"The fist is like a powerful arrow, the back like a bow, the waist like a dragon's tendon, the mind like a tiger, the essence boiling, and the qi begins to flow…"
Although the voice was still somewhat youthful and immature, it carried a firm conviction. Under the sparse moonlight, by the lake in a small valley, the solitary moon hung in the sky. There, a boy of about thirteen or fourteen years old was practicing martial arts beside the water, reciting the formulas of the technique aloud. His movements, alternating between turns and spins, were fluid and practiced. It was clear he had trained these boxing techniques thoroughly. His presence was striking.
Despite his sturdy physique, he was still a child. After half an hour of practicing the full set of movements with all his might, he was drenched in sweat and panting heavily, forced to stop.
Crouching by the lake, he scooped cool water to wash his face. Zhuge Xiang was in low spirits. He had practiced this Qi-nourishing boxing for an entire year, yet had still not grasped the essence of qi. In half a month, the annual entrance evaluation would take place. If he failed to comprehend qi before then, he would remain an ordinary person for the rest of his life—someone who toiled daily for food and clothing.
Zhuge Xiang's background could be described as tragic. Orphaned from a young age, he had survived by begging alongside an old vagabond, leading a life of hardship. A year ago, while begging at a wealthy household, not only did the master set his dogs on him, but rather than offering charity, he tried to have Zhuge Xiang killed.
Harboring hatred, Zhuge Xiang stole a dagger that night, broke into the man's house, and slaughtered all thirteen members of the family. Afterwards, a young man appeared and asked him whether he wished to become a cultivator—if he wanted to eat meat, and never worry about food or clothing again. That was how Zhuge Xiang ended up at the Asura Sect.
The Great Qin Empire held a population of two billion, vast lands stretching tens of thousands of kilometers, a powerful martial culture, and nine great sects that rivaled even the imperial family. Among them, the Asura Sect was one of the most formidable.
Each year, the Asura Sect recruited 100,000 youths aged between twelve and fifteen to ascend the mountain and undergo rigorous training. They practiced this form of Qi-nourishing boxing. While the boxing itself had no offensive power, it was effective in strengthening the body. Zhuge Xiang was one of the hundred thousand selected, striving to stimulate his body's essence, refine and convert it into energy, and grasp the sense of qi.
Nearly a year had passed since he arrived at the Asura Sect, and in just half a month, the next batch of youths would ascend the mountain.
On that day, Zhuge Xiang and the other disciples would be evaluated. Those who succeeded in understanding Qi Jin would be accepted as official disciples of the Asura Sect. The rest, relegated to menial roles or sent away, would face uncertain fates—some might even die of despair or hunger.
Having known only suffering since childhood, Zhuge Xiang could not bear the thought of returning to that life. As the saying goes, the weak are bullied. In his eyes, it wasn't that people were naturally oppressed, but that weakness made them so—like the old beggar who was tormented without reason, even torn apart by dogs. It taught him the bitter lesson: strength was the only thing that mattered. This rare chance to become a disciple of the Asura Sect was one he could not afford to lose.
Even if he were accepted only into the sect's outer ranks, he refused to be a handyman who lived at others' mercy.
"Once more. The more time passes, the more others begin to grasp the essence of qi. After a full year of training, I must be close. I can't fail in this last half month."
Thinking of the old beggar, thinking that this was his one shot at changing his fate, Zhuge Xiang rested briefly, then composed himself, assumed his Qi-cultivating stance, and continued…
Having determination was good—but among the 100,000 youths recruited by the sect each year, perhaps only one in a hundred managed to grasp Qi Jin within a year. Moreover, Zhuge Xiang's aptitude wasn't particularly remarkable, and he could only train at night. That night, he practiced the full set of Qi-nourishing movements ten times until both his body and mind were pushed beyond their limits. Lying beside the lake, unable to lift a finger, he still hadn't sensed even the faintest trace of energy.
After resting for less than half an hour, he managed to regain some physical strength. Rising to his feet, he prepared to leave. Though cultivation was crucial, the first step—refining and converting qi—depended on the body's essence. Physical health was the foundation. One had to rest appropriately and balance training with recovery. Otherwise, overworking the body would lead to collapse before qi could even be sensed. Every year, there were countless cases of exhaustion—some even fatal.
Just as he was about to leave, Zhuge Xiang suddenly froze. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something strange: in the reflection of the moon on the lake, a portion was missing.
Looking up at the sky, the moon appeared perfectly round. But in its reflection, a clear chunk was absent from the edge. Why? Why was a piece of the moon missing in the lake? Could it be the sign of a hidden treasure?
Intrigued, Zhuge Xiang undressed and slipped into the lake, swimming toward the strange spot near the moon's reflection.
As he drew closer, he could just make out that the missing part wasn't from the moon, but from a black light source in the water, overlapping the moon's reflection.
Black light? In a lake? How could there be black light here?
At the bottom of the lake, in the dead of night, only from Zhuge Xiang's precise angle could the moonlight intersect with the black glow—otherwise, no one would have noticed it.
Diving deeper, the surface eventually stilled. When he emerged, Zhuge Xiang held something in his palm—a black ring, glimmering under the moonlight with a faint dark radiance.
Swimming back to shore, he examined it closely. The ring was made of some unknown metal, but staring at it gave off an eerie sensation. The black glow it emitted made it clear: this was no ordinary item.
"Could this be... a magic weapon? Did someone leave it behind?" he wondered aloud.
Official disciples of the Asura Sect could be granted magic weapons—artifacts imbued with strange and powerful abilities. These differed greatly from ordinary swords, blades, or staffs. A ring that glowed black… at the very least, it had to be magical.
A magic weapon, only owned by official disciples?
Zhuge Xiang hesitated briefly, but curiosity got the better of him. He slipped the black ring onto his finger.
The moment it touched his skin, the ring came to life. A sharp prickling sensation shot through him, and Zhuge Xiang cried out in pain. Instinctively, he tried to remove it, but it was as if the ring had fused with his flesh—it wouldn't budge.
The pain intensified. Already drained, Zhuge Xiang felt his consciousness begin to fade.
Just as he slipped into darkness, a mechanical voice echoed deep within his mind:
"Scanning bones, blood, iris... Constitution qualified. Initiating binding process... Countdown: 20 seconds… System initialized… Binding successful… Welcome to the Super Game System."