The air in the grand hall of the Qi clan thrummed with anticipation. Elder Qi Mo, his robes immaculate, ascended the central pedestal. In his hands, he held the clan's treasure: a luminous jade stone, its surface etched with the names of countless foundational martial skills.
"All Qi clan descendants," his voice boomed, echoing off the ornate walls. "Line up to receive your inheritance!"
An instant, ecstatic uproar broke out. Children shoved and jostled, their faces flushed with excitement, voices overlapping in a chaotic chorus as they dreamed of the powerful techniques they would claim. They scrambled into a disorderly line, each desperate to be first.
Elder Mo watched the chaotic scene with a faint, approving smile. *This generation... their hunger eclipses even the last. With such drive, the Qi clan's ascent is assured.*
"**SILENCE!**" The command cracked like a whip. Immediately, the children fell quiet, arranging themselves into a neat, trembling line, though the feverish excitement still burned in their eyes.
The first child stepped forward, pressing his forehead to the cool jade. A soft light flared, and the knowledge of a martial skill-"Seven Deadly Punches," along with its precise circulation method-flooded his mind. His face split into a triumphant grin. His journey had truly begun. Elder Mo nodded, handing him a Body Tempering Pill to aid his first breakthrough. "NEXT!" the elder barked.
The process continued for hours. By the time the last Qi child skipped away to their proud parents, the sun had begun to set, casting long shadows through the hall.
The atmosphere shifted palpably. Elder Mo's expression curdled into one of pure disdain. He disappeared into a side chamber and returned, dragging a tattered, filthy sack across the floor as if it contained rotting garbage.
"**SLAVES!**" he snarled, his voice dripping with contempt. "Come and take your trash!"
A riot erupted. The slave children, driven by desperate hope, surged forward. They elbowed, kicked, and scrambled over each other, a frantic, squirming mass. The Qi clan members watched from the sidelines, their faces etched with scorn, enjoying the spectacle of the wretched fighting for scraps.
Amid the chaos, one figure remained still. Lethean. He observed the scene with eyes of glacial ice. Then, he moved. Step by deliberate step, he advanced. All eyes turned to him-the elders with a mix of disdain, curiosity, and a hidden flicker of jealousy for the beauty that marked him even in lowliness.
The slave children parted before him without a word, a well-practiced, synchronized movement born of ingrained fear and respect. He reached the ransacked sack, now holding only the dregs no one else wanted. His slender fingers casually brushed against a worn, manual.
The moment his skin made contact, the entire knowledge of the skill-its concepts, pathways, and nuances-unfolded in his mind with perfect, instantaneous clarity. It was as if he had practiced it for a decade.
He froze, shocked. This was impossible. Skills from jade slips imprinted knowledge directly, but books required reading, study, and talent. He picked up the manual, scrutinizing the cover: *Lotus Bloom Circulation*. A low-grade technique teaching the most basic blood circulation method to begin Body Tempering.
He was so engrossed in this mystery that Elder Mo's impatient shout broke his concentration. "Boy! If you have chosen your art, take it and get out! Do not delay your betters!"
Gripping the manual, Lethean returned to his mother's side. The moment he stepped away, the frantic fighting resumed as if he had never interrupted.
Eager to begin, Lethean closed his eyes. He focused on the "Lotus Bloom Circulation" method now etched in his mind. He guided his blood along the prescribed pathways, a thrill coursing through him. This was it. The first step toward power. Power to protect his mother. Power to satisfy the deep, insatiable hunger in his heart-a growing desire to be strong, to be feared, to rule.
But as the circulating energy reached his chest, ready to convert into power and nourish his body, it slammed into an invisible, implacable wall. The energy didn't just stop; it recoiled in sheer terror, scattering back through his veins as if fleeing a primordial predator.
Panic rising, Lethean tried again. And again. Each time, the result was the same: his energy fled from the center of his being.
On his tenth desperate attempt, something in his chest responded. A low, deep, guttural *roar* echoed in the cavern of his own mind, a sound of ancient and immense wrath. The rebounding energy was violently repelled this time, slamming into his own veins with the force of a tidal wave.
His eyes flew open. Agony tore through him as his blood reversed its flow. He coughed, a thick, horrific spray of blood and minute pieces of fleshy tissue painting the ground before him.
"Lethean!" Caiyi cried out, his hands turning deathly cold in hers. She saw the blood, saw the internal damage reflected in his glazing eyes. Pure terror seized her heart.
She bent down, channeling her first-level Spiritual energy into him, trying to cool the violent rebellion in his blood. What she found inside him made her want to scream. His internal organs were webbed with fine cracks, mangled and bleeding-all except his chest area, which was pristine, untouched, and perfectly, terrifyingly fine.
The world swam in Lethean's vision. The last thing he saw was his mother's panic-stricken, tear-streaked face before darkness swallowed him whole.
"LETHEAN! NO! Wake up! Please, baby, wake up!" Caiyi shrieked, clutching his limp, bloodied body to her chest, pouring her energy into him in a frantic, failing attempt to stall his deterioration. Her sorrow was a palpable force, a sound that could wrench the heart from any listener.
The entire hall had fallen silent, the slave children staring, the Qi clan members watching with cold curiosity.
Caiyi stumbled to her knees before Elder Qi Mo, her forehead nearly touching the floor. "Please... Elder... please save my son! I beg you!"
Stunned by the sudden tragedy, a flicker of pity moved Qi Mo. He produced a healing pill and fed it to the boy, channeling his Origin power to guide the medicine and assess the damage.
The moment his energy probed Lethean's body and neared the solar plexus, it happened. Countless roars of divine beasts-primordial, wrathful, and utterly overwhelming-exploded inside Qi Mo's skull. The sheer pressure and terror of it nearly shattered his mind. He wrenched his hand back as if burned, face pale, forehead beaded with cold sweat.
He quickly masked his all-consuming fear with a facade of arrogant disdain. "I have tried my best," he declared, his voice loud and cruel for the benefit of the crowd. "But I will not waste precious medicinal energy on a body of trash!"
"Trash?" Caiyi whispered, lost in despair.
"Trash," Qi Mo confirmed, solidifying the lie. "The boy tried to cultivate immediately and suffered a severe backlash from improper circulation. His veins are locked. They will forever prevent him from completing a circulation cycle. He is eternally barred from the Body Tempering Realm. A cripple. Worthless."
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. The word of an Origin Realm expert was law. Their gazes upon Lethean's unconscious form shifted instantly from curiosity to outright scorn and dismissal.
Caiyi's face went ashen, all hope extinguished. Cradling her son's broken body, she rose on shaky legs and walked out of the grand hall, a portrait of absolute despair.
Qi Mo watched them go, then let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He shuddered, trying to erase the memory of those world-shattering roars from his mind.
Not a single person in the crowd was sharp enough to question the elder's story. No one pondered the impossibility of a child comprehending a manual without reading it, or connected the "failed circulation" to the terrifying truth Qi Mo had just fled from.