The sun had barely risen over the academy, yet the training fields were already alive with movement. Students stretched, sparred, and meditated, preparing for the day's lessons.
Si Yue arrived early, as always. Discipline was the key to strength, and she wasted no time with distractions. She made her way to the courtyard, where she preferred to train in peace—only to pause mid-step.
There, in the same courtyard she used to avoid because of him, sat Mel Long.
And he was training. Properly.
Her first instinct was disbelief.
Mel Long? Training? Seriously?
In the past, this courtyard had been his personal lounge—a place where he would sprawl lazily beneath the shade, throw around extravagant boasts, and waste time pestering people, her included. She had spent countless hours frustrated by his interruptions.
But now…
She found him sitting in perfect meditation, his breathing steady, his posture firm. The air around him seemed to pulse with controlled energy as he guided his Qi through his meridians.
He's actually stabilizing his breakthrough, she realized. Not just sitting there for show.
It wasn't just that. Everything about him was different.
His normally arrogant smirk was absent, replaced by a look of focused determination.
His robes were neatly arranged, instead of carelessly worn like a spoiled heir flaunting wealth.
He didn't even acknowledge her presence—not out of rudeness, but because he was completely absorbed in his training.
Si Yue frowned.
"He's… actually serious?" she muttered under her breath.
That alone was strange enough. But what caught her attention next was the zither.
Set beside him, carefully positioned, was a beautifully carved zither. A refined instrument, something she had never associated with him before.
Before she could turn away, he shifted, lifted his hands to the strings, and played.
The sound was calm, controlled, yet full of depth. A melody that wove through the courtyard like a whisper, its notes resonating with the natural energy around them.
She felt it immediately.
The way the vibrations aligned with the pulse of Qi in the air—the way his cultivation harmonized with the music, refining his energy with an elegance she had never expected from him.
Si Yue's fingers twitched slightly. That's not something a beginner could do.
She had spent years training, refining her own discipline—and yet, in that moment, she felt a strange sense of unease.
How long has he been playing? Since when did he take cultivation this seriously?
Si Yue shook her head, dismissing the thought.
It doesn't change anything.
A few days of effort didn't erase years of wasted potential. Mel Long was still Mel Long.
…Right?
For the first time in years, she wasn't so sure.
And that realization bothered her.
——————————————————
The music faded, lingering in the air like the remnants of a half-forgotten dream.
Mel Long exhaled slowly, letting the resonance of the zither settle within his core. His fingers still tingled from plucking the strings, but it wasn't discomfort—it was balance.
This was the first time in years that his cultivation had felt stable.
His past self would have never understood the significance of this moment. He had once treated cultivation as an obligation, a birthright handed to him by virtue of his name rather than effort. In his past life, he had taken every shortcut, relied on pills and elixirs, and ignored discipline. He thought talent and wealth alone would carry him forward.
And then, he had watched his world crumble.
The fall of the Long Sect. The cold betrayal of the people he trusted. The sight of his father, beaten, shackled like a criminal, accused of crimes he never committed.
By the time he had realized his own weakness, it was too late.
He had survived on sheer rage and desperation, crawling through the ashes of everything he had lost. He had pushed himself beyond mortal limits, stepping into realms that few had ever reached—only to fall at the very end.
A hollow laugh escaped his lips.
Qi deviation. The irony still burned. After years of clawing his way through tragedy, of enduring suffering that no human should have to endure, he had reached the pinnacle of power.
And then, in his moment of triumph, his own body had betrayed him.
He had died alone. His final thoughts weren't of vengeance. Not even of regret.
Just exhaustion. A weary acceptance that he had given everything and still lost.
Not this time.
Mel Long opened his eyes, the clarity of his rebirth sharper than ever.
He was no longer the arrogant heir who had thrown away his potential. Nor was he the broken man who had been too late to save anything.
This time, he would not wait for disaster to come.
He shifted his focus back to his training.
He had one month. One month to change his foundation, to surpass his past self, to make it clear that the Mel Long of yesterday was dead.
His training had to be structured, efficient, and unyielding.
Foundation Stabilization
The Grade 7 breakthrough wasn't enough—he needed to consolidate his realm properly.
Used breathing techniques from his past life, refining Qi with near-perfect efficiency.
Combined this with his zither practice, using sound vibrations to harmonize his Qi flow.
The result? Faster energy refinement, greater control, and increased cultivation efficiency.
Resource Optimization
He also remembered some overlooked herbs and natural resources that most students dismissed.
Found a secluded area outside the academy where these herbs grew—a place his past self never cared to explore.
Crafted a custom regimen of Qi-nourishing supplements, allowing his body to absorb energy more efficiently.
The result? Gains an early cultivation advantage without relying on external pills.
Combat Precision Training
Unlike before, he didn't rush headlong into sparring—his past self had relied on brute force, but he knew now that technique mattered more.
Focused on footwork, counter-strikes, and efficiency—how to win fights without wasted movement.
Practiced against wooden training dummies, targeting precision rather than raw power.
The result? Even at a lower cultivation level, he would be able to outmaneuver a reckless opponent.
In his past life, he had learned an advanced technique too late, one that disrupted an opponent's Qi circulation in battle.
Now, he refined it early—adapting it to his current realm so it would be ready by the duel.
The result? A trump card for fighting stronger opponents.
In his past life, training had been an inconvenience—something he did only when necessary. He had treated his days at the academy as a joke, skipping sessions, flaunting his family name, thinking he could always catch up later.
Now?
Every day was a race against time.
He didn't just want to win against Guo Chen. He wanted to crush him.
Not out of revenge. Not out of pride.
But because this was the first step in proving that he was no longer that pathetic fool.
When he walked out of this academy, he would not just be another Long family heir.
He would be unstoppable.
And this time, when the tides of fate moved against him—he would be ready.