The snow had not stopped for three days.
Broken Soul Mountain lay buried under a thick white blanket, and the wind howled like old ghosts mourning a forgotten time. But even beneath the frost, life stirred. Disciples gathered at dawn outside the Stonewind Pavilion, breath steaming, robes damp, eyes dull from cold and hunger.
Fang Xi stood among them.
His outer robe hung loose, patched three times. His face was pale. His body thin. But his gaze — his gaze held a subtle clarity, like a beast sharpening its claws beneath fur and silence.
"First Qi thread stable. Circulating twice per breath. I've mimicked the Ironwood breathing pattern just enough to pass for beginner level."
"Now I begin the next step: assimilation."
The Ironwood Sect's cultivation lectures were held once a week, open only to outer disciples who had entered Qi Condensation. Until now, Fang Xi had been excluded — mocked, ignored, written off.
Today, he walked through the gates of Stonewind Pavilion, and no one stopped him.
Inside, a dozen disciples knelt on reed mats facing a stone dais. At its center stood a tall man in dark gray robes, his beard neatly tied, his cultivation unfathomable to the outer disciples.
Elder Wu Yiran — Outer Sect instructor, Qi Condensation ninth layer.
"Settle down," he said, voice deep and slow. "Let us begin."
The lecture began as expected — slow, didactic, mostly for the sake of appearances.
"In our world," Elder Wu began, "cultivation follows a universal path — a ladder of transformation from mortal to immortal."
He raised one hand, and with a twist of Qi, sketched nine glowing symbols in the air.
Qi Condensation → Foundation Establishment → Core Formation → Nascent Soul → Spirit Severing → Void Refinement → Ascendant Realm → Heavenly Origin → Immortal Ascension
"Each realm," he said, "is a step toward transcending death, reshaping destiny, and escaping the shackles of Heaven. But be warned: every step is steep. The difference between realms is vast. To challenge one realm above your own is nearly suicide."
Fang Xi lowered his head respectfully, concealing the chill in his eyes.
"To me, these realms are not mysteries. I once stood on the eighth."
"But this world must believe I start from the bottom."
"Qi Condensation," Elder Wu continued, "is the first realm. It requires drawing Qi from nature and tempering it within your body. That is what you have all barely begun to do."
He turned his gaze toward Fang Xi.
"You. The new one. What's your name?"
"Fang Xi," he answered, voice steady.
"You've just reached Qi Condensation?"
"Yes, Elder. Just this week."
A few disciples turned. Some smirked.
A voice murmured, not quietly enough, "That's the trash who fainted during meditation, right?"
Elder Wu ignored it. "Then sit and listen. If your foundation is weak, everything above it will collapse."
"Obvious. Yet the disciples nod as if enlightenment strikes."
"This sect is smaller than I thought."
After the lecture, the disciples broke into smaller groups, practicing breathing techniques or discussing their progress. Elder Wu remained on the dais, eyes closed, meditating.
Fang Xi sat quietly alone on his mat — until someone sat beside him.
A girl, perhaps sixteen. Clean robes. Calm eyes. No makeup. Her posture was straight, her gaze clear.
"You hid your breathing just a little too well," she said softly.
Fang Xi raised a brow. "Excuse me?"
"You were regulating your pulse. Shallow intake, long exhale. That's not a beginner's pattern."
Interesting.
He studied her in one glance.
No makeup. Short nails. Balanced spirit. Mid first layer Qi Condensation at least. Possibly born of minor nobility — not spoiled, but trained.
"You are?" he asked, matching her tone.
"Zhou Yiren," she said. "Inner disciple candidate next month. I like to know who's pretending to be weak."
Fang Xi gave a slight bow. "Then you must know more than I do."
Zhou Yiren smiled faintly. "Not yet. But I will."
She stood and walked away, leaving behind only the scent of pine oil and the faintest warning.
"That one… is sharp."
"She'll be dangerous if left unchecked. Or useful, if properly positioned."
Not long after, a different youth approached — broad-shouldered, dull-eyed, friendly grin. He dropped beside Fang Xi like a falling sack of rice.
"Hey. You're Fang Xi, right? Name's Chen Zhi. I heard you finally broke through. Congratulations, man!"
Fang Xi nodded. "Thank you."
Chen Zhi leaned in. "Wanna team up for beast duty this week? The Azure Cloud Sect's outer disciples are trying to poach our territory again. I need someone who can hold a stick and not run away."
Simple. Honest. No ambition. The kind of pawn who believes in loyalty.
"Sure," Fang Xi said. "Let me know the time."
"Great! Bring a knife. Those mountain wolves bite hard."
By the time the sun began to fall behind the ridge, Fang Xi was alone again.
He returned to his hut in silence, mind racing through the names and faces.
Zhou Yiren — sharp, alert, possibly testing him.
Chen Zhi — naive, but useful muscle.
Zhao Min — foolish, loud, a perfect future scapegoat.
Elder Wu — methodical, observant, but unlikely to act unless provoked.
"I have no cultivation base. No allies. No spiritual treasures."
"But now I have a map."
"And the first seeds of power are planted."
That night, beneath a leaking roof and a flickering lantern, Fang Xi meditated once more.
The sliver of Qi in his dantian had doubled.
And he smiled.
"Let them rise in peace."
"I will rise in silence."