"Raaah! Who dares interrupt my—"
Wang Zhi's roar choked in his throat. A thick cloud of dust billowed around them, completely obscuring their vision. No matter how much spiritual Qi Wang Zhi poured into his right fist, it refused to move forward even a single millimeter.
Cold sweat instantly broke out across Wang Zhi's forehead. His blood ran cold, every hair on his body standing on end as his survival instincts screamed in alarm. Through the haze of swirling dust, a pair of sharp, crimson eyes glowed with terrifying intensity, piercing straight through him.
Wang Zhi stumbled backward in sheer terror, his knees trembling.
As the dust slowly settled, a imposing figure emerged. The newcomer's red-tinted gaze was sharp yet entirely calm, radiating an overwhelming, oppressive authority.
It was the clan's Chief Martial Instructor.
"So..." His deep voice echoed across the silent mountain path. "You intended to break his ribs before the tournament? In front of me?"
Wang Zhi felt his heart drop into his stomach. For the first time since entering the Qi Gathering Realm, he felt utterly insignificant—like an ant standing before an immovable mountain. The sheer pressure radiating from the instructor was so heavy that Wang Zhi's legs nearly gave out completely.
Behind him, Bai Lu, He Son, and Han Lu had turned deathly pale. The smug arrogance on their faces vanished in an instant, and they lowered their heads, not daring to utter a single sound.
"If I had arrived one breath later," the instructor said coldly, his eyes narrowing into sharp slits, "your fist would have landed."
His voice dropped an octave, carrying the weight of a decree. "Attacking a fellow clan member with the intent to cripple them outside of an official challenge is a grave offense under clan law. Tell me, Wang Zhi... are you prepared to bear those consequences?"
Wang Zhi's eyes darted around frantically before dropping to the dirt. He desperately tried to find his voice, his former pride completely melting away under the instructor's terrifying gaze. "Instructor... I... he insulted me first! He called me a—"
"I do not care what a mortal child calls you," the instructor interrupted coldly, cutting him off without a shred of pity. "A true cultivator handles insults with dignity, not by ambushing his kin on a secluded path like a common bandit. Your actions today have brought shame upon the Fourth Elder."
Behind Wang Zhi, the three lackeys trembled violently, slowly trying to retreat into the shadows of the surrounding trees to escape notice.
"And where do you three think you are going?" The instructor's crimson gaze snapped onto them, freezing them in their tracks. "Accompanying an attacker makes you accomplices to treason against the young master line."
"Instructor, please! We didn't do anything!" Bai Lu stammered, his face as gray as ash.
"Silence!" the instructor commanded. He turned his attention back to the trembling Wang Zhi. "Since your grandfather is so fond of boasting about your talent, let us see how well that talent holds up. For the next seven days, your Qi will be sealed, and you will spend every waking hour kneeling in the Ancestral Reflection Chamber. If you leave that chamber before the sun sets on the seventh day, I will personally strip your cultivation base."
Wang Zhi's face went ghastly white. Sealing his Qi meant he couldn't cultivate for an entire week—a devastating setback with the tournament just over two months away.
"Yes... Instructor," Wang Zhi choked out, bowing his head in total humiliation.
"Now, get out of my sight," the instructor barked.
Without looking back, Wang Zhi clutched his bruised wrist, turned around, and scrambled down the mountain path as fast as his legs could carry him, his three terrified followers running frantically right behind him.
Then a peaceful Silence returned to the windswept mountain path again.
The Chief Martial Instructor slowly let out a breath, the intense red glow in his eyes fading back to their normal dark shade. He turned around, his stern gaze locking onto Wang Fang's calm, unbothered posture. He looked the ten-year-old child up and down, a flicker of deep curiosity passing through his eyes.
This child... the instructor thought, his mind working rapidly. He didn't even flinch when that Qi-infused fist was an inch from his chest. Normal mortals would have collapsed from the pressure alone, yet his heart rate is perfectly steady.
"You possess a strong mind, Young Master," the instructor said aloud, his voice returning to a steady, formal tone. "But do not mistake a strong mind for true defense. Wang Zhi is foolish, but his Qi is real. Next time, you cannot rely on me being around to catch a punch for you."
Without waiting for a response, the instructor turned on his heel and vanished down the mountain track like a sudden gust of wind.
Wang Fang offered a polite, respectful bow to the empty path.
Thank you for the shield, Instructor, Fang thought with a secret, confident smile, gently flexing his Level 9 Ironroot Flesh beneath his dark robes. He's right, though. If his fingers hadn't caught that punch, my chest would have been crushed in an instant... though it would have been quite the opportunity to test my internal focus reforge.
"Thank you for your timely intervention, Chief Instructor," Wang Fang said smoothly to the quiet woods. "I will remember your guidance."
As the residual pressure in the air dissipated, Wang Fang looked out over the mountain valley. So this is the true gap in power... he thought, his adult mind evaluating the sheer speed and crushing authority of a true cultivator. He tightened his small fist, a cold determination settling into his eyes. Wang Zhi... the next time we cross paths, there will be no one standing between us.
