At the corner of the room, Xuan-Ming slowly opened his eyes. His gaze was calm, but in their depths swirled a storm deep, silent, and endless.
He exhaled softly.
"So… another week has passed."
His voice carried a faint bitterness, yet beneath it lingered something else a quiet determination.
For the past seven days, while the world mocked him and called him a fallen genius, Xuan-Ming had not wasted a single breath.
Every night, when others rested, he was searching searching for something lost in time.
"That artifact…" he whispered, his eyes narrowing. "The Drunken Artifact."
In his past life, he had read about it only once in a fragment of an ancient scroll, buried deep within the forbidden section of the clan's library.
It was said that the Drunken Artifact could merge with the soul of the user and grant them the ability to convert wine into qi a chaotic yet limitless power that could defy even heaven's order.
But there was a catch.
"It only appears before those who can drink until the world loses its shape…" he murmured, a half-smile tugging at his lips.
That was why, throughout the week, the academy had seen him drinking bottle after bottle to others, he looked broken, lost, and drowning in failure.
But to him, it was cultivation.
"If I can't find the artifact," he said to himself, "then I'll make it find me."
He reached for the last flask beside his bed and took a deep sip. The bitter liquid burned his throat, yet a faint thread of warmth spread through his dantian. He closed his eyes feeling it, tracing it.
"Still nothing…" he muttered. "That Drunken Artifact is truly elusive."
He leaned back, gazing at the moon.
"But once I find it once I refine it even the so-called Sword Artifact of the clan will look like a child's toy before me."
His fingers traced a faint scar on his wrist a reminder of the past.
Outside, the wind carried the smell of summer blossoms. It was already the month of June.
"Time is slipping," he said quietly. "And I have little of it left."
He opened a small pouch a few dull spirit stones glimmered faintly inside.
"Spirit Stones," he said, almost reverently. "Heaven and Earth condensed into essence… not just currency, but the blood of cultivation itself."
Every cultivator knew: Spirit Stones weren't merely money they were power.
They stored the energy of Heaven and Earth. When absorbed correctly, they could refill the inner stone and strengthen the flow of qi within the body.
"Those with endless stones rise fast," Xuan-Ming thought. "Those without… crawl in the dirt."
He smiled faintly the smile of a man who had crawled before and learned how to bite back.
"For low-rank talents, Spirit Stones are the only chance to defy fate," he said softly. "But for me… they are just a stepping stone toward something far greater."
The morning sun filtered through the jade-carved windows of the academy hall, painting the stone floor in patterns of light and shadow. Rows of young disciples sat cross-legged before the grand elder, their faces filled with curiosity and excitement.
Elder Tian-Gu stroked his long white beard and spoke, his voice deep and calm yet carrying the weight of centuries.
"Children, today you will learn how to truly touch the essence of Heaven and Earth."
The air in the hall seemed to still. Even the faint hum of the qi-veins beneath the ground quieted to listen.
"You already know how to awaken," the elder continued. "But awakening alone is like opening your eyes for the first time you must now learn how to see."
He lifted his hand, and a faint ripple of light appeared in his palm a Spirit Stone, glowing softly with silver energy.
"Meditation," he said, "is the bridge between your mortal body and your inner stone. When you meditate with a Spirit Stone, you must let your breath follow the rhythm of Heaven and Earth. True qi will flow from the stone into your dantian, nourishing your inner stone and strengthening your connection to your artifact."
The children leaned forward, eyes wide with wonder.
"Remember," Elder Tian-Gu said, "Spirit Stones are not merely wealth. They are condensed fragments of creation the heartbeat of the world itself. Treat them with reverence."
He looked across the hall, his gaze sharp as a sword.
"Now, all of you will return to your academic rooms. There, each of you shall choose one artifact from the clan's collection. Take it home, meditate, and attempt to refine it. Only after refining will you attend the next class."
A murmur spread through the hall a mix of fear and excitement.
"Consider this your first assignment," the elder added, his tone slightly amused. "Whoever completes it first will be rewarded with twenty-five Spirit Stones."
The students' faces lit up instantly twenty-five stones were enough to buy weeks of cultivation resources.
But then, one bold child raised his hand.
"Elder, what if someone tries to refine an artifact beyond their rank?"
The elder's calm smile faded into a grave expression.
"That," he said slowly, "is a path for fools and the desperate."
He stood and lifted his hand again. At once, several illusionary artifacts appeared in the air swords, shields, talismans, and beasts made of shimmering qi.
"Each artifact has a rank, just as you do," he said. "A Rank-1 Artifact Master can only bond with a Rank-1 Artifact. If you try to bind something beyond your rank, the artifact will reject you and the backlash will crush your meridians or worse, consume your soul."
A few children gasped. One boy even flinched back, pale-faced.
"And even if by miracle you succeed," the elder went on, "a high-rank artifact is not easily tamed. It must be fed. Higher artifacts feed on higher energy qi that only cultivators of matching rank can provide. To a low-rank disciple, such hunger is death itself."
He paused, his eyes sweeping across the hall.
"Listen carefully, all of you. The artifact you refine first becomes your Bhaital Artifact your life companion. You and it will share one fate. If your Bhaital Artifact dies…"
The elder closed his hand, and one of the glowing swords shattered into dust.
The students felt a sharp pressure in their hearts.
"…then your soul will suffer a heavy blow. Many Artifact Masters have fallen into madness from such loss. So choose wisely your artifact is not just a weapon. It is your other half."
The hall went silent. The children sat frozen, feeling the weight of those words.
In the last row, Xuan-Ming opened one lazy eye, his lips curling into a faint smile.
"A Bhaital Artifact, huh?" he thought. "If I find that Drunken Artifact, it'll be more than just my companion it'll be my key to immortality."
Beside him, Xuan-Ray clenched his fists with quiet determination. His first-class aptitude made him confident yet the elder's words echoed in his heart like a warning.
"Choose wisely… or lose everything."
The class ended, and the young disciples rose to their feet, hearts pounding with excitement and fear.
Today, each would walk a new path one that could lead to glory… or eternal regret.