The forest at night was Jianyu's only sanctuary. Where shadows stretched long and the rustle of
nocturnal beasts filled the air, he found the solitude to shed the mask of mediocrity and embrace the
hunger of his true cultivation. The Heaven Devouring Art coiled within him like a living abyss, a tide that
never receded, always waiting, always devouring.
That evening, as moonlight filtered through the canopy and painted silver on stone, Jianyu sat
cross-legged beside the roots of an ancient tree. His breath slowed, his mind stilled. In the distance, the
waterfall roared, but here the night was hushed, as though the world itself was holding its breath to
witness his ascent.
He closed his eyes and turned inward, to the vast and intricate network of his meridians. His qi pulsed
faintly, threads of power winding through pathways cleansed of much of their impurity since he had
inherited the Heaven Devouring Art. Yet there was more. He could feel it—the call of the second stage
of Qi Refining—hovering just beyond reach, like a door waiting for the right key.
To understand where he stood, he recalled the hierarchy of cultivation realms, words he had
memorized long ago in the cold lectures of the sect, yet only now did they truly resonate.
The first realm, **Qi Refining**, was where mortals first touched upon the essence of the heavens and
the earth. By absorbing ambient qi, one tempered the body and nourished the meridians. Most never
made it past this realm, struggling with blocked channels, weak dantians, or shallow comprehension.
Even reaching the second or third stage within Qi Refining was considered respectable for outer
disciples.
Beyond Qi Refining lay **Foundation Establishment**. Here, the cultivator formed the bedrock upon
which future realms would be built. It was said that a shaky foundation doomed even the most talented
genius, while a solid one could elevate the mediocre into legends. Only inner disciples or those
groomed by elders could hope to step into this stage.
Then came **Core Formation**, where the very essence of qi was condensed into a core within the
dantian, crystallizing a cultivator's strength and opening the door to true mastery of heaven and earth.
Such individuals were honored as pillars of sects, their words carrying the weight of authority.
And higher still, the stages grew distant, cloaked in awe and reverence: **Nascent Soul**, where one's
spirit transcended the fragile mortal shell; **Soul Transformation**, where even death was no longer a
certainty; and countless further realms whispered of in myths and sect records, where sages shaped
worlds and immortals tread among the stars.
Jianyu opened his eyes. His gaze was steady, calm, yet beneath the surface, a fire burned. He had
barely set foot into Qi Refining, yet already his path diverged from those around him. With the Heaven
Devouring Art, he could consume any essence—beast, pill, or elemental qi—without poison, without
corruption. What had once been the ceiling of his existence was now merely the floor upon which he
stood.
But he was not foolish. Treasures drew envy; power invited blades. If anyone knew of his inheritance,
they would strip him bare and leave his corpse for the crows. Thus, he resolved to grow in silence, to
sharpen his strength beneath layers of weakness, until no blade could pierce him.
He placed a beast core upon his tongue, the dull gray orb of a mid-tier wolf beast slain during his
nocturnal hunts. Normally, even the lowest cores were poison to disciples, unless refined into pills by
skilled alchemists. Yet as the Heaven Devouring Art surged, the core dissolved into streams of pure
essence, its wild energy tamed and absorbed. His blood roared with the influx, muscles tightening,
bones humming with vitality. He clenched his fists, veins bulging as power coursed through him.
He guided the flow carefully. The first stage of Qi Refining had been about opening and cleansing
meridians, establishing a connection to heaven and earth. But the second stage demanded
reinforcement—strengthening the channels to withstand greater tides of qi, broadening their capacity to
carry more, faster, stronger.
The Heaven Devouring Art swirled in his dantian, a vortex pulling in essence from every direction.
Jianyu drew upon the ambient qi of the forest, the lingering essence of the beast core, and even the
faint energy in the air itself. It converged in his core, threatening to tear him apart. His body trembled,
sweat streaming down his face, yet his will did not waver.
Cracks rang out inside him—not of bones breaking, but of barriers shattering. His meridians widened,
the flow of qi surging like a river freed from a dam. Pain wracked his body as impurities burned away,
expelled in waves of black sweat that stained his robes. His breath grew ragged, chest heaving, but his
mind clung to a single thought: *I will not stop here. I will climb. I will endure.*
Time lost meaning. The moon arced across the sky, stars fading as dawn approached. Still Jianyu sat
unmoving, his body a crucible of agony and transformation. With each cycle of breath, the abyss within
him devoured more, refined more, strengthened more. Until at last, with a thunderous pulse that shook
his very soul, the barrier crumbled entirely.
His qi surged, vibrant and alive, filling him with a vitality he had never known. The second stage of Qi
Refining—he had broken through. His entire being resonated with newfound strength, every breath
pulling in more essence than ever before. He opened his eyes, and for a brief instant, they gleamed
with a light sharp as blades.
A laugh almost escaped him, but he smothered it. Joy was dangerous. Exultation bred recklessness.
Instead, he forced his expression back into calm, his breathing steady, his presence restrained. The
strength within him surged like a tide, yet outwardly, he appeared no different from before—a worn,
unremarkable disciple sitting quietly beneath a tree.
He rose slowly, testing his body. His steps were lighter, his strikes sharper. He drove his fist into the
trunk of the ancient tree beside him. The bark split with a thunderous crack, wood splintering from the
impact. Jianyu pulled his hand back quickly, flexing his fingers. No injury. No strain. Only strength.
For a moment, he allowed himself to savor it—the power thrumming in his veins, the knowledge that he
had risen another step on the endless ladder of cultivation. But soon, he pushed it aside. Power was
nothing if revealed too soon. It was a blade that had to remain hidden until the right moment.
Returning to the sect before dawn, Jianyu resumed his disguise. He slouched, let his eyes droop with
feigned exhaustion, and stumbled slightly as he walked. At the morning drills, he swung his blade
slowly, deliberately off-balance, earning scornful laughs from those around him. "Still useless," one
muttered. "At this rate, he'll never leave Qi Refining." Jianyu bowed his head, lips sealed, the perfect
picture of incompetence. Inside, his qi surged, refined and powerful, a hidden tide waiting to flood the
world.
Yet even as he concealed his breakthrough, Jianyu could sense the sect tightening around him. The
whispers of Wu Shifen's disappearance had not faded; they had sharpened, drawn into the keen edge
of suspicion. Elders prowled the courtyards more frequently, their gazes sharp, their questions pointed.
Disciples whispered less openly now, but their fear was palpable. The storm was gathering.
That night, sitting again in solitude, Jianyu whispered to himself, "Second stage… one step closer. The
peak awaits, but the path is drenched in blood. If they doubt me, let them. If they seek me, let them. I
will endure. I will devour. And I will rise."
His words vanished into the night air, carried by the wind. The forest remained silent, but Jianyu felt its
weight pressing down on him. He was no longer the orphan with average talent. He was a cultivator on
a hidden path, climbing against circumstances, every step a battle. And though the world's eyes might
one day turn upon him, for now, he would remain a shadow, sharpening his blade in the dark.