The steam rising from the tub was no longer white; it was a heavy, rust-colored mist that clung to Hanyuan's skin like a shroud.
As the Macaque King's essence invaded his meridians, Hanyuan felt as if a stampede was occurring inside his veins. The energy was savage, carrying the residual feral pride of the beast he had slain. It didn't want to be refined; it wanted to tear its way out.
"Ghh…!"
Hanyuan's vision blurred. In the darkness behind his eyelids, he saw a flickering phantom of the silver-gray Macaque King, shrieking in a void of blood-red light. It was the "Beast Intent"—the lingering will of a High-Grade Spirit Beast. To most ten-year-olds, this mental pressure alone would have caused their Dantian to collapse, but Hanyuan's mind had been tempered by Elder Wei's grueling training and the life-or-death struggle in the forest.
You're already dead, Hanyuan snarled internally, his mind acting like a spear of pure frost. Your blood belongs to me!
He began to circulate the Glacial Spear Art.
Ice-cold Qi surged from his Dantian, clashing violently with the burning scarlet energy of the heart-blood. The meeting of the two opposites caused his body to shudder. His skin turned a terrifying marble color—vibrant red splotches intermingling with patches of deathly white frost.
Slowly, agonizingly, the "Iron-Root Herbs" began to take effect. The herbs acted as a sedative for his physical shell, hardening his skin and bones to prevent the violent energy from bursting through his pores.
One hour passed. Two.
The water in the tub, once boiling and dark, began to turn clear as Hanyuan's body acted like a sponge, drinking in every drop of the essence.
Inside his Dantian, the silver-violet pool of Qi was no longer a calm pond. It was a whirlpool, spinning faster and faster as it swallowed the refined scarlet energy. His bones hummed with a metallic resonance, and his muscles became denser, losing the soft puffiness of childhood and taking on the lean, corded strength of a predator.
CRACK-BOOM.
A muffled sound, like a thunderclap trapped in a bottle, echoed within his chest.
The threshold of the 3rd Layer of the Qi Refining Realm shattered.
Hanyuan didn't stop. He directed the remaining energy to stabilize his foundation. His meridians, which had been scorched by the initial heat, were now wider and thicker, reinforced by the Macaque King's vitality.
When the moon reached its zenith, the water in the tub was stone-cold and perfectly transparent. Hanyuan opened his eyes. A flash of violet lightning flickered in his pupils before fading back into the deep obsidian.
He stood up, the water cascading off his chest. He looked at his hands—they felt heavier, more solid. He reached out and gripped the edge of the cedar tub. With just a slight squeeze of his fingers, the thick wood groaned and shattered into splinters.
"3rd Layer... Early Stage," Hanyuan whispered, his voice vibrating with a new, deeper resonance.
He stepped out of the remains of the tub and dried himself. The exhaustion was gone, replaced by a restless, buzzing power. He looked at the pale silvery scar on his chest. It seemed more defined now, a badge of honor rather than a mark of shame.
The next morning, Hanyuan didn't go to the public training grounds. He knew the news of Elder Wei's victory over the Blood-Iron Bandits would soon reach the city, and the clan would be in an uproar. He wanted to use this time to perfectly integrate his new strength with his spear.
As the sun rose, a servant came running toward his courtyard, looking frantic.
"Young Master! Young Master Hanyuan!" the servant panted, bowing low. "The Patriarch requests your presence in the Great Hall! The hunting party has returned, but... but there's a guest!"
Hanyuan's brow furrowed. "A guest? From where?"
"A recruiter, Young Master! From the Heavenly Frost Sect!"
Hanyuan's heart gave a sudden, sharp thud. The Heavenly Frost Sect was one of the three Great Sects of the Southern Continent. They were the masters of all ice and water-based techniques—the dream destination for every member of the Bai Clan.
They're here, Hanyuan thought, his hand instinctively reaching for his steel spear. Xueling's ticket out of this city just arrived. But I won't let her be the only one to board that carriage.
