The moment Wei Feng and his cronies vanished into the woods, the tension drained from Wei Yuan's body, leaving him light-headed. He staggered back, his hand bracing against the cool, damp bark of an ancient tree as he fought to catch his breath.
A bluff.
It had been nothing but a bluff, a desperate gamble using the borrowed killing intent from the scroll. But the cost was real. His soul felt frayed, a sharp ache throbbing in the very core of his being.
This isn't a weapon, he thought, a cold realization washing over him. It's a double-edged blade. And I have no sheath.
He couldn't rely on such a trick again. It was too draining, too dangerous. He had won the battle, but the war for survival had just revealed its true, brutal nature. He needed real, tangible strength, not just illusions of power.
After gathering the rest of the Silverleaf grass and a few other necessary herbs, Wei Yuan slipped back to the Pavilion of Forgotten Scrolls. His sanctuary. His forge.
The first problem was the ink. The second was a vessel to brew it in. He couldn't very well start a fire in the middle of the dusty, flammable library.
There was only one place in the entire Wei Clan compound with the necessary equipment: the Alchemy Hall.
It was a place he was not welcome.
The Alchemy Hall was the domain of the clan's apothecaries and their disciples. It was a place of prestige, second only to the main training grounds. To them, he was not just trash, but unclean trash, a contamination to their sacred work of refining pills and elixirs.
But he had no choice.
Wei Yuan put on the cleanest robes he owned—which were still faded and patched—and walked towards the Alchemy Hall. The air grew warmer as he approached, carrying the cloying sweet scent of burning spiritual herbs.
He was stopped at the door by a junior disciple.
"What do you want?" the disciple asked, his nose wrinkled in distaste as if Wei Yuan carried the stench of poverty itself.
"I need to borrow a low-grade pill furnace," Wei Yuan said calmly.
The disciple stared at him for a moment, then burst into laughter. "Borrow a furnace? You? A cripple with knotted meridians wants to borrow a furnace? Are you planning to boil soup in it?"
Wei Yuan's expression didn't change. "I wish to practice a rudimentary ink-making technique."
"Ink?" The disciple's laughter grew louder. "The clan's trash wants to waste our resources to make ink? Get lost! The furnaces are for serious cultivation, not for your childish games."
"The clan rules state that all disciples have the right to apply for the use of basic facilities, provided they are not in use by a senior," Wei Yuan stated, his voice flat and even. He had spent the last night memorizing the clan's rulebook, a tattered scroll no one had read in fifty years.
The disciple's face flushed with anger at being contradicted. "Rules? The rules don't apply to refuse like you! Now get out of here before I call my senior brother!"
"What's all this noise?" A new voice cut in, dripping with arrogance.
Another youth, slightly older and wearing the robes of a core alchemy apprentice, stepped out. This was Wei Lin, known for his minor talent in alchemy and his major talent for bootlicking Wei Tian.
The first disciple immediately bowed. "Senior Brother Lin! This trash from the library is causing trouble. He wants to borrow a furnace to make... ink!"
Wei Lin looked Wei Yuan up and down, a sneer forming on his lips. "Ink. How fitting for a failed scholar. Listen to me, cripple. Every furnace here is a precious resource. The spiritual fire within them is not to be wasted on your pathetic hobbies. Go back to your dusty hole and play with your mud."
Wei Yuan's gaze remained steady. He didn't look at Wei Lin. Instead, his eyes drifted to a nearby furnace that was currently in operation. A faint, acrid smell was emanating from it. Through his newly sharpened senses and the panel's "Artistic Analysis" function, he could perceive things others couldn't.
[Item: Low-Grade Qi-Gathering Pill (Brewing)]
[Art Quality: Inferior (Flawed)]
[Analysis: The heat control is unstable. The Crimson Sun grass was added three breaths too early, causing its spiritual essence to conflict with the Frost Vine. Resulting pill will have less than 40% efficacy and contain impurities harmful to the Qi Sensing realm.]
He had never studied alchemy in his life. But through the lens of the Arts, he understood. The process was flawed. The 'art' was poor.
"Senior Brother Lin is refining Qi-Gathering Pills, I presume?" Wei Yuan asked, his voice still calm.
Wei Lin scoffed. "Of course. Something a waste like you wouldn't even be qualified to consume."
"A pity," Wei Yuan said softly.
"What did you say?" Wei Lin snapped, his eyes narrowing.
"I said it's a pity to waste such fine ingredients," Wei Yuan elaborated. "Your control of the flame is inconsistent, like a clumsy brushstroke. You added the Crimson Sun grass too early. The resulting fire and ice energies are fighting each other. The whole batch will be useless. Worse than useless, actually. The impurities will likely cause stagnation in any Qi Sensing disciple who consumes them."
Silence.
A thick, heavy silence fell over the entrance to the Alchemy Hall.
Wei Lin's arrogant expression froze, then slowly contorted into a mask of pure disbelief and rage. The other disciple was gaping like a fish.
"You... what nonsense are you spouting?!" Wei Lin hissed, his face turning a shade of purple. "How could a piece of trash like you possibly understand the profound Dao of Alchemy?"
"I don't," Wei Yuan admitted freely. "But I understand balance. The harmony of hot and cold, of soft and hard. It is the same principle as balancing the ink on a brush, the light and shadow in a painting. Your work... it lacks harmony."
Wei Lin was about to explode with fury, to strike this insolent cripple down. But a seed of doubt had been planted. The Crimson Sun grass... had he added it a bit too early? He had been distracted for a moment...
He stormed over to the furnace, his face a thundercloud. He performed a series of hand seals, and with a soft pop, the lid of the furnace opened. A wave of acrid smoke billowed out. Inside, nestled at the bottom, were a dozen pills, not the pure green they should have been, but a mottled, murky brown-green, laced with black spots.
