The elite disciples' training grounds stood separate from the rest—not by the walls that surrounded it, but by the sheer gravity it radiated. Everything here reeked of excellence, precision, and relentless ambition. Heavier, sturdier, more complex equipment lined the courtyard.
Towering stone giants carved from mountain rock to test martial arts. Floating boulders suspended mid-air in irregular patterns to challenge a cultivator's movement techniques.
But aside from these perks and the monthly quota of higher-grade pills freely distributed to its residents, the place looked oddly mundane. Its dead silence, however, was what truly intimidated the disciples who had come with Zheng Xie. For all of them, this was their first time stepping foot here.
They were excited—but mostly terrified.
This ground was sacred, the playground of geniuses. Each disciple harbored the same unspoken dream: to stand here one day not as an outsider, but as a rightful member of this domain. To train beside legends, to forge their names into the records of the sect.
Everyone felt that awe.
Everyone except Zheng Xie.
He stood still, arms clasped behind his back, a casual smile on his face, entirely unfazed. He knew. Knew better than anyone else in his group that even if he trained from sunrise to moonfall, breaking his bones and burning through his life essence every single day, he wouldn't measure up to these so-called elite disciples.
Because they weren't just hardworking. They were chosen—cultivation blessed prodigies. Born with talent and cultivated under heaven's gaze.
And yet…
He wasn't bitter. That wasn't his style.
His thoughts were interrupted by a soft, gentle voice that floated over to him like the breeze of a crisp spring morning.
"You're back early, Brother Xie. Already finished your little vacation? I must say, I'm impressed by your sudden commitment to ideal discipline."
Zheng Xie turned toward the voice, recognizing it even before his eyes landed on her.
Hei Xanyu.
One of the Top Eight elite disciples of the Seven Strike Martial Sect. Dressed in a silver-white robe stitched with cloud patterns, her robe swayed slightly with the wind. The eight-edged emblem on her chest glinted like starlight—an unmistakable mark of her status.
Her long, jet-black hair was tied into a single, no-nonsense braid, and her equally dark eyes carried a gaze that seemed calm on the surface—but carried just a touch of smug amusement underneath.
Zheng Xie bowed, clasping his fists. "Sister Hei. This Xie has returned, inspired and reformed, all to become a paragon of virtue for our up-and-coming juniors. I return with a newfound conviction blazing in my soul."
The disciples behind him collectively winced.
Utter dogshit.
There was no other way to describe it. Everyone in the sect knew Zheng Xie had never been the embodiment of discipline. If he was a role model, then Wan Ruo was a celibate monk. The very idea made several of them choke on their own breath.
Even Hei Xanyu didn't bother hiding her reaction. She scoffed, a delicate snort escaping her lips. "You expect me to believe that nonsense?"
Zheng Xie grinned without shame.
Hei Xanyu arched an elegant brow. "Still, what are you doing here? I don't recall anyone inviting you."
With the utmost solemnity, he replied, "Sister Hei, I have come on a matter of grave importance. A matter that concerns the life and death of a fellow brother."
That caught her attention. "Oh? And what sort of matter might that be?"
Zheng Xie didn't miss a beat. "Our dear brother Liang Yu. He was ambushed by a pack of demonic beasts during training near the northern ravine. He barely managed to escape, but the trauma sent him running into hiding. We're scouring the sect to ensure his safety. Even if we find only his unconscious body… it would be enough."
The disciples behind him broke into a cold sweat. Every syllable of that explanation was crafted with such poise, such confidence, that one could almost believe it if they hadn't been present during the original incident—where Liang Yu abandoned them to Elder Gao Lin's punishment without remorse.
Hei Xanyu gave him a blank stare.
Then squinted.
Then shook her head with a faint smile.
"You're a terrible liar, you know that?"
Zheng Xie put on his most innocent expression. "But Sister Hei, I speak only the truth. I am simply a concerned brother."
She sighed, giving him one long look. "Regardless of your motives, I don't see Liang Yu anywhere around here. You can check for yourself if you wish, but make it quick."
