Chapter 2: The Mountain Hermit
Weeks blurred into survival.
The Azure Peaks were unforgiving—jagged cliffs that cut into the sky, fog-filled valleys that swallowed sound, and rivers so violent they could sweep away even beasts. Lin Feng endured it all.
Roots, bitter berries, and the occasional small animal snared in crude traps kept him alive. His Undying Body, awakened by the crystal, absorbed qi from the air—slowly, painfully, like grinding stone against stone. Each trace of energy built resilience but carved agony into his flesh.
Nights were the hardest.
Curled in shallow caves, Lin would shiver as his body tore itself apart and stitched itself back together. Dreams brought visions of that crystal—battles of collapsing stars, voices urging him toward a destiny he could not yet comprehend.
---
One stormy night, thunder cracked across the peaks. Rain lashed against stone as Lin sheltered beneath a ledge. Exhaustion dragged him into restless sleep.
When he awoke, someone was standing there.
A grizzled old man, robes torn and patched, but his presence carried weight—a subtle aura that made the air feel heavier. His eyes were sharp, reflecting years of regret and wisdom.
"I am Elder Huo," he said at last, voice like rolling thunder. "And you… reek of untapped potential."
Lin tensed. Before he could speak, the old man extended a finger. A current of qi brushed through Lin's body, scanning his meridians without touch.
"The Undying Body…" Huo muttered, a spark of surprise in his eyes. "A seed of immortality—but without guidance, it will devour you in endless pain. Follow me, boy, if you want mastery."
---
Sensing no malice, Lin followed.
Huo led him into a hidden valley, veiled by illusionary arrays. His abode was a simple cave, but within lay shelves of manuals, bubbling cauldrons, and neat rows of herb gardens.
Over steaming tea that soothed Lin's aching body, the elder spoke plainly:
"Cultivation is not a race to golden cores or qi seas. It begins with the body. If your vessel is weak, higher realms will collapse you from within. Your body is unique… so we'll forge it into something unbreakable."
---
Training began at dawn.
Huo passed down the Iron Body Art, a forbidden technique from a long-fallen sect. It was brutal—focusing on raw physical tempering instead of shortcuts.
Mornings meant boiling herbal baths—fire-root and thunder-vine stews that blistered skin until it peeled, forcing the Undying Body to rebuild stronger with each cycle.
"Endure!" Huo barked as Lin screamed through the steam. "Pain is the anvil! Will is the hammer!"
Afternoons brought boulder training. Fists slammed into stone until bones shattered—then reknit harder.
Evenings were for meditation beneath pounding waterfalls, water crushing his body as he struggled to circulate qi without losing it.
Progress was slow. By the end of one month, Lin had reached the third layer of Body Refining. His body was tougher, his strikes faster, but he was still far from invincible.
---
It was during a herb-gathering trip that they met Mei Ling.
Seventeen, with long black hair and eyes like polished obsidian, she wore robes embroidered with alchemical patterns. A satchel of vials and dried herbs hung at her side.
She frowned the moment she saw Huo's gathered roots.
"Your technique is sloppy," she said lightly. "These fire-roots are overripe. They'll imbalance the meridians."
She introduced herself as the daughter of a wandering pill master who had died to a beast attack. Her constitution was rare—pure yin, her qi naturally soothing and restorative.
Intrigued by Lin's resilience and Huo's knowledge, Mei Ling asked to stay. In return, she offered her alchemical skills.
It didn't take long to see her value. Her pills eased Lin's agonizing regenerations, stabilizing his Undying Body and accelerating progress.
"Dual cultivation would enhance this even more," she murmured one evening by the fire, cheeks faintly red. "But only when foundations align."
Around the fire, bonds grew. Mei spoke of her dream to refine elixirs that could rival the heavens. Huo shared pieces of his past—a story painted in loss.
"I was once an elder of the Fallen Star Sect," he admitted, eyes shadowed. "We were annihilated, betrayed by allies swayed by the Upper World's schemes. I alone survived.
"And you, boy… your bloodline resists fate itself. It is a threat to the Heavenly Fate Sovereign's web. The Upper World will not ignore you."
---
Far away, in a fortress-palace atop a mountain, another listened to whispers.
Lord Xuan, the Core Formation tyrant ruling the Iron Fist Sect, lounged on a jade throne. Messengers brought him word of a cursed youth tied to an ancient crystal.
His lips curled into a smile.
"This boy… holds the key to my ascension. Deploy trackers. Bring him alive… or harvest his essence."