## Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Echo of a Forgotten Will
The initial months following Lin Feng and Ling Xia's grand elevation to Core Discipleship were a continuation of Yan Zhen's torment, each day a relentless cycle of physical strain and spiritual despair. He was now **twenty years old**, his youth weathered by suffering that would break a lesser cultivator. The spiritual sanitation arrays, the brutal bramble clearing, the solitary, dangerous patrols – these were his cruel companions. His gaunt frame and perpetually tired eyes were a testament to the **ancient soul's** insidious drain on his qi, which continued its relentless consumption, pushing his **Spirit Condensation, Stage 1** cultivation to its absolute breaking point, yet never allowing it to shatter completely. His temper, now hair-trigger, was a self-fulfilling prophecy, cementing his image as the unstable outcast, a tool that Ling Xia wielded expertly to keep him marginalized. He was the sect's living cautionary tale, a raw talent consumed by its own chaotic fury.
His isolation was absolute. No disciple would meet his gaze, no Elder would waste a breath on guidance. He ate alone, trained alone in the sect's most neglected and qi-starved corners, his every effort to control his wild qi ending in agonizing failure. The qi manuals he desperately scoured were useless; his internal qi was a churning, rebellious sea that defied all conventional understanding. Ling Xia's influence was undeniable; Yan Zhen knew, deep in his gut, that it was her insidious work that kept Lin Feng distant, that denied him resources, that twisted the sect's perception of him. His hope that Lin Feng, now powerful, would find a way to circumvent Ling Xia's machinations and reach out to him, remained a fragile, burning ember. He was alone, utterly and irrevocably alone, his despair a suffocating shroud, but he held onto the belief that Lin Feng, his only true friend, was simply being kept from him.
It was during one particularly grueling night, a forced vigil at a distant, haunted sect boundary where malevolent spirits were known to gather, that the breaking point came. Yan Zhen, pushed beyond human endurance, battled a horde of low-level specters, his chaotic qi flaring wildly, causing more harm to himself than to his ethereal foes. A searing pain erupted from his iron ring, a blinding flash of crimson light that ripped through the darkness. He collapsed, not from exhaustion, but from an overwhelming spiritual pressure that surged through his very core. His vision swam, filled with ancient symbols and fragmented images of battles fought in an era long past.
A voice, ancient and resonant, yet strangely clear, echoed directly in his mind. It was devoid of emotion, yet carried the weight of eons. *"Foolish boy. You squander the very power you seek to control. This shell you inhabit, this fragmented qi… it is a testament to your will, yet you wield it like a broken blade."*
Yan Zhen, barely conscious, felt a surge of terror, then an overwhelming, desperate relief. "Who... who are you?" he managed to gasp, his voice hoarse.
*"I am that which has consumed your essence, that which has ripened within your flesh for centuries,"* the voice replied, a subtle shift in its tone, as if acknowledging a connection. *"I am the **Ancient Soul** of a forgotten master, bound to this artifact, awakened by your boundless qi and persistent desperation. Your misery has nourished me, but now, your weakness threatens my very existence. I will guide you. I will teach you. You shall become my vessel, and I, your means to true power."*
From that moment, Yan Zhen's world began to transform. The Ancient Soul, now his unwilling, yet utterly compelling, teacher, was ruthless in its instruction. It did not speak of meridians or dantian, but of the raw, untamed force within him. *"Your qi is chaotic because you fight its nature. You attempt to tame a hurricane with a gentle breeze,"* the Ancient Soul boomed in his mind during their first 'lesson'. *"Instead, you must become the storm. You must learn to ride its currents, to shape its chaos, not to suppress it."*
Under its unique tutelage, Yan Zhen began a brutal, unconventional training regimen. He abandoned all standard sect practices. The Ancient Soul, drawing upon its vast, fragmented memories of a forgotten era, guided him to embrace the very wildness of his qi. He learned to channel its erratic surges, not into precise techniques, but into raw, overwhelming power. It was agonizing, forcing him to endure excruciating pain as his body adapted to channeling such fierce, untamed energy. But for the first time in years, he felt a tangible improvement. Within weeks, his control, though still rough, was undeniably present. His qi no longer lashed out indiscriminately, but responded, albeit violently, to his raw will. He had, with the Ancient Soul's guidance, unconsciously broken through to **Spirit Condensation, Stage 2**, then to **Spirit Condensation, Stage 3** within a mere few months – a feat that would have taken conventional cultivators years, if not decades.
As his qi stabilized and grew, his gauntness began to recede, replaced by a lean, hardened physique. The perpetual tremor in his eyes lessened, replaced by a deeper, more unsettling glint of raw determination. His anger, once directionless, now focused on the external forces oppressing him, primarily Ling Xia. He still performed his degrading tasks, but now with a quiet, almost menacing efficiency, his movements infused with an understated power that subtly deterred those who once mocked him. His newfound, secret strength became his shield, hiding his awakening from the world. He was still **twenty years old**, but the experience had aged him beyond his years.
