Pain.
It was not a physical pain, though his body trembled violently on the hut's floor. This was a deeper, more fundamental agony. It felt as if his very soul was being torn into ribbons, rewoven, and then torn apart again.
A tsunami of light—of pure, unadulterated knowledge—slammed into Li Tian's consciousness. It was the legacy of the Starfall Immortal Emperor, and it was far too vast, too profound for a mortal mind to contain. Visions flashed before his inner eye: cosmic battles between titans that shattered stars, intricate diagrams of energy pathways that defied logic, and the profound, terrifying insights of the [Heaven Swallowing Art]. The principles of the art burned themselves into his brain, a permanent, searing brand.
'It's too much! I can't… I'll break!' His thoughts were a silent scream. His identity, his memories of ten years of humiliation, all of it was being washed away by this celestial flood. He was a leaf in a hurricane, moments from being utterly annihilated.
"Endure!"
The voice of Ao Shun was a distant thunderclap, faint but firm, cutting through the chaos. "Your spirit was chosen for its resilience! This pain is the first tempering! Hold fast to your sense of self! Make the art your own!"
The command was a lifeline. Li Tian clung to it with every shred of his will. He remembered the coldness of the arena stones, the sting of Zhang Fan's words, the hollow finality of "Mortal Grade Zero." That pain was familiar. This new, cosmic agony was the price to escape it. He would not break. He would not let go.
He focused on the core tenet of the Heaven Swallowing Art, a concept so arrogant it stole his breath even amidst the torment: The world is your feast. Do not ask. Take.
He stopped resisting the flood. Instead, he tried to understand it, to accept it. He let the knowledge flow through him, not as a destructive force, but as a river carving a new channel in his mind. The pain remained excruciating, but it became purposeful. He was being remade.
Slowly, the tsunami receded, leaving behind a profound, echoing silence. The celestial light faded, and the immense pressure vanished.
Li Tian's eyes snapped open.
He was lying on his back on the cold, hard floor of his hut. The first faint rays of dawn painted the ceiling in shades of grey. For a long moment, he just lay there, gasping, his body drenched in a cold sweat. He felt… hollowed out, yet impossibly full.
Tentatively, he probed his own mind. The searing pain was gone. In its place was a crystal-clear comprehension of the Heaven Swallowing Art, as if he had studied it for a hundred years. The complex energy pathways, the method to draw in Qi not by gentle attraction but by forceful devouring—it was all there, etched into his very being.
He sat up, and the movement felt different. The usual ache in his muscles from a day of hard labor was absent. Instead, a faint, thrumming strength lingered beneath his skin. It was a subtle change, but to someone who had known only weakness, it was as obvious as the dawn. The legacy transmission, while primarily mental, had subtly begun to temper his body.
Hope, fierce and terrified, blossomed in his chest. It was real. It had all been real.
He scrambled into a cross-legged position, the standard meditation posture he had failed at ten thousand times. But this time was different. He wasn't trying to meekly sense the Qi around him. He was preparing to command it.
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and began to cycle the Heaven Swallowing Art.
The effect was instantaneous and violent.
The moment he initiated the cycle, the calm spiritual energy in the air around him went wild. It wasn't a gentle drift. It was a stampede. A whirlpool of visible, shimmering Qi erupted around his small hut. Dust motes danced in the frantic currents. The air itself seemed to vibrate with a low hum.
Li Tian gasped as the energy slammed into him. It rushed through his skin, flooding into the meridians that had been dry, brittle, and dormant for his entire life. The sensation was overwhelming—a searing cold followed by a blissful warmth. It was like drinking the purest, coldest water after a decade in a desert. His meridians, unused to such an influx, screamed in protest, stretching and straining. It was painful, but it was the pain of growth, of life flooding into a dead tree, and it was the most wonderful feeling he had ever experienced.
Tears streamed down his face, unnoticed. He was doing it. He was truly cultivating!
He guided the torrential flow according to the art's instructions, forcing the wild energy to cycle through his body. It was like trying to tame a raging river, but the knowledge from the legacy was his guide. He pushed the Qi through his limbs, into his core, feeling it nourish his flesh, strengthen his bones, and scour away the minutest impurities. A thin, grey film of toxins began to seep from his pores.
The process was exhausting. His consciousness, already battered from the legacy transmission, wavered. But he held on, driven by a manic desperation. He circulated the energy for one complete revolution. The whirlpool around him slowed. The frantic energy settled into a steady, powerful stream flowing into him.
He couldn't sustain it any longer. With a final, shuddering exhale, he released the art and slumped forward, catching himself on his hands. He was panting, utterly spent, his body trembling with fatigue. But inside, he was blazing.
He looked at his hands. They were the same hands that had scrubbed floors and been bruised in the arena. But now, he could feel power thrumming just beneath the skin. He clenched a fist, and the muscles responded with a speed and firmness that was alien to him.
A disbelieving laugh, mixed with a sob, escaped his lips. The sound was strange in the quiet hut.
"I…" he whispered, his voice hoarse and trembling with a maelstrom of emotions—joy, vindication, and world-altering shock. "I'm… cultivating."
The words were a sacred declaration. The impossible had happened. The trash had been given a key to the heavens.
His mind raced ahead. The monthly trial was today. He could go. He could show them all! A fierce grin started to form on his face.
But it froze instantly.
A familiar, mocking voice, loud and grating, cut through the morning air from just outside his hut, shattering his moment of triumph.
"Li Tian! You worthless gutter rat! Stop hiding in there! Elder Zhao wants the latrines by the main hall scrubbed spotless before the trials begin! Don't make me come in and drag you out!"
It was Zhang Fan.
And he was right outside the door.