A year had passed since the day I woke up feeling like a brand-new person.
I was now nine years old, and the change wasn't just in my head; it was in every fiber of my being. My Skin Tempering cultivation wasn't just a fancy label; it was real, tangible power.
Chopping wood, which used to be a grueling, sweat-soaked chore for Papa, was now almost… fun.
I'd pick up Papa's old, dull axe, the same one he'd labored with for hours, and with a single, clean swing, a log would split perfectly in two. Not with brute force, but with a surprising precision, a connection between my intent and the swing.
Papa would just stand there, mouth agape, shaking his head. "Nine years old," he'd mumble, "and he's already stronger than I've ever been." It filled me with a quiet pride to see the relief in his eyes, knowing I could help ease his burden.
My speed was another thing entirely. Running through the forest, chasing after rabbits or just exploring, felt like flying. My legs, once prone to tripping over their own feet, now moved with an effortless grace. I could dart between trees, leap over fallen logs, and cover ground at a pace that would leave any normal adult panting.
It wasn't the supernatural speed of the flying cultivators, but for a nine-year-old, it was astounding. I could outrun most of the village dogs, which, let me tell you, was a significant achievement.
And hunting? That had become my true calling, at least for now. My senses were sharper, my movements stealthier.
I'd even started using a simple bow and arrow that Papa had helped me craft. My aim, once laughable, was now surprisingly accurate. I could track a rabbit by the faintest disturbance in the grass, predict its movements, and loose an arrow with a steady hand.
It wasn't just about the physical strength; it was about the enhanced focus, the clarity of mind that came with the Skin Tempering. Rabbit stew was a regular on our dinner table now, and Mama's eyes would sparkle with gratitude every time I brought home a plump catch.
Life in our hut was still bustling. Mei and Kai, now three, were a whirlwind of energy, constantly chasing each other, giggling, and occasionally getting into mischief.
Mei was a tiny whirlwind of curiosity, always asking "Why?" about everything, while Kai was a quiet observer, often found mimicking my movements when he thought no one was looking.
They were growing fast, and the thought of protecting them, of ensuring they never had to beg or go hungry, fueled my desire to get even stronger.
Papa, seeing my rapid progress, decided it was time for a new kind of training. One evening, after I'd returned with a particularly large pheasant, he sat me down by the fire.
"Wu Zhen," he began, his voice serious, but with an underlying excitement. "You've grown incredibly strong, incredibly fast. Your cultivation is… well, it's beyond anything I could have imagined for someone your age. But strength isn't just about raw power, son. It's about how you use it. It's about skill."
I nodded, listening intently.
"I may not be a grand cultivator," he continued, a wistful look in his eyes, "and my own cultivation journey has been… slow. But I've seen things. I've heard stories. Even a cultivator with normal talent, or even less, can become truly formidable if they master a weapon. And the sword… it's the most honorable. The most versatile."
My heart skipped a beat. A sword? This was getting exciting!
"I don't know much about advanced sword arts," he admitted, picking up a sturdy piece of oak that he'd carved into a rough, blunt sword. It was heavy, but balanced. "But I can teach you the basics. How to hold it, how to swing, how to block. Discipline. Footwork. We'll start there."
And so began my sword training. Every afternoon, after my morning cultivation session and my hunting rounds, Papa and I would go to a small, secluded clearing behind our hut.
He'd wield his own wooden sword, a bit clumsily, but with earnest dedication.
"Stance, Zhen'er! Keep your feet wide! Balance!" he'd instruct, demonstrating a basic guard.
"Now, thrust! Not just with your arm, but with your whole body!"
Our training sessions were a mix of serious practice and light-hearted banter. Papa would grunt with effort, sometimes stumbling over his own feet, but he'd always laugh it off.
"See? Even an old dog can learn new tricks… or at least try to teach them!" he'd say, wiping sweat from his brow.
I, with my newfound strength and agility, picked up the movements quickly.
My Skin Tempering made my muscles respond faster, my balance more stable. I could mimic his movements, then instinctively refine them, finding the most efficient way to swing, to parry, to move.
Papa would watch, his eyes wide with a mixture of pride and a touch of bewilderment. "It's like you were born with a sword in your hand, boy!" he'd exclaim.
He taught me basic cuts, thrusts, and parries. We'd spar, wooden swords clashing with dull thuds.
I'd try to land a tap on his side, and he'd try to block my clumsy, but increasingly fast, attacks.
He was a patient teacher, and even though his knowledge was limited, his dedication was boundless. He was giving me what he could, and I absorbed it all like a sponge.
One afternoon, after a particularly intense sparring session with Papa, I found myself alone in the clearing.
I was still buzzing with energy. My eyes fell on a round, smooth rock, about the size of my fist, lying near the edge of the trees. It looked… inviting.
Without really thinking, driven by an instinct I couldn't explain, I walked over to it. I positioned my foot, just like I'd seen kids in the village sometimes do with pebbles, trying to kick them into a puddle or against a tree. But this wasn't a pebble, and I wasn't just any kid anymore.
I took a deep breath, focusing the spiritual energy in my legs, a trick I'd been practicing. Then, I swung my foot.
Thwack!
The sound was sharp, surprisingly loud. The rock didn't just fly; it launched. It shot through the air like a green streak, a blur of motion, leaving a faint, shimmering trail behind it, almost like the Spirit Orb I'd seen years ago. It soared over the trees, over the distant hills, and kept going.
It went so far, so fast, that I lost sight of it completely within seconds.
My jaw dropped. My foot, which had connected with the rock, tingled with a strange, satisfying sensation. It wasn't just a kick. It was… a shot. Like I had launched a cannonball.
I stared at the empty sky where the rock had vanished, then down at my foot, then back at the sky. This was different. This wasn't sword fighting. This wasn't just running or chopping wood. This was… power. Power focused into a single, explosive strike.
A new wave of excitement, even stronger than when I first broke through, surged through me.
I looked down at my foot, then at the empty spot where the rock had been. A wide, almost manic grin spread across my face.