The first light of dawn spilled softly through the latticed windowpanes, casting long, golden fingers that stretched languidly across the rough-hewn wooden floor. In the quiet stillness of the room, Shi Yao sat cross-legged upon his modest bed, eyes closed, a serene mask upon his face. Yet beneath that calm exterior, a tempest raged.
The essence he had forcibly drawn from the Foundation Establishment beast—the wolf—seethed within him like a feral beast trapped in a gilded cage, untamed and volatile. But Shi Yao was no longer the man he had been just days prior. The Heaven Devouring Pulse Art coursed silently through his meridians, an invisible architect coaxing order from chaos.
His meridian channels, newly forged through agony and sheer tenacity, carried this torrential force like a river redirected, diverting its fury into the intricate labyrinth of his qi system. Every heartbeat was a battle; a single misstep would mean internal annihilation.
"Refining the energy of a Foundation Establishment beast… while still in Qi Refinement…" His lips barely parted, a whisper barely audible, "...is a gamble with death."
Yet, he persevered.
Pain flared in his chest—sharp, unforgiving—but his mind was a blade honed to perfect focus. The savage energy was crushed, refined, and transmuted, slowly but inexorably, into dense, stable qi.
Then, abruptly, a surge burst forth from within him. His entire body trembled violently as if glass under crushing pressure. The fragile barrier between cultivation stages shattered—not once, but twice in rapid succession.
An invisible shockwave rippled outward, rattling the room's sparse furnishings. His spiritual sea expanded, swelling like a storm-tossed ocean, and his cultivation leapt from the eighth layer to the ninth. Without pause, the momentum carried him further until it anchored at the zenith of the ninth layer—the peak of Qi Refinement.
Shi Yao exhaled slowly. The very air seemed to hum as it escaped his lungs. His eyes opened, sharper, clearer—as if a veil had lifted. Power coursed through his limbs, molten and resolute.
"So this is the peak…" he murmured, flexing fingers that now felt like tempered steel. "My strength has doubled. It's working. All of it."
But this breakthrough came with a price.
He sensed his aura leaking—a telltale shimmer betraying the depth of his power. Left unchecked, any keen observer would detect it. Not acceptable. Not yet.
A faint smirk curved his lips. "Better not give Li Rong a reason to interrogate me to death."
Closing his eyes again, Shi Yao drew upon the sealing technique Bai Ling had imparted. Slowly, deliberately, he folded his qi inward, withdrawing his presence. The oppressive weight that had filled the air dissipated, and his cultivation signature diminished until it resembled that of a mere mortal.
He rose with measured grace, slipping into his white robes embroidered with subtle golden threads. Each movement was unhurried, as though time itself bent to his will. His belt was fastened with deliberate precision; boots pulled up over his trousers, sleeves adjusted—a portrait of calm control.
Then—
A sudden crash shattered the tranquility.
The door burst open.
"Shi Yao!" Li Rong's voice rang sharp and urgent, like a clarion call. "The Celestial Wind Sect entrance exam is today! Hurry! I already registered you!"
"…You what?"
Before he could respond, she seized his arm and pulled him from the room, her energy infectious and impossible to resist.
Twenty minutes later, they stood before towering gates carved from gleaming white jade, adorned with celestial beasts frozen in stone. The plaza beyond teemed with hopeful aspirants—young cultivators, elders, and examiners alike—each exuding anticipation and quiet tension.
Shi Yao's gaze rose to the grand archway, where the words "Celestial Wind Sect" shimmered in flowing cloud-shaped patterns.
"You dragged me here without warning for an entrance exam?" he asked, brow arched.
Li Rong turned, hands planted firmly on her hips, exhaling with a breathless mixture of exasperation and pride. "Excuse me! This isn't just any exam. This is THE Celestial Wind Sect—the jewel of Yang City."
Shi Yao tilted his head. "Yang City?"
She blinked, concern sharpening her eyes. "Are you serious?"
A faint shrug was all he gave.
"Yang City is the heart of the Southern Kingdom," Li Rong explained. "Its largest city, home to countless sects, the densest concentration of cultivators, and the gateway through which more than half the kingdom's high-grade materials pass. It's the center of power… and Celestial Wind is its crown jewel."
Shi Yao absorbed her words like a map unfolding before him.
A nexus of power… a stage for influence.
"Sounds promising," he murmured.
As they pressed forward into the throng, Shi Yao's sharp eyes scanned the crowd. Some cultivators stood tall and proud, clearly scions of noble houses; others shifted nervously, clutching talismans or smoothing worn robes.
The air was thick with silent tension—this was no mere test. It was a crucible where futures were forged. Success meant ascending the ladder of glory. Failure meant fading into obscurity.
Then—
A voice, sharp and mocking, cut through the murmurs like a knife.
"Well, well… if it isn't the cripple himself. Shi Yao."
The tone was all too familiar—bitter and biting as a long-healed wound.
Shi Yao turned calmly.
Behind him stood Zi Hao, his refined blue robes edged with silver embroidery catching the light like a herald of arrogance. In one hand, he wielded an ornate folding fan, flicked open with lazy disdain. His polished boots and sculpted dragon-etched guards bespoke noble birth and entitlement.
A smirk played on his lips, a man confident the world would forever bow to him.
"What are you doing here?" Zi Hao sneered. "Don't tell me you came crawling, begging your way into the sect."
Shi Yao met his gaze unflinchingly. "What do you want, Zi Hao?"
Zi Hao chuckled, a sound steeped in scorn. "Do I need a reason to speak to trash?"
He brushed past, then leaned close, voice low, a venomous whisper meant only for Shi Yao's ears. "I hope we meet in the tournament… so I can break you all over again."
Shi Yao's expression did not change.
Yet, deep within, a cold flame sparked to life. He did not seek vengeance through brute force—not yet. But the day would come when Zi Hao would stand before him and realize, far too late, that he had provoked a far deadlier enemy.
Li Rong clenched her jaw beside him. "That bastard… always been like this."
Shi Yao gave a small, knowing smile. "Let him have his moment. He's not worth the breath."
She looked at him closely. Something in his calm was different—steady, unshakable.
"You're not worried?"
"No." Shi Yao turned his gaze back toward the gates. "I have better things to focus on."
He stepped forward, the morning light catching the golden threads on his robes. In this world of dragons and lions, he would move like a serpent—silent, unassuming—until the day they realized his fangs had grown.