The cave smelled faintly of damp stone and crushed herbs.
Lian knelt in silence, sweat dripping down his face as he followed the breathing rhythm the old man had drilled into him. The iron bands weighed heavy on his limbs, every inhale felt like fire, every exhale like knives carving his lungs.
At last, the old man's voice cut through the silence.
"Enough. Open your eyes."
Lian obeyed. His chest heaved, but his gaze was steady.
The old man studied him for a long while, then reached for a pouch at his side. From it, he pulled a small, twisted herb, its leaves dark purple with veins of black.
"Do you know what this is?"
Lian shook his head.
"Shadowbane," the old man said. "A poison. Even a small touch can numb the body. A servant like you should collapse instantly if you dare touch it."
He tossed the herb into Lian's hands.
The boy froze. His fingers burned cold where the plant touched his skin, but he forced himself not to flinch.
"Now," the old man commanded, "guide your Qi into it. Feel the venom. Force it out."
Lian closed his eyes, focusing. The faint spark in his dantian stirred. He drew it upward, into his arm, into his palm.
At first, nothing happened. His skin prickled, his hand stiffened. Pain shot up his wrist.
No… I won't fail. Not here.
He pushed harder. The spark brightened, pulsing with stubborn will. Slowly, a faint shimmer of white light spread across his palm.
The burning sensation dulled. The stiffness eased. The black veins on the leaf shriveled, fading until the herb crumbled into ash.
The old man's eyes widened slightly. Then he laughed, a harsh, rasping sound.
"Hah… not bad, boy. Not bad at all."
Lian opened his eyes. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his body trembling with exhaustion, but his hands were steady.
The old man leaned closer, his gaze sharp as knives.
"Listen well. Many train for years before they can even sense Qi, let alone purge poison with it. But you—" he jabbed a finger at Lian's chest, "—you did it in mere days. Do you know what that means?"
Lian's breath caught. "What… does it mean?"
The old man grinned.
"It means you are not ordinary. You are gifted. Born for cultivation."
Lian's heart pounded. For so long, the world had treated him as less than dirt. Yet here, in this cold cave, someone had spoken words he had never dared dream of.
Gifted. Born for cultivation.
He lowered his head, hiding the fire in his eyes.
If that is true… then one day, I will prove it to the world. I will rise higher than all of them.
The old man smirked knowingly. "Good. Remember this, disciple: talent is a blade. If you sharpen it, it will cut down the heavens. But if you waste it…" His voice grew cold. "It will cut you instead."
That night, as Lian returned to the mansion under the weight of his chains, he carried more than iron on his back.
He carried a new truth—
He was no longer just a servant.
He was a cultivator with talent that could shake the heavens.
End of Chapter 7.