Then, her expression shifted into something more playful. Her voice turned coy, teasing.
"Also… I'm quite upset you didn't greet your seniors properly when you arrived. I'll have to think of a suitable punishment for you later~"
That voice of hers, soft and silvery, carried enough charm to melt the hearts of half the sect. Many of the disciples behind Zheng Xie flushed red with awe and admiration. Hei Xanyu was beloved not just for her looks, but for her strength and cultivation talent. A rare combination.
Zheng Xie, however, scoffed mentally.
'What senior? We're the same age, you little demon. You just happened to advance faster and got that damn badge.'
But he kept his mouth shut.
No point provoking a hornet's nest.
He cupped his fists again with a courteous smile. "Understood, Sister Hei. I shall accept whatever punishment you deem appropriate."
She hummed in satisfaction and turned away, walking toward the floating platforms with a grace that turned heads.
As she walked off, Zheng Xie relaxed. His group behind him let out soft breaths of relief.
"Damn… she's scary," someone whispered.
Zheng Xie chuckled.
And with that, he signaled his group to spread out and search the elite grounds.
The hunt for Liang Yu was back on.
With the confirmation that Liang Yu wasn't hiding among the elite disciples, Zheng Xie's group swiftly left the high-tier training ground behind and moved toward the inner court.
Compared to the elites' domain, the atmosphere here felt more grounded—less suffocating, but also less awe-inspiring.
The training grounds shared a similar layout, though the equipment here was notably of lower quality. Most of the tools and formations barely reached the Spirit Grade, and while they were maintained with care, they lacked the cutting-edge aura of the elite's sanctum.
No floating debris here—just grounded boulders, dummies, and reinforced stone tiles scarred by endless combat drills.
It wasn't long before they met up with Yun Shi's group.
Yun Shi was already striding toward them with an impatient frown on his face. His boots kicked up dust as he approached, clearly irritated. "We didn't find the damn traitor," he spat. "Checked every training post, formation field, even the gardens. He's not in the inner court. What about you? Got any leads? He might've sneaked in your side."
Zheng Xie gave a casual shrug, lips curled in a half-smile. "We had the pleasure of meeting Sister Hei. She said she hadn't seen anyone suspicious. And I believe her—she's the type to keep an eye on everything. Nothing escapes her line of sight."
Yun Shi clicked his tongue, grinding his teeth. "Then there's only one place left. That rat must be in the outer court. Hiding in plain sight, huh?"
He cracked his knuckles, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Brother Xie, let's go. Today, Liang Yu gets what's coming to him. Nobody's saving him this time."
The other disciples—now over fifty—let out a resounding roar. The ground beneath their feet trembled faintly as their unified battle cry echoed across the sect like thunder.
They weren't just angry—they were seething. The image of Liang Yu abandoning them to the mercy of Elder Gao Lin's twisted punishments had burned into their hearts like fire. And now, that fire needed a place to erupt.
Without another word, the crowd surged toward the outer court, their steps heavy, their intent clear. It wasn't a patrol—it was a declaration of war.
Their chant echoed louder and louder as they approached.
And then, before they even reached the courtyard, a different sound cut through the air.
The sound of bodies hitting the ground. Hard.
Zheng Xie and Yun Shi exchanged a knowing look. A grin crept onto both their faces.
Without needing a command, the disciples picked up their pace, rushing forward like an army closing in on its prey.
And then they saw it.
In the middle of the cracked stone courtyard, surrounded by dried leaves and discarded weapons, stood Liang Yu.
His white training robe was tattered at the edges, stained with dust and dirt. His usually styled hair was messy, a wild look in his eyes. But despite the disheveled appearance, his stance remained solid. Broad shoulders squared, feet light on the ground, eyes sharp and calculating.
Twenty-five disciples surrounded him like vultures, throwing strike after strike—but Liang Yu danced between them with uncanny grace. He twisted, ducked, and turned with the elegance of a windblown leaf, countering when he saw an opening and dodging when there wasn't one.
