The sun had barely risen when Li Yao finished washing away the sweat from his dawn training. His robes clung damply to his frame as he changed into a fresh set- simple, gray, and practical- before heading toward the herbal fields. The axe he'd practiced with the night before rested by the door of his hut, faint scorch marks along its handle a quiet testament to the strain it had endured.
Though his body was invigorated by the Crimson Cleave technique, Li Yao felt the mental fatigue lingering. The night before, he'd fallen into a trance, lost in the rhythm of the axe. Each swing had felt guided, effortless, as if a deeper part of himself knew the motions before his conscious mind could catch up.
He hadn't used the Insight function of the Heavenly Observation System… yet somehow, it felt like he had.
"Was that… comprehension?" he muttered, recalling how the strikes had flowed from him like a river surging downhill. The System confirmed his instinct:
[Technique Mastery: Crimson Cleave – 38% Mastery]
That level of progress after just one night was astonishing.
What Li Yao did not know was that high above the herbal garden, hidden in the shadows of a withered willow tree, the old Deacon of the outer herbal garden had been watching him. Silent and still as stone, the Deacon's gaze had remained fixed on the young disciple, his eyes reflecting a depth of interest that would have surprised anyone who knew his reclusive nature.
By the time Li Yao finished his daily work in the garden, the sun had dipped below the horizon. The sky turned amber, then a dusky purple. He returned to his hut, too exhausted to train further. Though his body refinement lessened physical fatigue, his mind demanded rest. That night, he collapsed into bed without a second thought and drifted into a dreamless sleep.
The following morning, he woke early and ate a simple meal of steamed buns and spirit grain porridge in the outer dining hall. The familiar clang of dishes, chatter of disciples, and occasional thuds of sparring echoed in the background.
After eating, he returned to his cottage, closed the wooden doors behind him, and approached the axe resting against the far wall. He stared at it for a long moment.
"To raise my strength in a short time… this is the only path," he murmured.
Body refinement and qi cultivation would yield long-term power, but neither could increase his combat ability fast enough before the tournament. Crimson Cleave was his only realistic option.
He gripped the axe and stepped outside. As soon as his fingers wrapped around the haft, something shifted inside him. The moment the technique began, the world seemed to blur at the edges. His breath slowed and his limbs moved on their own. It was as though his mind stepped aside and let his body lead.
One swing. Then another. Then ten. Then a hundred.
By the time the sun stood high overhead, Li Yao had lost all sense of time. Sweat flew with every motion. His strikes split the air with a sharp whistle, each arc burning with inner heat. Crimson Cleave was a fire-element axe technique, one meant to be powered by the robust Fire Qi of Foundation Establishment cultivators.
Yet Li Yao's axe burned all the same, not with true flame, but with the fierce determination that had carried him this far.
Unbeknownst to him, Senior Brother Wei had come to check on him. Wei stood a short distance away, observing quietly from behind a hedge of spirit bamboo. He hadn't meant to intrude, only to speak with Li Yao about the technique. But when he saw Li's intense focus, he hesitated.
His eyes narrowed as he watched the rhythm of Li Yao's swings, the increasing sharpness of each cut, the smooth transitions between stances.
Wei's expression grew solemn.
"His comprehension is… frightening," he murmured.
Although Wei himself had never practiced the Crimson Cleave- his path was one of subtlety and healing- he knew the technique well. It was a Grade Two art, often reserved for Foundation Establishment cultivators in his clan. Not only did it demand exceptional strength, but it also required a fierce, stable flame-type qi to unleash its true potential.
"Most disciples wouldn't reach this level of mastery without the right cultivation level," Wei thought, eyes flickering with disbelief. "But Li Yao… accomplished this much in just two days?"
Wei clenched his fists at his side, the light in his eyes hardening into conviction.
He left quietly, not wishing to disturb the momentum.
Evening approached, and with it, the first golden rays of sunset streamed across the courtyard. Li Yao finally paused- not from exhaustion, but because he felt it.
A limit.
He sat down on a nearby stone and opened the System.
[Technique Mastery: Crimson Cleave – 62% Mastery]
"No more progress today," Li Yao muttered, frowning.
The rest of the technique, he knew, was inaccessible until he could wield fire-type Foundation Qi. Without it, the deeper stances would remain locked, and he would only be scratching the surface of Crimson Cleave's true might.
Still… sixty-two percent. It was more than he'd hoped for.
And yet, one truth troubled him.
"I have no combat experience," he admitted aloud.
He'd fought wild beasts. He'd encountered bandits, scavengers, and mercenaries on the road. But those had been crude brawls. He had never fought another trained cultivator, especially not one his own age. Cultivators who used footwork, timing, technique, and spell arts to kill with precision and decisiveness.
It was a different world. A world he was about to step into, untested.
Chuckling to himself, Li Yao looked toward the direction of the Herbal Garden.
"I guess I'll have to trouble Senior Brother Wei again."
But when he saw the angle of the sun, he winced.
"It's too late to visit today. I'll ask him tomorrow."
That night, Li Yao rested well. Despite his weariness, he felt a calm confidence settling in his chest. The next morning, he went straight to Senior Brother Wei's residence. The small house was surrounded by medicinal herbs and gourd vines, and a light smoke drifted from the chimney.
Wei opened the door after a few knocks, looking slightly surprised.
"Junior Brother," he said warmly. "I actually came to see you yesterday."
Li Yao blinked. "You did?"
"Yes. I came to your cottage, but… you were completely absorbed in your training. I didn't want to interrupt."
Li Yao flushed with embarrassment. "I didn't even notice. Apologies, Senior Brother."
Wei laughed. "No need to apologize. Seeing your dedication was enough."
After a moment of silence, Li Yao spoke again. "Senior Brother… I realized that despite everything, I lack real combat experience. Could we… spar? In secret?"
Wei nodded. "I had the same thought."
He gestured for Li Yao to follow. "There's a courtyard behind my residence. Quiet, private. No one will disturb us."
And so, from that day forward, Li Yao and Wei began sparring in secret. Each morning or evening, depending on their duties, they would meet and exchange blows-not with killing intent, but with full seriousness. Wei used a wooden staff, employing agile footwork and deceptive sweeps. Li Yao wielded his practice axe, heavy and steady.
Every clash of wood echoed like thunder in the quiet courtyard.
The sessions were grueling. Li Yao found himself knocked down again and again. Wei was stronger than he looked and far more experienced. But with each round, Li Yao learned: how to pivot, when to feint, where to strike.
Sometimes they exchanged words mid-fight. Other times, they simply breathed, letting the rhythm of battle teach them.
As the days passed, something remarkable happened.
Wei, who had been stuck at the ninth stage of Qi Refining for months, suddenly found inspiration. The pressure and intensity of their mock battles rekindled a fire in him he hadn't felt in years. During one particularly fierce exchange, Wei's body pulsed with spiritual light, and he broke through.
He had reached the perfect stage of Qi Refining.
Li Yao was astonished, but Wei only laughed. "Seems like teaching you taught me as well."
And so, the days flowed like this- training, working, sparring. Neither of them spoke much of the approaching tournament, but both could feel its weight in the air. Banners had already begun to rise across the sect, and stone platforms were being inscribed with new formations.
Then, on a clear morning, the day finally arrived.
The tournament had come.