The snow had melted into gray sludge, and the courtyard smelled of wet stone, blood, and iron. Lin Tianhai knelt in the mud, hands pressed to the frozen ground, muscles trembling, veins thrumming. The storm of his breakthrough had passed, leaving devastation in its wake. His body ached as though every bone had been shattered and reforged, every sinew stretched and reborn.
Qi surged within him like a caged beast, clawing at his meridians, screaming for release. He drew a ragged breath and forced it to bend, to synchronize with the pulse of the Bloodline Resonance Sutra. It did not speak of dantian or meridians like the clan's texts. It spoke in echoes, in blood yet to flow, in warriors not yet born. Tianhai felt it stir, whispering in rhythms that set his veins on fire.
Hours passed, broken only by the wet scrape of snow under his knees. His vision blurred; his lungs burned; yet beneath the agony, fragile order formed. The torrent of qi slowed, shaped itself, settled into harmony with his body. The First Realm of Qi Refinement had taken root—no longer a spark, but a living flame.
He rose slowly, each movement a test. Legs swollen, bruises mottling pale flesh, joints screaming, yet he moved as if carved from steel. The courtyard, distant pines, even the drip of melting snow—all seemed sharper, more real. The First Realm had peeled back the veil, revealing clarity he had never known.
And then came the whispers.
The clan had noticed. Murmurs slithered through corridors. "The cripple… he… awakened?"
"Impossible. He should have broken himself."
"Bloodline meddling… no ordinary Qi Refinement could…"
Lin Wu's voice cut through, sharp as a blade. "Lin Tianhai," he called, arms folded, fire-veins glowing faintly beneath his sleeves. "So the rat crawls from its hole. Qi Refinement, is it? Show us what your precious Sutra has done."
Some laughed. Others sneered. The arena, once a place of shadowed whispers, now thrummed with anticipation. Tianhai's fists clenched. Raw qi licked along his knuckles, sending tremors through the stone beneath him. He did not flinch.
"If you want to test me," he said, voice low but steel-edged, "then step into the arena."
The elder overseeing the grounds stepped forward, beard brushing his chest. "So be it. Let the clan witness the fruit of three months in solitude." His gaze lingered on Tianhai a moment, unreadable, before gesturing to the arena.
The stones seemed to hold their breath. Tianhai felt the bloodline within him awaken further, whispering, resonating, calling forth a power the clan could not understand. His body ached, but beneath the pain, a fire burned hotter than fear or doubt.
He thought briefly of his mother—her trembling hands, her worried eyes, the nights she had wept. He had promised her they would never bow again. His fists were no longer just weapons; they were declarations of defiance.
Across the yard, Lin Wu stepped forward, fire-veins pulsating visibly. His gaze was sharp, calculating, but a flicker of unease betrayed him. He knew Tianhai had changed—something wild, unbound, dangerous.
The crowd fell silent. The clan elders leaned forward, murmurs fading. Tianhai tightened his fists, letting qi surge in controlled waves. The First Realm was his foundation—but the storm within him would shake the clan to its roots.
The forgotten heir had emerged.
The cripple was no longer hidden.
The first roar of Lin Tianhai echoed silently through the snow, a promise of fire and blood yet to come.