Mei Lian watched the boy from afar again, arms crossed, her robes fluttering slightly in the afternoon breeze. Below the pavilion, Lan Wu was clearing fallen leaves from the sparring arena, a smile soft on his lips as he greeted senior disciples, bowing, always bowing — not out of fear, but of sincere respect.
A month had passed since the spar. His progress was undeniable. His Wind Spiral Art was more refined, his meridian control near-flawless for someone his age and level. He remained in the late stage of First Awakening, his body still healing, but his Qi pathways flowed clearly, smoothly. There was no longer anything broken within him, only fragile roots trying to grow strong in a storm.
Yet something gnawed at Mei Lian's mind.
Why? Why push so hard? Why give more than asked?
She had seen desperate disciples before. Orphans, exiles, prideful sons shamed into proving themselves. But Lan Wu… he wasn't desperate. He was... grateful. And that, somehow, made it more haunting.
Stripped of Crutches
That evening, she summoned him.
He stood straight in front of her, hands behind his back, robes still dusty from the day's labor. His cheeks were flushed, sweat on his brow, but his eyes held that calm, respectful gleam.
> "Lan Wu," she said, tone cool. "From tomorrow onward, no more Qi-restoring pills. No bone-strengthening mixture. No medicinal shortcuts."
Lan Wu tilted his head slightly, confused. "...Have I done something wrong, Teacher?"
"No. You've done everything too right."
She walked toward him, her gaze stern. "You rely on pills and tonics like a child learning to walk with crutches. But it's time to fall, Lan Wu. To bleed and scream and crawl. I want to see your body grow the way your spirit has. No more shortcuts. From now on, your body will learn the true weight of cultivation."
He bowed deeply without hesitation.
"Thank you, Teacher. I will not let you down."
She frowned faintly. "You're allowed to complain, you know."
He looked up, blinking. "I… have nothing to complain about. I'm here because of the sect. Because of you. This is a blessing."
Mei Lian turned away before he could see her expression.
The Mountain of Needles
Two days later, Lan Wu stood at the base of a narrow mountain path—the air sharp, thin, and heavy with cloud Qi. Known among disciples as the Spine of the Sky, this jagged range was where outer disciples underwent physical cultivation trials—the kind that broke most and left others crippled.
A steep trail led up toward a narrow ridge, where stone platforms jutted out like broken teeth. On each stood training tools—wooden logs, weighted vests, climbing poles, and ancient devices built to strain the flesh and temper the bone.
Mei Lian tossed a sack at his feet. He opened it. It held weights, thick-wrapped ropes, cold iron bands, and nothing else.
"Every morning, you'll run from the base to the fourth ridge. With that on."
She gestured to a sharp incline of over four thousand steps.
"When you fall, get up. When your muscles snap, breathe. When your bones scream, scream back. You asked to walk the virtuous path. This is its beginning."
Lan Wu bowed again. "Understood, Teacher."
"Stop bowing," she snapped. "Earn it."
The Path of Pain
The first run broke him.
Weighted bands around his ankles, ropes wrapped tight around his torso, he could barely climb fifty steps before his legs gave out. His body trembled, arms shaking as he pushed against the ground, dust clinging to his palms.
He vomited on the second attempt. By the third, blood leaked from the corner of his mouth. By the fourth, his legs were purple from bruising.
But he rose.
Again. And again. And again.
The Body Breaks, The Spirit Builds
By the third day, his palms were blistered, his back flayed by whiplash from the weighted climbing poles. His breath was ragged, wheezing in shallow gasps.
And yet, every night he sat under the starlit sky of the mountain, body shaking, and meditated.
"Thank you," he whispered to the winds. "For this pain."
Other disciples mocked him from afar. Whispers.
"That's the Grand Elder's boy?"
"He's weaker than I expected."
"I'd last longer in the mountains than he would."
But Lan Wu never replied. When he passed them, he bowed, even when limping. Even when they didn't return it.
The Depths of Observation
From above, Mei Lian watched.
Every morning, she watched him rise. Fall. Vomit. Collapse. Rise again.
She remembered her own youth—how she once cried under the same cold sky, fists bleeding against stone.
"But I didn't smile," she murmured. "Not like he does…"
Beneath the Flesh — Wuxie Watches
In the swirling dark of the soulscape, Wuxie watched through the black mirror of their soul-tether.
Bound by heavenly chains, he observed silently as Lan Wu bled and stumbled. The body was theirs, and every wound, he felt too.
"Masochist," Wuxie spat. "He thanks them for this? He crawls and begs and says 'thank you'? Pathetic."
He growled, trying to twist his shoulder. The chains held.
"But… his control has improved," he muttered. "His recovery time—faster than before. Muscle density… better."
He mimicked the steps Lan Wu took. In his mental realm, he recreated the fourth ridge.
He climbed it, alone, with eyes burning.
"Climb, you little sheep. Grow. I'll take it all when the time is right."
The Devouring Moon Beast, coiled in the distant dark, lazily opened a gleaming yellow eye.
"Still watching?"
"I learn from my enemies," Wuxie hissed.
"He's not your enemy,in a sense you two are the same" it rumbled.
"He will be. And when the time comes…"
Wuxie smiled with the corners of his eyes twitching in madness.
"...I'll thank him. Just before I burn it all."