The atmosphere in the Great Hall was so thick with tension that the younger disciples found it difficult to breathe. Standing beside Bai Feng was a man who seemed to be carved from the very permafrost of the northern peaks. He was tall, his short white hair standing up like frosted needles, and the aura he radiated made Bai Feng's powerful presence seem like a flickering candle next to a raging bonfire.
This was a true expert from the Heavenly Frost Sect.
The recruiter's eyes, as pale as a winter sky, swept over the assembled youths. "Hm... not bad, not bad for a border city," he murmured, his voice sounding like cracking ice.
When his gaze finally landed on Xueling, he paused. A faint, clinical nod of approval followed. "Seven-star Water affinity, already nearing the Peak of the 3rd Layer... you have decent potential, little girl. But," his voice sharpened, "do not let this small success breed arrogance. In the Heavenly Frost Sect, there are monsters with talents reaching 10 stars and beyond. There, you will be nothing more than a speck of dust among the mountains."
The hall fell into a shocked silence. Ten stars? To the Bai Clan, seven stars was a once-in-a-generation miracle. The idea of talent beyond ten stars was like a fairy tale.
Xueling, who had been standing with her chin high and a triumphant smirk on her lips, felt her blood run cold. Her pride, which had been bloated by Elder Zhang's praise and the Spirit Pool's success, took a staggering hit. Jealousy flickered in her eyes, quickly masked by a forced, submissive bow, but her heart was in turmoil.
"And what of the others, Elder?" Bai Feng asked, his voice filled with a father's desperate hope.
The recruiter scanned the remaining youths with a disinterested shrug. "A few 4 and 5-star talents... they could perhaps serve as manual laborers or auxiliary workers in the sect's outer courtyards. Most of our true Outer Disciples must possess at least a 7-star affinity to even cross the threshold."
Finally, the recruiter's eyes locked onto Hanyuan. For the first time, a flash of genuine surprise crossed the man's stoic face.
"Huh? You... you are only eleven, yet you've already stabilized the 3rd Layer of Qi Refining?" The man leaned forward, his pressure momentarily intensifying. "What is your talent? Did you use a forbidden medicine to force this breakthrough?"
Hanyuan stepped forward, bowing with practiced poise, his voice steady despite the crushing aura. "This junior has a 6-star Ice and a 5-star Lightning element talent. I have reached this level through rigorous training and by honing my spear against Spirit Beasts in the Wandering Forest."
The recruiter's eyes immediately turned cold. The spark of interest vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
"Six and five?" The man let out a short, dismissive breath. "A dual affinity is flexible, but with such low grades, you will inevitably hit a wall. In the world of high-level cultivation, raw talent is the engine; hard work is merely the oil. Without a powerful engine, you will stall before you even reach the true peaks of the Mortal Core stage."
He turned away from Hanyuan as if the boy no longer existed.
"I will take Bai Xueling as an Outer Disciple," the recruiter announced, his tone final. "The rest are unworthy of the Sect's time."
With a wave of his hand, a swirling vortex of crystalline frost erupted in the center of the hall. The temperature plummeted so rapidly that frost formed on the pillars. Before anyone could utter another word, the recruiter gripped Xueling's shoulder, and the two of them vanished into the white haze.
Silence—heavy and suffocating—enveloped the Great Hall.
Bai Feng let out a long, weary sigh, his shoulders slumped. The other youths stood with dejected expressions, their dreams of joining the Great Sect shattered in an instant. Even being a common worker in such a place would have granted them resources they couldn't dream of in Spirit Springs City.
Hanyuan stood alone in the center of the hall, his hand still resting on the hilt of his spear. He could still feel the lingering cold of the recruiter's aura. He had been dismissed as "mediocre," a tragedy of "low stars" doomed to fail.
He didn't look at his father or the grieving elders. He turned and walked out of the hall, the sound of his boots on the stone the only noise in the quiet room. Xueling was gone to the heavens. He was still in the dirt.
But as the spear-wielder knew well—every mountain was climbed from the bottom.