The next morning, the training field was packed.
Sunlight poured across rows of disciples sparring, shouting, and falling over in dramatic fashion.
Li Ming stretched his arms, cracking his neck.
"Alright," he said, "let's start with light training. No explosions."
Bai Guo raised a wing. "You say that every time, descendant."
Lan Yue crossed her arms. "Because every time, you ignore it."
Before Li Ming could respond, a sharp boom echoed from the other side of the field. Dust rose—and from it, Wu Jian stepped out, his aura flaring like a blade unsheathed.
His cultivation pressure made the air hum.
Lan Yue's eyes narrowed. "Third level of Foundation Building?"
Li Ming blinked. "What—when did he—?!"
Wu Jian smirked. "While you were busy making fireworks, I was cultivating."
Bai Guo whispered loudly, "He means meditating in front of the mirror again."
Wu Jian shot him a glare sharp enough to slice feathers.
