy, scarred by thousands of his previous strikes.
He picked up his iron-tip spear. He didn't jump into techniques yet. He needed to test his foundation.
Thrust. Retract. Thrust.
"Five hundred and fifty... five hundred and eighty... six hundred!"
By the time he hit six hundred, he wasn't gasping for air as he used to be, but his muscles felt warm and pliable. He sat cross-legged under a gnarled plum tree and opened the Glacial Spear Manual.
The pages were thin and brittle, containing three distinct techniques:
White Drift Block: An angled defensive stance that used cold Qi to slow the opponent's weapon and absorb impact.
Icy Current Thrust: A piercing move that projected a beam of frost-Qi ahead of the tip.
Returning Ice Arc: A complex sweep that traveled one way and instantly snapped back, forming a frozen "X" that attacked the enemy.
Hanyuan focused on the Icy Current Thrust. He visualized his tiny thread of Qi flowing from his Dantian, up his spine, and through the narrow meridians of his arm into the spear. He tried to manifest the frost at the tip.
He failed four times in a row. By the fifth, his Dantian felt like a dried-out well. "This is more difficult than I thought," he muttered, wiping his brow. Techniques were greedy; they swallowed Qi much faster than basic physical moves.
He set the manual aside and reached for the jade bottle. It was time for the Thousand Frost Tempering Pill.
He went to his room, locking the door and warning his mother that he needed to meditate for three days and must not be disturbed. Lin Ruo assumed he was brooding over his loss and let him be, her heart aching for him.
Hanyuan sat on his bed and tilted his head back. The pill rolled onto his tongue and disappeared.
For three heartbeats, there was only silence. Then, a roar of absolute zero erupted in his gut.
"Nnggh!"
Hanyuan's back arched like a bow. Mist began to pour from his mouth and nostrils. His hair, raven-black, was instantly coated in a layer of jagged white hoarfrost. It felt as if someone was pouring liquid nitrogen directly into his marrow.
Day one was a battle for consciousness. His head ached as if a frozen spike was being driven into his temple.
Day two was worse. His body began to tremble so violently that the wooden bedframe groaned. Then, the impurities arrived. A foul-smelling, black, sticky liquid began to ooze from his pores—the remnants of mortal food and polluted air. It froze as soon as it hit his skin, encasing him in a disgusting shell of black ice and filth.
By the third day, Hanyuan's vision was a blurry mess of grey and white. His teeth ground together with a sound like crushing stones. Every cell in his body screamed for him to stop, to just pass out and let the cold win.
Is this all I am? a voice in his head whispered. Are you going to let Xueling look down on you forever? She's probably in the Spirit Pool right now, laughing with Elder Zhang while you freeze to death in a dark room.
"No..." Hanyuan growled, his voice a hoarse rattle. He clenched his knuckles, his frozen skin cracking and bleeding, but he didn't let his mind slip into the darkness.
Suddenly, the cold hit a peak that was almost transcendental—and then, it snapped.
The icy pressure vanished, replaced by an overwhelming wave of heat. It wasn't the heat of a fire, but the warmth of a sunrise. He felt his meridians expand, becoming wider and more resilient. The black shell of impurities cracked and fell away from his skin.
He felt light. He felt pure.
He had survived.
Hanyuan tried to smile, to check his progress, but the toll was too much. The moment the agony stopped, the exhaustion caught up to him. His head slumped forward, and he fainted into a deep, dreamless sleep.