Chapter 6: First Steps Into the World
The dawn that followed Zhou Ming's revelations brought with it a cold mountain mist and the sound of departing footsteps. The five bandits, released as promised with a warning burned into their memories, stumbled down the treacherous mountain paths with tales that would spread like wildfire through the underworld. By evening, every tavern and brothel from the Azure River to the Golden Plains would whisper of the demon child who bore the Mark of Calamity.
Zhi Fan knelt in meditation beside the cabin, his breathing steady despite the turmoil in his heart. The jade pendant lay warm against his chest, pulsing gently in rhythm with his heartbeat. His father's blood essence sat untouched in its vial—Zhou Ming had warned him that consuming it prematurely could cripple his cultivation foundation permanently.
"Focus," came Zhou Ming's voice from behind him. "Your mind wanders like a leaf in the wind. Yesterday's truths change nothing about today's training."
But everything had changed, and they both knew it. The careful balance they had maintained for twelve years—the pretense of a simple guardian and ward living quietly in the mountains—had shattered completely. There could be no more half-measures, no more gentle guidance wrapped in the guise of basic survival skills.
Zhou Ming had spent the night considering their options, and all paths led to the same inevitable conclusion: Zhi Fan would have to enter the cultivation world properly. The question was not if, but when and how.
"Stand," Zhou Ming commanded. "Today we test the true extent of your abilities."
Zhi Fan rose smoothly, his movements carrying a fluid grace that had not been there before his awakening. The Mark of Calamity had changed more than just his spiritual capacity—his very body seemed to move with enhanced coordination as if the mark had unlocked dormant potential written into his bones.
Zhou Ming led him to a section of the training ground they had never used before—a circle of ancient stones covered in weathered inscriptions. With a touch of his spiritual energy, the old warrior activated the formation, and immediately the air within the circle grew heavy with oppressive force.
"Gravity amplification array," Zhou Ming explained. "Ten times normal weight. If you can move freely within this circle, you'll be able to handle the spiritual pressure that Foundation Establishment cultivators naturally emit."
Zhi Fan stepped forward without hesitation, and immediately his knees buckled. The sensation was like being crushed beneath an invisible mountain, every breath requiring tremendous effort. But the Mark of Calamity flared in response, red light bleeding through his shirt as his body adapted to the crushing force.
"Interesting," Zhou Ming murmured, observing how the cursed birthmark seemed to actively assist in overcoming the formation's effects. "Your mark doesn't just enhance your cultivation—it helps you adapt to hostile spiritual environments."
Through gritted teeth, Zhi Fan managed to straighten his spine. "Is this... what the cultivation world... feels like?"
"This is merely the beginning. In the great sects, inner disciples casually emit spiritual pressure that would crush mortal men. Core Formation elders can level mountains with their presence alone. And those at the Nascent Soul realm..." Zhou Ming shook his head. "They are forces of nature given human form."
For the next hour, Zhi Fan struggled to perform basic exercises within the amplified gravity. His spiritual energy, normally smooth and controlled, became wild and chaotic under the pressure. Sweat poured down his face as he attempted simple sword forms that had become second nature over the years.
But gradually, impossibly, he began to adapt. The Mark of Calamity pulsed brighter, and with each pulse, his movements became more fluid. His spiritual energy, rather than fighting the oppressive force, began to flow around it like water around a stone.
"Enough," Zhou Ming said finally, deactivating the formation. Zhi Fan collapsed immediately, gasping for breath as normal gravity returned. "Your adaptability exceeds even my expectations. Most cultivators require months to acclimate to spiritual pressure of that intensity."
As Zhi Fan recovered, Zhou Ming walked to the edge of their mountain plateau and gazed down at the valley below. Smoke rose from a dozen villages scattered across the landscape, each one a small world unto itself, filled with people who would never know the intoxicating terror of true cultivation.
"Tomorrow," he said without turning around, "we descend from the mountain."
Zhi Fan's head snapped up. "Tomorrow?"
"The autumn Sect Recruitment will begin in three weeks at Verdant City. Young cultivators from across the province will gather to compete for positions in the lesser sects. It will be your first true test against peers of your generation."
The thought sent both excitement and dread coursing through Zhi Fan's veins. For twelve years, his only opponent had been Zhou Ming—a man whose true strength remained largely hidden. To face others his own age, to measure himself against the cultivation world's rising generation...
"Am I ready?" he asked.
