Half a year passed since the fall of the Azure Sky Sect.
Wang Chung's hair had grown long, his face thinner, his eyes calmer.
He wandered north across mountains and rivers until he reached a small cultivation town known as Greenstone Haven.
The place was remote — far from the territories of great sects.
Only a handful of low-ranked cultivators lived there, selling herbs and basic talismans to mortals who dreamed of immortality.
Wang Chung settled there quietly.
He took work wherever he could — chopping wood, carrying water, cleaning the courtyards of a small and forgotten sect called the River Cloud Sect.
To them, he was a mortal servant.
To himself, he was a survivor.
---
The River Cloud Sect had less than two hundred disciples.
Its cultivation methods were shallow, its spirit veins thin, and its disciples arrogant despite their weakness.
"Hey, servant! Bring more water to the spirit spring!"
"Do you think scrubbing floors will help you cultivate, trash?"
He heard such words daily, but he never argued.
He bowed, obeyed, and endured.
Because when the night came… he cultivated.
---
Every night, beneath the dim moonlight behind the herb gardens, Wang Chung would sit cross-legged and draw in the faint spiritual energy that lingered in the air.
The black bead within his soul spun silently.
Each time it turned, the Qi he absorbed would become purer, smoother — free from all impurities.
No one would have noticed the difference, but Wang Chung felt it clearly.
The Qi that entered his meridians was like clear spring water — slow to gather, but flawless in form.
Even though he advanced painfully slowly, his foundation was solid, far beyond what any other cultivator at his level could compare to.
He didn't know why the bead helped him.
It didn't speak, didn't glow, didn't react to anything.
It simply purified his Qi — nothing more.
But that alone was enough.
---
Without a sect, without guidance, Wang Chung began his search for knowledge.
He traded long hours of labor to borrow old scrolls from the River Cloud Sect's library.
Most were incomplete or discarded techniques — breathing methods, basic meridian guides, and shallow sword manuals.
He studied them carefully, testing each one in silence.
He copied diagrams in secret, practicing at night while the world slept.
He failed countless times.
He bled from his nose, his Qi ran wild, his meridians burned.
But he never stopped.
Day by day, his understanding deepened.
The weak servant sweeping the floors of a dying sect was quietly walking a path no one else could see.
---
Two years passed.
Wang Chung reached the Fourth Layer of Qi Condensation.
His progress was glacial — slower than anyone around him — but every thread of Qi within him was dense, heavy, and pure as moonlight.
Others would never understand how dangerous that purity truly was.
Still, he kept silent.
He never revealed his strength, never argued when insulted, never raised his head when scolded.
But in his eyes, behind that calm, patient light, a flame of determination quietly burned.
---
One night, as he stood alone by the sect's rear cliff, he looked toward the distant stars.
> "This world only bows to strength," he whispered.
"Then I'll become strong — even if it takes a lifetime."
The wind brushed his hair.
The bead in his soul turned once, silent and eternal.
And beneath the endless sky, the boy who had once been mocked as talentless began to step deeper into the path of immortality — one purified breath at a time
Chapter 3 – The Path of Struggle
The night was long, and the forest silent, save for the faint hum of the bead within Wang Chung's soul. It rested deep inside him, radiating a dim, ethereal glow — calm, mysterious, yet alive. Ever since that moment it fused into his body, Wang Chung could feel something… different.
When he breathed, the surrounding spiritual energy no longer felt so chaotic. The bead seemed to gently purify the impure chi in the air before it entered his body. The process was slow, yet stable — cleaner than before.
But that was all it did.
It didn't speak, didn't reveal any secrets, and didn't grant him great power overnight. It merely sat there — silent and unmoving — like an indifferent god.
Wang Chung sat cross-legged beside a stream, sweat dripping from his forehead as he circulated his meager spiritual energy. The pure chi flowed slowly through his meridians, strengthening his body bit by bit.
> "It helps me absorb faster… but it's still too slow," he muttered, eyes narrowing.
The world of cultivation was merciless. Without talent, even the heavens seemed deaf to your cries. The destruction of his sect still burned in his mind — the flames, the screams, the helplessness. He clenched his fists.
> "I won't stay weak forever…"
He stood and gazed at the endless forest around him. Beyond these woods lay countless sects, rogue cultivators, and hidden dangers. He had no master, no techniques, no treasures — only his will to survive.
Days turned into weeks.
Wang Chung began exploring small villages, exchanging simple spirit herbs for food, and searching for cultivation scrolls rumored to be left behind by fallen cultivators. Most were useless, incomplete, or damaged beyond use. But he persisted.
He hunted spirit beasts, tempered his body with their blood, and meditated beneath moonlit skies. The purified chi from the mysterious bead allowed him to push past limits he once thought impossible.
And then, after months of relentless effort—
Crack!
A faint sound echoed in his dantian. His energy surged violently before stabilizing.
> "Third level of Body Tempering…" he whispered, breathing heavily.
It was still weak by the world's standards, but for someone who once had no hope, it was a miracle.
He looked up at the sky, the stars reflecting in his calm eyes. Somewhere out there, the powerful sect that destroyed his home thrived, laughing in arrogance and pride.
> "One day… I'll make them remember the name Wang Chung."
The bead within his soul pulsed faintly — almost as if it approved.
Under the moon's pale light, a mortal boy took his first true step on the endless road to immortality — a path carved by pain, perseverance, and the silent guidance of a mysterious artifact that had chosen him.