A disciple tried to sweep his legs—Liang Yu leapt.
Another lunged with a glowing palm—Liang Yu pivoted and used the attacker's momentum to toss him aside like a sack of rice.
Wan Ruo, red in the face and panting, tried again and again to land a single clean hit, but Liang Yu moved like water. Nothing stuck.
Then a taller disciple launched into the air, aiming a diving heel toward Liang Yu's right shoulder.
Liang Yu, calm as ever, turned on his feet. He snatched the robe of a nearby disciple and hurled him upward into the path of the flying attacker. A loud thud echoed as the two collided mid-air and crashed to the ground in a pile of groans and limbs.
Just as Liang Yu was adjusting his footing, Wan Ruo's shout rang out.
"[First Strike – Fist]!"
His fist glowed a brilliant golden hue, energy thrumming through it like the roar of a drum.
Liang Yu turned again, spinning to dodge in his usual elegant manner.
But—
CRACK.
A fist—different from Wan Ruo's—connected hard with Liang Yu's cheek.
Time paused.
Liang Yu's body spun midair like a broken kite, crashing into the stone wall with a sickening thud. Cracks spiderwebbed across the surface from the impact. His body slumped down, landing on his knees, hands trembling. A groan slipped past his bloodied lips as he struggled to stand.
The fist that landed the blow belonged to Yun Shi, who now stood with his knuckles still raised, his expression wild with satisfaction.
He tilted his head, grinning like a madman.
"Oi, why'd you run, huh?" Yun Shi spat. "You should've faced the punishment with us. Shared the pain. But no—you fled like a coward."
He raised his fist again. "And now you'll receive divine judgment."
The rest of the disciples surged forward like a pack of wolves, eyes gleaming with raw fury.
Their feet pounded against the stone, their fists clenched tight. Some were laughing hysterically, others shouting threats, and a few—like Wan Ruo—just looked like they'd waited years for this moment.
Liang Yu barely managed to rise to his feet, one eye swelling, his lip bloodied—but even now, he cracked a crooked smirk.
"Ahh… I knew this day would come…"
He raised his fists.
"And I came prepared."
Zheng Xie, in the midst of the madness, had absolutely zero intentions of joining the brawl.
While nearly a hundred disciples roared, cursed, and swung their fists toward Liang Yu's crumbling existence, Zheng Xie sat down casually on the nearest stair leading to the outer courtyard's stone platform.
From his spatial ring, he pulled out a cold, refreshing pouch of frozen fruits—spiritual peaches, frost grapes, and moon-cored plums.
He popped one into his mouth, sighed with satisfaction, and waved lazily at the chaos in front of him.
"Go Yun Shi!! Beat that traitor into the ground! That guy definitely did it on purpose. Leaving us to suffer?! His legs better be useless tomorrow!"
He munched a peach slice, juice dripping down his chin as he pointed at the other side of the melee.
"Go Wan Ruo!! Hit him again with that [First Strike – Fist]! That bastard was smirking when you missed earlier—don't let him find his footing! Smash his pride!"
Liang Yu, currently dodging like a feral cat cornered in a burning house, had no chance to breathe as more disciples piled on. His dodges were getting slower, his movements less refined.
But Zheng Xie wasn't done.
He tossed a grape into the air, caught it in his mouth, then said with the most innocent voice he could muster, "Hey… guys. I just realized something."
The crowd stilled for a brief moment. Even Wan Ruo looked up from the flurry of fists.
Zheng Xie's eyes sparkled with fake clarity.
"What if… what if the reason Liang Yu didn't join us… was because he has someone he admires?"
Gasps rang out.
Zheng Xie leaned forward, whisper-shouting like it was forbidden knowledge. "He probably chose them over us. Abandoned his brothers. For someone he liked. He has… someone he admires."
Silence.
Then—
"WHAT?!" someone shouted. "He left us to suffer for a girl?!"
"No way! Even Wan Ruo wouldn't do that!!"
"Wan Ruo may be obsessed with flirting, but he still got punished with us! That's brotherhood!"