Zhou Ming finally turned, and his expression was unreadable. "Ready? No. You lack practical experience, political awareness, and the ruthless instincts necessary to survive among ambitious young cultivators. You've never killed a human being in cold blood, never betrayed an ally for advancement, never smiled while plotting someone's destruction."
The harsh assessment stung, but Zhi Fan sensed it was not meant as a criticism.
"However," Zhou Ming continued, "you possess something most of them lack entirely—genuine purpose. They seek cultivation for power, for prestige, for the fear and respect it commands. You seek it to fulfill a destiny you never chose but have accepted nonetheless. That difference may be enough to overcome your disadvantages."
That evening, as they prepared for departure, Zhou Ming presented Zhi Fan with items that had been hidden away for years. A spatial storage ring, its modest size belying the sophisticated enchantments woven into its crystalline structure, robes of deep blue silk that would mark him as an independent cultivator rather than the disciple of any particular sect, and a sword—not the practice blade he had trained with, but a true spiritual weapon whose edge gleamed with inner light.
"The ring contains gold and silver sufficient for several months of comfortable living," Zhou Ming explained. "The robes are woven with protective formations that will turn aside weak spiritual attacks. The sword..." He paused, his weathered hand resting on the weapon's sheath. "This was your father's blade. Earthshaker, he called it. It's forged from meteoric iron and inscribed with formations that channel earth-attribute spiritual energy."
Zhi Fan accepted the sword with trembling hands. The moment his fingers closed around the handle, he felt a resonance deep in his bones—recognition from the bloodline he had inherited. The weapon seemed to sing in harmony with his spiritual energy, eager to taste combat after twelve years of dormancy.
"There is one more thing," Zhou Ming said, his voice growing serious. "A final gift from your mother, though she never knew she was giving it."
From the wooden box that had held his father's letter, Zhou Ming withdrew a seed no larger than a grain of rice. It was perfectly black, absorbing light rather than reflecting it, and seemed to pulse with its own inner rhythm.
"A Celestial Lotus seed," he explained. "The last of its kind in existence. When planted in spiritually rich soil and nurtured with proper techniques, it will grow into a treasure beyond price. But more than that—it carries within it the complete genetic memory of the Celestial Lotus Sect's cultivation methods."
Zhi Fan stared at the tiny seed in amazement. "Genetic memory?"
"The Celestial Lotus Sect's greatest secret. Their plants were not merely spiritual herbs, but living repositories of knowledge. Each generation of lotus would absorb and preserve the cultivation insights of those who tended them. This seed contains centuries of accumulated wisdom."
The implications were staggering. Not only could he potentially restore an extinct sect's techniques, but he could learn directly from the preserved experiences of master cultivators long dead.
"How do I—"
"Not yet," Zhou Ming interrupted. "Your cultivation is insufficient to safely interface with such concentrated knowledge. Attempt it prematurely, and the psychic feedback could shatter your mind entirely. Consider it a goal to work toward."
That night, Zhi Fan lay awake staring at the stars through the cabin's single window. Tomorrow would mark the end of the only life he had ever known. The mountain peaks that had defined the boundaries of his world would fall behind him, replaced by the vast uncertainty of human civilization.
He thought of his parents—not the distant martyrs he had imagined for so long, but the young couple who had held him for twelve precious hours before sacrificing everything for his future. Their choice had created a debt he could never fully repay, a responsibility that would shadow every decision for the rest of his life.
The Mark of Calamity pulsed gently against his chest, responding to his emotional turmoil. For years he had resented the cursed birthmark, seeing it as nothing but a burden to be hidden. Now he understood it for what it truly was—not a curse, but a calling. A sign that he had been chosen by fate itself to stand against the darkness threatening the cultivation world.
Di Tian believed he had eliminated all threats to his ambitions when he destroyed the Celestial Lotus Sect. He believed the Mark of Calamity made Zhi Fan his destined enemy. Perhaps he was right about that last part.
As dawn approached, Zhi Fan made a silent vow to the memory of his parents. He would not merely survive in the cultivation world—he would master it. He would gather allies, accumulate power, and uncover the full extent of Di Tian's crimes. And when the time came for their final confrontation, he would prove that even the mightiest tyrant could fall before one who fought not for personal glory, but for justice itself.
The first stage of his journey would begin with the Sect Recruitment at Verdant City. There, among hundreds of ambitious young cultivators, he would take his first real steps toward the destiny that awaited him.