By the time Xu Lan returned to the Azure Cloud Sect, his robes were soaked in blood, dirt clung to his skin, and exhaustion gnawed at every step. Yet beneath the tattered surface, his qi pulsed steadily — a faint crimson current coursing through his veins.
For the first time in years, his body responded to cultivation. His crippled meridians, once mocked as useless, now glowed faintly within him. But he couldn't show it. Not yet.
The sect gates loomed before him, tall and imposing. A pair of outer disciples spotted him limping back and immediately sneered.
"Well, if it isn't the sect's trash. Did the menial fields chew you up already?"
"Look at him — he can't even walk straight. What a disgrace."
Xu Lan lowered his gaze, forcing himself into silence. Inside, his qi surged, begging to be unleashed, but he clenched his fists until his nails dug into his palms. He couldn't afford to expose his change. The Eternal Devouring Scripture was forbidden, and if the elders discovered it, his only fate would be execution.
He passed the disciples without a word. Their laughter echoed behind him, but it no longer pierced as deeply as before. He had tasted power. Soon, their mockery would be nothing but dust.
That evening, Xu Lan sat alone in the menial disciple quarters, the air thick with the stench of spirit fertilizer and damp soil. The other menials gossiped, laughed, and drank, but Xu Lan ignored them, focusing instead on steadying his unstable qi.
He pressed his palm to his chest, guiding the energy as the scripture instructed. The crimson current fought wildly, surging like a beast unwilling to be tamed. Sweat poured down his brow as he struggled to suppress the feral hunger within him.
"Calm… control it…" he muttered through clenched teeth.
Slowly, the violent qi settled, flowing more smoothly. His breathing steadied, his pulse aligned with the rhythm of cultivation. The scripture was dangerous, but it worked.
Yet as his eyes fluttered open, a flicker of red glimmered in their depths. For an instant, his reflection in a cracked water basin showed not a man — but something beast-like, sharp and predatory. Xu Lan exhaled sharply, shaking the image from his mind.
The next morning, the sect's outer disciples gathered at the training ground for routine sparring. Xu Lan, though demoted, was ordered to appear.
"Trash, you still dare show your face here?" one disciple jeered. It was Liu Feng, a sneering youth who had been Xu Lan's tormentor for years. "Tell you what, why don't you kneel and polish my boots? It's the only cultivation you're fit for."
Laughter erupted.
Xu Lan's blood boiled, but he forced his expression into calm indifference. Not yet. I can't reveal my strength yet.
Liu Feng stepped closer, eyes glinting with cruelty. "What's wrong? No comeback today? Or are you plotting how to beg the elders for scraps of pity again?"
The crowd chuckled, waiting for Xu Lan to crumble. Instead, he slowly lifted his gaze, meeting Liu Feng's eyes. There was no anger in his stare, no shame — only a quiet, smoldering determination that unsettled the bully.
For the first time, Liu Feng faltered. His smirk wavered, though he quickly masked it with another laugh. "Hah, forget it. Trash will always be trash."
The crowd dispersed, still mocking, but Xu Lan remained silent. Deep within, the crimson qi pulsed stronger, resonating with his growing resolve.
Let them laugh, he thought. The day will come when their voices will choke in their throats.
And as he returned to his quarters, Xu Lan whispered under his breath, the vow etched into his very bones:
"I will rise… even if I must walk through rivers of blood."