Chapter 7: A Monster's Progress
Six months slipped by faster than Fang ever imagined. She hardly recognized the girl she'd been before—all nerves and shadows, a bundle of scars dragging herself through every waking day. Turning fourteen came and went quietly, but the changes in her body were loud as thunder. She'd grown taller, sleeker, with strength stitched into her bones by agony and repetition. Every step was sharper now, cleaner. Sometimes she caught herself in the river's reflection and didn't flinch at the scars—they felt more like old medals than wounds.
Training didn't let up, not even at night. She'd run loops around the clearing until her lungs burned, then cool off at the river, shivering as warm firelight battled the cold rush of water. That balance, she started to realize, was reshaping her from the inside out. Every nightmare she choked down, every ache in her muscles, turned into a new layer of grit. Her eyes, once dull, now flashed with a kind of alertness she'd only seen in predators.
But the biggest leap wasn't just on the surface.
Her cultivation had exploded. Not crawled, not staggered—shot straight up like a spark catching the wind. At sunrise, she sat cross-legged by the training hut, a light shimmer dancing around her. The qi in her dantian wasn't a timid swirl anymore. It spun with purpose, winding tighter with power, bending the air in ways she could almost feel on her skin.
Master stood a ways off, watching. He didn't shout or interrupt, but the way his brow creased said plenty. His arms crossed, then uncrossed. He ran a hand through his wild black hair, looking anywhere but at her, that perpetual mask of nonchalance slipping, just a little.
Jealousy mixed with pride washed across his face. He looked deeply tired, but proud too—as if this pace of progress delighted and unnerved him in equal measure. She could almost see him wrestling with himself.
Fang opened her eyes. It was strange how calm she felt in that moment, considering how hard she'd fought for this.
"Master," she said, voice steadier than she felt. "Tenth stage. I did it."
He just stared, searching her face. Then he let out a long, heartfelt sigh that told her everything.
"…Of course you did," he finally grumbled, shaking his head. "Six months. Six months from a scrawny stray to the peak of Qi Gathering. I'm not sure if I want to laugh or weep into my soup. Heaven's really testing me, huh?"
Fang pressed the back of her hand to her cheek, brushing aside sweat. His banter usually made things lighter, but today something else simmered in the air. She'd wondered about this for weeks: just how unusual was her growth?
She asked him, almost afraid to break the silence. "Master… normally, how long does it take to reach the tenth stage?"
He didn't answer right away. The birds stopped singing. The breeze seemed to wait. Then he cleared his throat, putting on his serious teacher face—something he rarely bothered with.
"There are seven major realms," he said, voice low and careful. "Qi Gathering comes first. After that, each step gets harder—Meridian Opening, Core Creation, Soul Manifestation, Domain Shattering, then the realm where you scrape the heavens themselves. How many make it that far? Almost none. Core Creation alone swallows decades for most. Only the best push on. Maybe one in ten thousand sees Soul Manifestation. As for the top? Those are legends. The world hangs their stories on banners, but most cultivators never even sniff the third realm."
He flicked her forehead—softly, like a tiny punctuation mark—then crouched so they were almost eye level.
"You finished the first realm in seven months. Most spend their lives here and leave nothing behind but a few rumors. Some don't ever get close, no matter how desperate or lucky. What you just did—no one does that, not in a hundred years."
The weight of the words pressed down. Fang tried to process it. She'd always sensed something was off, but hearing it spoken out loud made her chest ache with a strange mixture of fear and excitement.
He kept going, voice softer. "You have something inside you that's supposed to be impossible—a perfect balance of Blessed Devil and Cursed Immortal roots. Your body eats up qi like a starving beast. You're cheating. And when you cheat this loudly, people are going to notice. Not all of them will have friendly intentions, understand?"
The warning sank in. She hadn't forgotten the feeling of being hunted, unseen eyes lurking just out of sight.
But Master wasn't finished. He massaged the bridge of his nose, half-laughing in spite of himself.
"I really am proud, Fang. You've done something most would call a miracle. Still annoys me. Honestly, you might outgrow me before you can drink wine legally, and then what? I'm the one who found you—I won't have you call me disciple."
Fang's lips twitched. She ducked her head, barely hiding a shy grin. "You don't have to worry. You gave me everything. Even when I was nothing."
He waved dismissively, but his smile gave him away. "Alright, enough mushy talk. If you're so set on being a monster, I'll train you like one. Tomorrow, we jump up a level—dual qi compression, more spirit baths. You don't get to rush ahead with a weak foundation."
He walked off, muttering about little demons and fate's sense of humor.
Fang stood there, watching him go. She wasn't that cowering child anymore. Power hummed quietly all through her body. This world had never planned for someone like her, and for the first time, she was excited to find out what came next.