Ankit opened his eyes after sleeping for a whole day. He freshened up and stepped out of his room.
Out in the corridor, he glanced around and saw his dad emerging from the neighbouring room, dressed in a black training uniform—clearly heading for the cultivation grounds for a run or some exercises.
"Hi, Dad. Good morning. You're going to train? I'll accompany you," Ankit said.
Kamal nodded. "Let's go."
Ankit fell into step beside him, and together they walked through the stone corridors until they reached the cultivation grounds.
The training area was huge—about the size of five football fields, with a beautiful fountain at the centre spraying clear water into the air. In the corners, neat stone bathrooms and wash areas stood ready for anyone who finished a hard session.
Ankit and Kamal stopped at the edge of the field."I'm going to start training now. See you later," Kamal said with a small smile.
With that, he ran off toward the open space, leaving Ankit alone in the quiet, empty cultivation ground.
Ankit watched his father run off, casually planning to stretch a bit himself—until what he saw made his thoughts freeze.
Kamal walked to the weight area, gripped a metal bar, and with a strained shout lifted a full Five hundred sixty kilograms off the ground. His arms trembled and his face reddened, but the weight still rose, even if only barely. For a mortal who hadn't even started cultivation, it was absurd.
After putting the weight down, Kamal collapsed onto a nearby bench, chest heaving. He rested for a while, then suddenly sprang up and started running.
He shot forward like a black arrow. Dust kicked up behind him as he circled the cultivation grounds again and again, his speed easily passing that of most vehicles. Ankit's sensing instinct put the number at roughly one hundred and fifty kilometres per hour. When Kamal finally stumbled to a stop, he sat and rested for ten breaths… then got up and ran again.
He repeated this five times, each round pushing his body to complete exhaustion before resting. After the fifth run, Kamal finally stopped. This time, he fished a small green ball from his pocket and popped it into his mouth.
Ankit's senses tingled. That green "pill" carried a powerful healing force. A soft green light spread over Kamal's body, sinking into his skin and muscles. Within moments, all signs of exhaustion vanished; his breathing evened out, his pulse steadied, and his expression returned to calm.
Then Kamal simply sat down on the stone floor, legs crossed, eyes closed. He didn't even glance in Ankit's direction, as if nothing about this was unusual.
Ankit was still trying to process what he had just seen when two more figures stepped onto the grounds. Neelam and Sanya arrived together, both wearing black training uniforms, both in high spirits.
"Good morning," they said as they passed him. Before he could fully respond, they split up and headed straight for their training spots.
Sanya walked to the weights with a serious expression Ankit was not used to seeing on her face. She grabbed a heavy barbell, braced herself, and lifted. The plates rattled. The number stamped on the side made Ankit blink—two hundred and eighty kilograms. Her arms shook and her stance wasn't perfect, but the weight still left the ground.
Not long ago, this was the same girl who complained about carrying a five‑kilogram grocery bag. Now she was lifting more than half a ton.
After putting the weight down, Sanya rested, then started to run. Lightning flashed across the training field as she accelerated. Her speed… one hundred and sixty kilometres per hour. Faster than Kamal. She finished a full lap, stopped to catch her breath, then ran again, copying her father's pattern exactly.
When she finally stopped, she also took out a green ball, swallowed it, and sat cross‑legged on the ground. The same soft glow surrounded her, washing away fatigue in an instant.
Neelam was no less shocking. She calmly walked up to an even heavier set of weights, adjusted her grip, and lifted. Seven hundred kilograms rose slowly but steadily. Her expression tightened, yet her form stayed stable.
After that, she ran as well, her speed slightly lower than the others but still far beyond normal—around one hundred and forty‑five kilometres per hour by Ankit's estimation. Finally, she too sat down, ate a green ball, and slipped into silent stillness.
Ankit looked at the three of them—his father, mother, and sister—sitting quietly in different corners of the training field, eyes closed, expressions calm. To any outsider it might have looked like a normal meditation session.
But to him, it was like watching three strangers.
*What happened while I was cultivating? Did the world change in just two months?*
Confusion and disbelief churned in his chest. Their strength, their speed, those strange green pills, the way they followed the same routine… it all screamed of a systematic technique.
Unable to hold back any longer, Ankit focused inward and connected to Solar clone and Sacral clone.
In an instant, memories, explanations, and scenes flooded his mind—of the Mortal Foundation Sutra, of daily training rules, of his family sweating, cursing, laughing, and pushing themselves day after day underground.
As the information settled, the chaos in his heart slowly dissolved.
His shock didn't disappear, but it shifted into something else—pride, warmth, and a fierce determination to push his own path even further, so he could stay worthy of the family that had begun walking the Dao before they had even started cultivating.