Blood-Forged Ascension

Morning broke with a pale, lifeless light.

Fog swallowed the mountain paths, wetting the stones and filling the air with cold that soaked into the bones.

Wei Lian walked in silence toward Copper Hall.

His robe was still damp from last night's creek water.

He felt every bruise with each breath.

But inside his dantian, the ember burned steady.

2nd layer.

And beneath it—the thin, hairline crack.

Waiting.

Disciples crowded into Copper Hall, shaking off mist and whispering.

"You think he'll teach us more today?"

"I couldn't even follow the diagrams."

"My Qi leaked everywhere."

"I heard Jin Xiu's already halfway through the forms."

Wei Lian ignored them.

He sat in his usual back corner.

Eyes half-lidded.

Listening.

Jin Xiu sat at the front, back straight, expression smug.

His battered scroll sat neatly on his lap, barely opened.

Elder Mu entered without a word.

He carried no staff.

Only his thin, scarred hands.

Silence fell like a blade.

He stood at the front, sweeping the room with those cold, pitiless eyes.

He waited until no one dared to even whisper.

Finally, he rasped:

"Yesterday you took your precious scrolls and pretended to study them. Today you'll learn if you actually understood a single word."

He dropped the battered crate onto the floor with a dull thud.

It rattled with more cracked manuals.

He ignored it.

"Bone-Breaking Fist is not elegant. It is not beautiful. It is effective. That is what matters."

He spread his feet deliberately.

Squared his stance.

Raised his fist.

"Qi does not dance. It does not sing. It sinks. You do not ask it. You force it."

He punched slowly, his arm coiling with tension.

Qi rippled around it like a heat haze.

"This is how you hurt someone who is stronger. You don't outshine them. You break them."

He dropped his arm.

His voice dropped lower.

"Bone-Breaking Fist has four levels of mastery. Listen well. I will not repeat myself."

The room stilled.

Some swallowed audibly.

Wei Lian didn't move.

"First level: Beginner."

"You know the form. The stance. The breath. Your Qi barely listens to you. It leaks, but you start to feel it."

He demonstrated a slow punch again, breath hissing.

"Second level: Skilled."

"Qi follows the fist. It gathers. It impacts. You strike with weight, not just motion."

This time, the punch cracked the air.

Disciples flinched.

"Third level: Expert."

"Your fist is your Qi. The moment you decide to strike, it is already too late for your enemy. The bone doesn't just break. It fails."

He didn't even punch this time.

His arm tensed, energy humming along the skin.

"Fourth level: Master."

His voice dropped.

Almost soft.

"Your intent kills before your fist lands. Qi obeys your will without resistance. There is no defense."

Silence fell so deep they could hear the wind scrape along the old roof.

No one spoke.

Elder Mu let the silence linger.

Then he snorted.

"Most of you will not even reach Skilled before you break your own bones and beg to go home."

Some disciples shifted uncomfortably.

Jin Xiu rolled his eyes with a sneer.

Mu's gaze swept them.

Hard.

Cold.

Uncaring.

"And there is a rumor," he added, voice low, conspiratorial.

The room held its breath.

"A fifth level."

Whispers flared instantly.

"Fifth?!"

"Is that real?"

Mu raised one hand.

Silence.

"I don't know if it exists. I've never seen it. No one here will."

He smiled without warmth.

"They say it's not a technique anymore. It's instinct. The body moves before thought. Qi becomes killing intent itself. The moment you decide to strike, someone dies."

The room was dead quiet.

Even Jin Xiu was frowning now.

Mu's voice went dry.

"You want to dream about that? Fine. But pass the second trial first. Learn to do even a Beginner strike without shattering your own wrist."

He lowered his arms.

"Pick your space in the courtyard. Practice until you bleed. Until you hate it. Until you can do it in your sleep."

He jerked his head toward the doors.

"Out."

They scrambled to obey.

Scrolls clutched in shaking hands.

Wei Lian moved last.

He didn't rush.

He watched Elder Mu carefully.

Memorized every phrase.

Every motion.

Outside, the cold courtyard was ringed with ancient stones slick with moss.

Mist pooled low.

Disciples spread out, muttering curses, shivering, trying stances that looked like flailing.

Jin Xiu's voice drifted over the noise:

"A fifth level. Hah. Old man's just trying to scare us."

Someone else laughed nervously.

"I can't even feel my Qi."

"My arm cramped after three tries."

Wei Lian ignored them.

He found a patch of frozen dirt alone.

Dropped his battered scroll next to him.

Stood in stance.

He breathed slow.

Felt every ache.

Fed it to the ember in his dantian.

Let Qi crawl down his arm.

It resisted.

Shuddered.

But he forced it.

He threw a punch.

It was sloppy.

Qi leaked.

His wrist burned.

But he did it again.

And again.

Blood cracked on his knuckles.

His breath steamed in the freezing air.

He watched his own fist tremble.

He felt the ember in his core flicker.

The crack pulsed once.

A promise.

A threat.

He didn't speak.

Didn't boast.

Didn't curse.

He just whispered once, barely audible over the wind:

"Move before thought."

Then he punched again.

And again.

Until the sky turned dark.

He picked up his scroll.

Turned toward the black creek to wash.

Because tomorrow wasn't for resting.

It was for mastery.