A Quiet Resolve
On the seventh day, Lan Wu collapsed at the fourth ridge, eyes half open, bones aching. He had made it. For the first time.
And as he sat in lotus position beneath the pale morning sun, his Qi spun without command. His meridians were growing stronger, thicker, steadier. He was still small—but now solid.
He looked to the sky.
"Teacher Mei Lian, thank you…"
He whispered it to the wind.
Then, he closed his eyes.
Six Months in the Sky(after one week of training, it had officially been six months since he joined).
In the Azure Sky Cloud Sect, time flowed not in seasons, but in cycles of cultivation.
It had been six months since the young boy named Lan Wu first opened his eyes in that white room, his soul light and his memory void. Six months since he took his first trembling steps upon the path of virtue. Six months of sweat, gratitude, silent yearning, and unwavering respect.
And in those six months—though his name was young, his roots shallow—he had grown.
His cultivation sat firmly at the late stages of First Awakening, not remarkable by raw power, but his control was praised by even the senior elders. His spirit had matured—gentle and steady. Even the more skeptical outer disciples had grown fond of him. It was rare to find one so genuinely kind, so eager to serve and to learn without envy or complaint.
And yet… something still stirred beneath that soft expression.
Beneath the Smile, A Question
Lan Wu stood beside the moon-blossom lake that evening, robe sleeves tugged around his fingers, eyes fixed on the gentle ripples in the water. The reflected sky swam above him—calm, cloud-streaked, pale with the hues of dusk.
"Who… was I?"
He asked the question not aloud, but within himself.
The sect had given him everything—a new name, a home, kindness. And yet, at night, in rare moments of silence, he felt an ache like a distant bell—soft, low, forgotten.
He didn't long for power. He didn't hunger for revenge. There was simply a hole—a whisper that no matter how many bows he gave or duties he fulfilled, he still did not know why he was born.
The Winds of Challenge
The day of the sect's Annual Competition Tournament arrived with fanfare and excitement. The grand arena, carved into the face of the eastern sky-pavilion cliffs, was filled with outer and inner disciples gathered beneath floating banners that shimmered with spiritual light.
It was a time-honored event—one to test progress, reward discipline, and allow the Grand Elder to observe who among her disciples would shine in the years to come.
The tournament was separated into two divisions: outer disciples and inner disciples, each bracket running over several days.
The Grand Elder, adorned in flowing robes of cloud-embroidered jade and sky silk, sat atop the pavilion throne, calm and radiant, flanked by peak elders and instructors. Her gaze pierced the gathering like moonlight on still water.
Mei Lian's Concern
In the courtyard below, Mei Lian looked down at Lan Wu, arms crossed tightly beneath her sleeves. Her long black hair was tied high in a disciplined knot, her expression cold as usual—but her eyes showed restraint.
"You shouldn't participate."
Lan Wu looked up, surprised. "Why, Teacher?"
"Because you aren't ready. And I don't want to see you harmed for no reason."
Lan Wu bowed his head. "It's not about proving anything."
She frowned. "Then what?"
He hesitated, fingers curling into the fabric of his robe.
"I want to help the sect… the way it helped me. I don't know who I was before, but I want to become someone who can protect this place. If I can't stand in front of others now, how will I ever carry the virtue I swore to uphold?"
The answer was soft. Honest. Mei Lian sighed.
"You're stubborn, boy."
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
She shook her head. "Fine. One condition: lose with grace. Understand?"
He smiled. "Yes, Teacher."
Wuxie — The Silent Flame
Deep within the soulscape, Wuxie remained chained to the rocky island drifting in the sea of shadows.
The dark clouds above him were slow today. The silence thick.
"Hah… what's all that noise in the body?"
His voice dripped sarcasm as he stood on one leg, flowing through a silent technique. He spun, struck, traced the memory of strikes Lan Wu had made. Slowly. Perfectly.
"Some kind of celebration? A tournament? Tch."
He cracked his neck, eyes flickering with faint light.
"I don't care."
He said that. And yet, the moment his body moved faster, smoother, sharper—he smiled.
"Just keep growing, little brother. I'll be waiting."
The Tournament Opens
The Grand Elder's voice rose with gentle authority, her cultivation pressing down on the arena like the kiss of a storm.
"Disciples of the Azure Sky Cloud Sect. Today marks another turning of the sky. Show your progress, show your growth. But most of all—show your virtue."
Her palm raised. The banners around the arena unfurled with spiritual script.
"The inner disciples shall begin."
Lan Wu stood in the outer disciple's section, hands behind his back, eyes wide with awe.
A voice beside him murmured, "That's Sun Feiyan… and Wen Zhu."
He turned.
Two figures stepped into the central dueling platform—Sun Feiyan, a graceful young man with white and teal robes, blade sheathed at his waist, eyes closed in prayer; and Wen Zhu, a fierce girl with short silver hair, a curved blade resting on her shoulder, a subtle smirk playing on her lips.
Both were at the peak of Vein Melding. Inner disciples known across the sect.
Lan Wu felt his breath catch—not out of fear, but fascination.
"They're so calm…"
He stared, fascinated by their posture, their breathing, how they bowed with genuine respect before entering their stances. He whispered to himself:
"I want to learn that."
Mei Lian, standing nearby, glanced sideways at him.
"Then watch closely."
He nodded. His eyes didn't blink once.