Later that day.
Wang Fang returned to the isolated, windswept rock at the absolute peak of the mountain. The silver light of the three moons was just beginning to touch the horizon.
Now that my mind is steeled and my body has reached Stage 1, Level 9, I can finally move to the next stage, Wang Fang thought, pulling the heavy, ancient tome from beneath his robes.
He flipped the parchment, his eyes scanning the jagged, glowing ink.
Stage 2: The Ninefold Earth Presses
An advanced body-tempering sequence where the practitioner places both hands flat upon the raw earth, repeatedly lowering and raising their torso while subjecting their frame to immense, self-imposed density stress.
"What? Ninefold Earth Presses?" Wang Fang muttered, his brow furrowing as he translated the archaic text. According to the diagrams, the movement required placing both palms on the ground and pushing the body up and down under extreme internal weight.
Wait... this sounds ridiculously familiar, Wang Fang thought. A sudden flash of past-life recognition struck his brain. It's a push-up. A pure, heavy push-up technique from my past world's physical training.
"Well then, let's not get distracted," Fang whispered to himself. "I need to focus."
He slammed the book shut, dropped into position, and pressed his small palms flat against the jagged mountain stone. He closed his eyes, instantly activating The Silent Vigil. He listened to his heartbeat—thud, thud, thud—until the rhythmic pulsing drowned out the howling mountain wind.
He began the first press. Following the scripture's strict rhythm, he took five deliberate, calculated breaths—inhale... exhale...—and lowered his chest toward the stone. He pushed himself back up.
"Huh... this feels like nothing," Wang Fang whispered.
No... in this forbidden technique, limits must be violently broken to reach true power. Remembering the laws of the scripture, Wang Fang deliberately activated the internal density strain of The Muscular Tear-Down.
The moment he lowered his chest again, the true horror of the technique activated. It didn't merely rely on his natural body weight; it manually shifted his internal physical density, making his ten-year-old frame feel as heavy as a solid iron anvil.
As he pushed back up, the hyper-compressed load tore violently through his pectoral muscles, his deltoids, and his core. It felt as if thick iron cables were being forcibly ripped apart inside his flesh. Wang Fang gritted his teeth, holding back a scream as he maintained his breathing form, feeling the excruciating burn beneath his skin.
He pushed again and again, sticking strictly to the five-breath cycle.
Hours passed. Sweat poured off Fang's body, completely soaking his training robes. By his 500th rep, his arms shook violently. He was exhausted, weak, and on the absolute brink of collapse. His vision blurred, and the silver light of the three moons began to fade from his eyes as consciousness slipped away.
This is my limit... Wang Fang thought weakly. I'm so exhausted... how can I keep moving?
Doubt crept into his mind. He remembered how the elders called him trash, how they blamed him for Doctor Li's lost cultivation, and how Wang Zhi had reached the Qi Gathering Realm effortlessly.
Why must my path always be the hard way? Is there no shortcut? Wang Fang's mind wavered. Maybe I should just stop... leave the clan...
Then, he remembered the promise he had made to his parents. He remembered Doctor Li's stern yet caring warnings.
Suddenly, a blurry memory fragment surfaced deep within his mind—a vision glowing in brilliant platinum light. In the memory, a figure with long, flowing black hair walked toward him, speaking in a voice full of warmth:
"My child, there is no need to cry. Even if you lack talent in genetic cultivation and possess no skills as a nano-alchemist, it does not matter. Hard work itself is a supreme talent. Never give up, even when you are exhausted. You will always find those who love you and are ready to support you. So... push!"
At the exact same time, the severe warning from the first page of the forbidden book blazed in his mind:
"If you seek comfort, close this book. If you seek shortcuts, burn this book."
Wang Fang's eyes snapped open, blazing with unyielding fire. He gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached.
"AHHHHH!" he roared into the empty night. "I will not give up! Pain is just an illusion designed to hold me back!"
He refused to stop. He forced his arms to move, pushing his heavy frame off the stone once more. 501... 502... 503...
When the morning sun crested the horizon, Wang Fang finally paused. He sat up, took a small sip of fresh water, and ate a handful of dried date fruits he had brought along.
Without resting for long, he immediately moved into the next phase of the routine. He sprinted up and down the vertical mountain tracks, then transitioned directly into Core Forging Raises.
Sitting on a flat stone, he elevated both legs together off the ground, holding his body in a rigid L-shape. His core vibrated under the immense strain, sweat streaming down his face while his breathing remained slow, deliberate, and controlled, refusing to let the burning pain break his focus.
Finally, he engaged in Dantian Compression, forcing his internal vitality into the densest layers of his physical core. He gritted his teeth against every wave of agony, pushing through the mental resistance.
Every great achievement comes with a price, Wang Fang whispered into the wind, his mature soul anchoring his unshakeable resolve. And my price... is pain."