Wan Ruo coughed. "Exactly! I may fall for a hundred beauties, but I never abandon my brothers!"
That was it. That was the final nail in the coffin.
Liang Yu wasn't just a coward anymore. He was a romantic coward who betrayed his brothers for love. The worst kind.
With renewed fury, the disciples roared again, bloodlust intensifying tenfold. Liang Yu, realizing the tides had turned from painful to apocalyptic, gave a dry chuckle with cracked lips and bruised eyes.
He was cornered. His life flashed before his eyes—images of his early days training, laughing with these very people, and then…
He imagined himself tied to a stake, being roasted alive as his so-called brothers laughed and danced around his burning body like it was a sect festival.
"...Fuck this," he muttered.
And then—
He ran.
Like his ancestors were watching. Like the Heavens would smite him if he didn't. Like death was clinging to the back of his robes.
And he wasn't wrong.
Dozens of disciples screamed after him, chasing with murderous intent, like starving wolves behind a juicy deer.
Zheng Xie sat back, chewing on a chilled plum, utterly unbothered.
His eyes casually wandered, scanning the scenery in relaxed boredom—until he noticed a figure exiting the Scripture Hall.
Wu Zhu.
The stoic elite disciple. Heavens chosen child, the transmigrator. But what caught Zheng Xie's attention wasn't just Wu Zhu himself—it was what he was holding.
He was holding the very same manuals all the other disciples had received:
[Flowing Swift Fist] – Spirit Grade
[Flying Crane Kick] – Celestial Grade
That was odd.
Wu Zhu was an elite disciple. He had access to far better manuals—techniques bordering on Heaven Grade. He could simply walk into the upper Scripture Vault and get something thousands would kill for. But instead… he had chosen the exact same manuals every normal disciple had been issued.
Zheng Xie's brows furrowed. That didn't sit right with him.
He stuffed the last piece of frozen peach into his mouth, wiped his hands on his robes, and stood.
Then, hands clasped behind his back like a curious old man, he began to trail behind Wu Zhu at a casual distance.
But instead of heading toward the elite training grounds, Wu Zhu took a turn—toward the edge of the mountain.
The Seven Strike Martial Sect sat atop one of the tallest peaks in the region. Its layout was expansive, built over multiple ridges and paths, connected by stairs carved directly into the cliffs and wooden bridges suspended across the air.
Many narrow paths led to secluded corners of the mountain—places rarely visited unless one knew where to go. Some paths ended in cliffs. Others, in caves.
And Wu Zhu was heading into one such path. A forgotten trail overgrown with moss, shadowed by tall rocks, barely wide enough for two to walk side by side.
Zheng Xie narrowed his eyes. 'What the hell is he doing?'
The trail led them to a small, shadowed cave, its mouth just large enough for a grown man to duck through. Wu Zhu entered without hesitation.
Zheng Xie paused at the mouth, eyes squinting into the dark. The cave was pitch black inside, only the faintest sliver of light from the entrance giving form to the stone.
He stepped in lightly, back to the wall. Cold air wafted from within. The floor beneath his feet was uneven, scattered with pebbles. The walls were damp.
As he moved a few steps deeper—
Wu Zhu stopped.
And then—
He turned his head, just slightly. Even in the darkness, his eyes gleamed faintly.
"Zheng Xie," he said, voice calm and precise. "Come out."
Zheng Xie froze.
"I know you've been following me. You're not exactly stealthy, you know."
Zheng Xie emerged with a sheepish chuckle, hands raised as if caught in the middle of theft.
"Well, what can I say? Curiosity is one of my stronger traits. That and charm."
Wu Zhu didn't respond. He simply turned to face Zheng Xie fully.
And in the darkness, Zheng Xie felt it—
A pressure.
Not from the cave.
From Wu Zhu himself.
Something about the way he stood, the way his eyes bore into him…
Zheng Xie's grin wavered just slightly. He suddenly felt like he had stepped into a place he shouldn't have.
'He is at Foundation Establishment Realm…'