Impurities. A failed batch.
His blood ran cold. He stared at the ruined pills, then whipped his head around to stare at Wei Yuan. The look in his eyes was no longer just contempt. It was shock. It was fear.
How? How could this cripple, this piece of human garbage, have known? It was impossible!
The other disciple's jaw was on the floor. He looked from the failed pills to Wei Yuan as if he were looking at a ghost.
Wei Yuan didn't gloat. He didn't smile. He simply stood there, waiting.
"Which... which furnace do you want?" Wei Lin finally choked out, his voice barely a whisper.
"The smallest one. In the corner. It will be sufficient," Wei Yuan said.
Wei Lin nodded numbly, then pointed a trembling finger at the first disciple. "Give him furnace number seven. And... and a full allotment of spirit-wood for the fire."
The disciple, now pale and sweating, scurried to obey without another word of protest.
As Wei Yuan walked past Wei Lin into the hallowed hall, he paused and said softly, "The heat should be like a whisper at first, not a roar. Remember that, Senior Brother."
He left Wei Lin standing there, amidst the ruins of his alchemy and his pride, completely and utterly dumbstruck.
Two months flew by in a blur of ink and stone.
Wei Yuan's life fell into a simple, grueling rhythm. He would brew his Spirit-Gathering Ink, then spend every waking hour practicing his Calligraphy Dao. His small room in the pavilion was now a sea of paper, every sheet covered in characters that pulsed with a faint silver light.
The strain on his soul was immense, a constant, sharp ache that never fully faded. But with every Strand of Blade-Edge Soul Essence he wove, his spirit grew tougher, more resilient. The pain became a familiar companion, a testament to his unyielding struggle.
He advanced through the peak of Marrow Cleansing and, one quiet midnight, he felt a fundamental shift. His senses, already sharp, exploded outwards. He didn't need his eyes to see the sleeping form of Old Man Ji in the next room, or the spider spinning its web in the rafters. He could feel them.
[Cultivation Realm: Qi Sensing (Initial Stage)]
He had crossed the threshold into the second realm. His progress was terrifying.
But calligraphy was not enough. The "Raging River Style" was a masterpiece, but it was just one style. He needed more. More Arts. More perspectives.
He found it in a dusty, forgotten corner of the pavilion. An old Go board, its surface worn smooth with time, the black and white stones cool to the touch.
Old Man Ji saw him with it and smiled his vacant smile. "Ah, the encirclement game. All of life is on that board, little Yuan. Attack and defense. Feints and sacrifices. Sometimes, the most important move is the one you don't make..."
Wei Yuan didn't fully understand, but he felt a resonance with the old board. He spent his rest periods playing against himself, studying ancient game records.
[Discovered New Art: Chess Tao]
[Art in Progress: Chess Tao (Initiate - 1/100)]
As he played, a new understanding began to dawn. The Go board was a battlefield. Each stone was a soldier. It was a game of territory, of influence, of seeing the bigger picture. He began to apply the principles to his own situation.
Wei Feng and his lackeys were just pawns, an attempt to probe his defenses. The true threat was Wei Tian, the "king" on the other side of the board. The Branch Purge was the battlefield. He couldn't win with a frontal assault. His forces were too weak. He had to use strategy. He had to use the terrain. He had to make his opponent underestimate him, to lure him into a trap.
His Sword Intent Calligraphy was his sharpest weapon, his "attack." But his Chess Tao... that would be his strategy. His "defense."
The final month arrived.
One morning, a clan steward, his face a mask of official indifference, came to the pavilion. He unrolled a scroll and announced to the entire clan the rules for the youth tournament.
There would be three stages. The first, a test of raw spiritual power against a measuring stone. The second, a test of speed and endurance. The third, a series of one-on-one duels in the main arena.
Wei Yuan listened, his heart sinking with each word. The rules were tailor-made for orthodox cultivators. They were designed to favor those like Wei Tian, with his vast reserves of spiritual Qi and powerful physique.
A test of raw spiritual power? He had none. Speed and endurance? He was still in the Qi Sensing realm. He would be eliminated in the first stage.
The steward finished, rolled up the scroll, and gave Wei Yuan a look of profound pity. "The clan head has decreed that out of respect for your father, you will be allowed to participate. Try not to bring shame upon your ancestors."
The pity was worse than the scorn. It was a dismissal. A final confirmation of his worthlessness in their eyes.
As the steward left, a profound silence filled the pavilion. Wei Yuan looked down at his hands, stained with the black of his homemade ink.
Everything was stacked against him. The clan, the rules, his own body.
He looked at his panel.
[Name: Wei Yuan]
[Age: 14]
[Cultivation Realm: Qi Sensing (Middle Stage)]
[Physique: Knotted Meridians (Cursed)]
[The Loom of A Hundred Arts]
[Art in Progress: Calligraphy (Adept - 35/500)]
[Art in Progress: Chess Tao (Initiate - 78/100)]
[Insight Threads: 42]
It wasn't enough. He wasn't strong enough.
But then, his gaze fell upon the Go board. He saw the black and white stones, locked in their silent, eternal war.
Sometimes, the most important move is the one you don't make.
A thought, born from the logic of Go and the sharpness of Sword Intent, cut through his despair.
They wanted to test his spiritual power? They wanted him to fight on their terms?
What if he refused to play their game at all?
A slow, calculating smile spread across Wei Yuan's face. He had been thinking like a warrior, planning a duel. But he wasn't a warrior.
He was a scholar. He was an artist. And on the battlefield of the Go board, sometimes the weakest stone, placed in just the right spot, could bring an entire empire to its knees.
The tournament would be his Go board. And his cousins... they had no idea what kind of game he was about to play.