The Path No One Saw

Chapter 12: The First Step into the World

He had just returned from speaking with his father, Wu Lin. The meeting had been brief—quiet, as always—but meaningful. Wu Lin had handed him a set of cultivation materials, personally chosen from his private reserves and newly purchased specifically for him. Not a word of praise or concern had been spoken. Only a firm look and a subtle nod. For Wu Yuan, that had been enough. That nod carried both approval and trust.

Yet, as soon as he returned to his room and sat down cross-legged, the storm within him surged once more.

Lightning essence pulsed through his body—not gently, but like wild rivers crashing against narrow stone walls. It was as though lightning moved before his will, wild and impatient. His body felt too light at times, too heavy at others. His skin tingled with static beneath the surface, and even the softest breath risked stirring the current. The very flow of lightning essence in his body seemed strained, stretching too thin in some muscles, then pooling dangerously in others.

He opened his eyes and frowned. "No good."

Trying to cultivate in this state was foolish.

He was already at Level 9 of the Body Tempering Realm, and with the spiritual liquid his father had provided, breaking through to Level 10 wasn't out of reach. But strength without control was a blade with no hilt. Dangerous to himself, let alone others.

If his foundation was cracked now, there'd be no hope of building further. No stable path to Spirit Initiation. Maybe not even to hold steady at Level 9.

Wu Yuan stood slowly and walked toward the open window, watching the mist roll across the distant cliffs. The view was beautiful—serene, timeless—but his mind was far from still.

So what now? he asked himself.

"Heavy exercise is one way," he murmured. "Burn off the excess energy, get used to movement again. But it'll be slow. Too slow."

The wind outside carried the scent of pine and distant thunderclouds. A faint static charge stirred in the air, responding faintly to the lightning qi within him.

He considered another path.

"Or… sparring."

He nodded slightly, eyes narrowing.

"Every protagonist in those novels did it. When they broke through too fast or didn't understand their new strength—they fought. Tested themselves against someone real. Adapted through instinct, trial, and pain."

A small smile touched his lips.

"Then I should try it too."

But a problem immediately presented itself.

Who do I spar with?

He couldn't reveal that he had already reached Level 9. That would attract far too much attention. He still didn't understand the full extent of the political currents in the clan, and drawing eyes too early could be dangerous.

"I can't pretend to be weak forever," he muttered. "But I don't have to be reckless either."

He imagined walking up to someone and asking for a duel.

'Want to spar? I'm secretly Level 9.' Ridiculous.

If he acted like a Level 1 disciple, the spar wouldn't be very useful.

Maybe outside the clan?

His eyes turned toward the mountains.

He had never stepped beyond the Wu Clan's inner estate. Never even seen what lay past the outer gates. What did the rest of this world look like? How did civilization survive on mountains like these?

He'd always assumed people lived in cities nestled in valleys or on flat land. But the Wu Clan? It stood comfortably in the middle of the mountain. No treacherous slopes. No steep ascents. The terrain, strangely enough, felt like flat ground. Courtyards, stone paths, spirit gardens—they all sat as if laid on flat earth, despite the looming presence of the mountain.

That puzzled him.

Just how was this place built? How is it stable? he wondered. Could it be array work? Or ancient architecture techniques? A formation to balance gravity and earth qi?

His curiosity itched at him as much as his lightning essence.

"I'll go out," he decided. "Explore the outer world, understand my body, and learn more about the mountain's structure."

But then he paused.

Leaving wouldn't be so simple.

The Wu Clan had strict rules. Direct descendants below Level 4 in the Body Tempering Realm were not allowed to leave the inner estate without permission. Even though he was the son of the Grand Elder, he wouldn't be exempt. Not from this.

So that's a problem.

He turned back from the window, already forming a plan.

"I'll wait two days," he whispered. "Then I'll approach Father again. This time, I'll show him my cultivation base—just Level 2. That should be enough to convince him without raising too many eyebrows."

For now, there was another option.

He could visit the clan training grounds.

He hadn't stepped foot there since his so-called talent awakening. It would be… odd. Unexpected. And that was fine.

Let them talk. Let them wonder.

It would give him a better sense of the younger generation's strength, and maybe—just maybe—he'd find someone he could spar with.

He tightened the sash of his robes and stepped outside.

The sky was pale, the air cool, and mist clung to the stone like memory.

The walk to the training grounds was a quiet one. Servants gave him glances—curious, surprised, but no longer fearful. His recovery had spread through whispers. Most still didn't know what to make of him.

As he stepped beneath the archway etched with the clan's name, he saw more than just buildings—he saw life in motion. Disciples, some his age and many older, moved with focused intent. Their bodies radiated faint auras of strength, the marks of power being forged through repetition and will. Swords danced in practiced arcs, spears struck like coiled vipers, and fists pounded against reinforced wooden posts that hummed faintly with spiritual energy.

The training grounds were nestled against the eastern ridge, enclosed by spirit-reinforced walls. From a distance, it looked like a martial plaza: wide, clean, echoing with the occasional shout of effort. Stone tiles etched with faint formation lines hummed with low-level qi absorption. Designed to help disciples train without wasting spiritual essence.

Today, though, it quieted.

When Wu Yuan stepped into view, the whispers began.

"That's Wu Yuan, right?"

"The one who was in a coma?"