Approximately six months after the Ancient Soul awakened, an unexpected sect-wide assembly was called. It was a formal gathering of all disciples, meant to announce new administrative structures and upcoming grand missions, and to publicly commend recent meritorious deeds. Lin Feng and Ling Xia, now **twenty-one years old**, stood at the Sect Leader's right hand, radiating power and confidence. Lin Feng, outwardly **Foundation Establishment, Stage 5**, was an image of composed strength, while Ling Xia, **Foundation Establishment, Stage 6**, exuded elegant authority, her gaze frequently sweeping the crowd as if searching for someone she might subtly put in their place.
Yan Zhen, still assigned to menial tasks, was among the vast throng of Outer and Inner Disciples, standing silently at the very back, hoping to remain unnoticed. His secret power thrummed within him, a stark contrast to his tattered robes and marginalized status. As Lin Feng addressed the crowd, his voice resonating with cultivated charisma, the **Ancient Soul** inside Yan Zhen's ring stirred violently.
*"Boy! This one... his cultivation is a deception!"* the Ancient Soul boomed in Yan Zhen's mind, its voice laced with a sudden, startling intensity. *"He projects the aura of a mere Foundation Establishment cultivator, but his true core... it holds the nascent brilliance of a **Golden Core, Stage 1**! A master of concealment! He must have undergone a breakthrough far beyond what he reveals!"*
Yan Zhen's world reeled, but not with betrayal for Lin Feng. Instead, a wave of profound shock, then a surge of desperate understanding, washed over him. His blood ran cold, then surged with a furious heat. His face, already pale from his years of hardship, went even whiter. *Lin Feng... he's that powerful? Golden Core? But why hide it? Is Ling Xia forcing him? Is this why he seemed so distant, so helpless? Because Ling Xia is trying to keep this a secret, to keep him from me?* He saw the chilling implications: if Lin Feng was truly this strong, then Ling Xia's hold over him, her efforts to isolate Yan Zhen, must be even more sinister and pervasive than he had imagined. It explained Lin Feng's apparent inability to help him; perhaps he was being actively suppressed or monitored by Ling Xia.
His eyes, now sharp with a terrible new understanding of Ling Xia's true manipulation, fixed on Lin Feng. He saw the cold calculation in Ling Xia's seemingly benevolent smile as she stood beside Lin Feng, the almost imperceptible flicker of control in her eyes as she occasionally glanced at Lin Feng. Yan Zhen felt a profound, chilling realization: Lin Feng was not abandoning him, but was himself a victim, perhaps, of Ling Xia's overarching schemes. This knowledge ignited a new, colder resolve within him. He had to get stronger, not just for himself, but to somehow free Lin Feng from Ling Xia's insidious influence.
The Ancient Soul, sensing his turmoil, offered a chillingly pragmatic thought: *"Do not reveal your hand, boy. This Lin Feng is dangerous, a viper cloaked in silk in his own right, regardless of the girl's influence. He has hidden his power for a reason, perhaps to protect himself from the girl, or for other reasons you cannot fathom. You, too, must learn to hide yours. Let him believe you are still the broken tool. His deception is his strength, but also his weakness. Use it."*
Yan Zhen clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. The shock of Lin Feng's true power, coupled with the crushing weight of this newfound understanding of Ling Xia's deep malice, ignited a cold, burning rage deep within him. But he was a quick study under his new, ruthless teacher. He forced his expression to remain blank, his body language unchanged, still appearing to be the marginalized, sullen disciple. He **did not ask Lin Feng about his true cultivation level**, not then, nor in the following weeks when their paths occasionally crossed, lest he jeopardize Lin Feng's secret or tip off Ling Xia. And he **did not reveal the Ancient Soul** or his rapid, secret advancement to Lin Feng, or to anyone else, understanding that this new power was his only true weapon.
From that day forward, Yan Zhen's suffering continued outwardly, but his response to it changed drastically. He remained the same broken figure, enduring his humiliating tasks. But inwardly, under the rigorous and often brutal guidance of the Ancient Soul, he trained with a fierce, newfound purpose. Every moment of qi drain, every pang of pain, every sneer from a fellow disciple, fueled his secret ascent. The ancient soul within him became his only confidant, his only path forward. He knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, that his true battle had just begun—a battle to become strong enough to overcome Ling Xia and uncover the full truth behind Lin Feng's deception, or perhaps, to save him. The remaining two years of anticipated misery for Yan Zhen would be anything but what Lin Feng envisioned.
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