Feng Tian opened his eyes in the quiet of dawn, feeling a strange clarity running through his mind. It was as though a veil had been lifted. The once-distant principles of cultivation methods—so obscure and difficult to grasp—now unfolded in his mind like an open scroll. Every technique he had struggled to understand in the past became perfectly clear, as if written in glowing letters.
He sat cross-legged again and recalled the Qi Condensation Circulation Method taught to outer court disciples. Previously, the diagrams had felt incomplete, the flow of qi obscure, the theory confusing. Now, his understanding was absolute—every meridian path, every breathing cycle, every subtle twist of spiritual energy was as clear as water in a polished jade bowl.
Feng Tian then stood and reached for the crude wooden box under his bed, where a few elementary martial arts manuals were kept. These were basic techniques granted freely to new disciples—hardly worth much, yet to beginners they formed the foundation of combat skill.
He flipped through Stone Fist Arts, a low-level boxing technique said to increase striking power. In his past life in the sect, its principles had seemed tangled, its movements stiff. Now, each stance flowed naturally. He read Cloud Step Movement, a footwork method designed to improve agility. Before, its shifting steps confused him, causing him to stumble. Now, he could see every transition as though the earth itself whispered guidance. Even Flowing Blade Cut, a simple sword form that outer court disciples used for drills, appeared as natural as breathing.
"Was it… always this easy?" Feng Tian murmured to himself. "Or is this… the change of reincarnation?"
He practiced slowly through the night. Punch after punch, step after step, cut after cut. The qi inside him cooperated as if eager to obey. Techniques that had taken months to barely grasp now sank into his bones within hours. By the time a faint light crept over the horizon, Feng Tian felt as though years of stagnation had been washed away.
When morning came, he decided to leave his small courtyard. After all, this was still Qingxuan Sect. Though his memories told him what it looked like, he wanted to see it with fresh eyes—to explore and to understand the world he had truly joined.
The outer court of Qingxuan Sect was bustling even at dawn. Long, paved paths wound through a valley surrounded by steep peaks. Buildings of wood and stone lined the roads—training halls, lecture pavilions, and dormitory blocks where hundreds of outer court disciples lived.
Feng Tian walked slowly, his gaze taking in every detail. The sect wasn't grand like the super sects he had heard of, but it possessed an undeniable aura of discipline and power. Wide practice grounds rang with the sound of fists striking wooden posts, of swords cutting through the air.
He passed a group of disciples clustered around a spiritual stone vendor. These translucent stones pulsed faintly with energy, serving as both currency and cultivation resources. Even outer court disciples used them to speed up training. Higher-quality stones, though, were beyond their reach and reserved for inner court disciples and elders.
Further along was an herbal shop selling common spiritual herbs. Bottles of mild elixirs sat neatly in rows, labeled with their effects: "Qi Stabilizing Decoction," "Meridian Soothing Powder," "Minor Spirit Recovery Pill." They were inexpensive, but to a disciple with no family wealth, even these small aids were treasures.
In the distance, on higher terraces of the mountain, stood grander halls where inner court disciples trained, and above them still, a towering spire where core disciples and elders resided. The hierarchy was clear: power lived above, mediocrity below.
Feng Tian clenched his fists slightly as he walked.
This world… everything revolves around strength. Even a single breakthrough changes how others look at you. In my past life in this sect, I was just another face in the crowd. This time… things will be different.
As Feng Tian turned toward a quieter path lined with pine trees, he failed to notice a shadow watching him from behind a stone pillar.
It was Lu Shan, a narrow-eyed youth with sharp features—one of Wang Jian's closest followers. Lu Shan's gaze locked on Feng Tian with open hostility. He had been ordered to keep watch, to confirm if Feng Tian still lived after the assassination attempt.
When Lu Shan saw Feng Tian walking calmly in the morning light, his face darkened. The faint glint of murderous intent shone in his pupils. He turned sharply, cloak whipping behind him, and disappeared down a side alley toward Wang Jian's residence.
As he walked, his thoughts boiled with rage.
So you survived, Feng Tian… You dare to live after young master Wang Jian decided you should die? You'll regret ever drawing breath in this world.
A cruel smile tugged at his lips as he whispered, "The young master will be pleased to know you're still alive. Your next sunrise will be your last."
The morning wind carried his words away, but his voice held a venom that promised blood.