"I thought he couldn't cultivate…"

He ignored them, walking calmly past the small clusters of disciples. His footsteps were steady, his expression mild.

Near the center, an older man with a trimmed beard and hawk-like gaze turned toward him. Wu Tianhai—the elder responsible for training the younger generation.

The elder frowned, hesitated, then approached.

"Yuan'er," he said, folding his hands behind his back. "Come to watch the others train?"

Wu Yuan bowed slightly. "Yes, Elder Tianhai. I wanted to observe. Perhaps even join in later, if allowed."

The elder's expression softened just slightly.

"It's not good to cultivate alone all the time," he said, nodding. "Especially in the early stages. Hidden injuries can form. And your father, the Grand Elder, cannot always guide you personally. He has duties."

"I understand."

"Well, if you choose to train here, tell me directly. You'll be welcome."

"Thank you, Elder."

Wu Yuan stepped back respectfully.

He thought for a moment.

What would the old Wu Yuan have done here?

He probably would've sneered at the other children. Tossed around arrogant words like "trash," boasted about his so-called talent.

Broken through to Level 1 in ten days—not for the cultivation itself, but to bask in awe, collect followers, and taste early power.

Wu Yuan shook his head.

"That was the old me. The one who didn't know what real power cost."

I'm not him.

He turned his attention to the training disciples.

Elder Tianhai was already shouting again.

"What are you doing? Ten days since your awakening, and none of you have reached Level 1? This is the worst batch I've ever taught!"

Some of the older students near the edge smirked.

"He says that to every batch," one whispered.

Wu Yuan blinked.

None of them have reached Level 1? he thought, glancing around.

So the group that awakened their talents with him were all still struggling.

He felt a strange satisfaction. The system may be unreliable, but it was effective.

No wonder the outer sects always produced tougher fighters. Sparring, pressure, danger—they refine instinct.

He stayed a while longer, studying their forms and movement.

Postures were clumsy, stances too stiff. Most of the strikes were basic and lacked any intent behind them.

Then, as he was about to leave, a thought came.

Sparring.

He walked over to a group of older disciples—ones clearly a year or two ahead.

"Excuse me," he said. "Would anyone at Level 2 like to spar with me?"

They blinked at him.

"Wait… are you already Level 2?" one asked.

Wu Yuan smiled sheepishly. "Not quite. I'm still at the peak of Level 1, just about to break through. I thought sparring might help me cross that step."

The explanation was simple. Plausible.

Then Elder Tianhai returned.

"You want to spar?"

Wu Yuan nodded. "If permitted. If anything happens, I'll take full responsibility."

The elder studied him, then sighed.

"Feiyan," he called. "Come here."

A lean boy with sharp eyes stepped forward. Wu Feiyan bowed.

"Yes, Elder."

"Light spar. Understand?"

"Understood."

The two boys stepped to the center. The other disciples encircled them, murmuring with curiosity.

So this is the Wu Yuan who slept for five years…

The news spread fast.

By the time they raised their hands in greeting, half the clan already knew. Even the Clan Head, Wu Lingtian, heard. But knowing that Tianhai had arranged the match—and with Feiyan involved—he saw no need to intervene.

Wu Lin stayed absent as well.

But Su Qing came.

She rushed to the grounds, face stormy. But she arrived just as the match began, too late to stop it.

"This reckless brat! I'll deal with him after," she muttered under her breath.

The match began with fists and footwork.

Wu Yuan's stance was cautious. Feiyan lunged first—a clean, straight punch toward the shoulder. Wu Yuan sidestepped, but a beat too late. The blow grazed him.

Pain flared.

He retreated a step, blinking.

So fast…

His body wasn't slow. His reaction wasn't poor. But it was untrained. And unfamiliar.

Feiyan advanced again. A kick. Wu Yuan ducked. The wind of it ruffled his hair.

Then another punch. A jab. A sweeping leg.

He missed a dodge.

He missed a strike.

He twisted too far and nearly lost balance.

But slowly… he adjusted.

He began to read Feiyan's weight shifts. Felt the rhythm of movement. Let his body absorb pain, then adapt.

Strength surged through his tempered muscles. His strikes sharpened, each blow landing with intention. His dodges grew instinctive, and his footwork flowed with newfound precision.

He landed a palm strike to Feiyan's chest.

The older boy staggered.

Another strike—an elbow. A faint crack of impact. Feiyan stepped back, eyes narrowing.

No one had expected it.

Wu Yuan advanced, this time with control.

He didn't overwhelm with brute force. He flowed.

Feiyan tried to sweep his legs.

Wu Yuan jumped—not high, but enough.

He turned in midair, twisting sideways, landing with one foot extended.

His toe touched Feiyan's shoulder.

They both froze.

Feiyan raised his hand.

"I yield."

The courtyard erupted.

Even Su Qing was speechless.

Her hand dropped from where she'd been ready to pull her son out of the fight.

And Wu Yuan?

He bowed.

Not in arrogance.

But in gratitude.

His breath came ragged, and sweat clung to his neck, trailing down like threads of effort. But at last, the storm within began to settle. His strength no longer surged blindly—it gathered, coiled deep within, patient, watchful… waiting.

Step by step…

He was learning to walk again.

And for the first time since waking in this world…

He felt truly alive.