The wind on the mountain was cold that morning, but Ye Zhen was sweating buckets.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Barefoot, shirtless, arms wrapped in thin cloth soaked through with blood, he moved like a storm through the withered forest clearing behind the Broken Heaven Sect's old shrine.
Step. Twist. Palm strike. Pivot. Elbow. Duck. Leap. Knee. Parry. Roll. Stomp. Break.
There was no spiritual light, no flashy moves, no grand techniques. Only flesh, bone, and pure violence.
"Eighty-seven… eighty-eight…" he gasped.
Behind him, Master Cang Wuyou sat cross-legged on a broken statue of some forgotten immortal, sipping from his gourd and watching with one eye open.
"Your footwork's still trash. You want to trip into your own grave, or should I dig one for you first?"
Ye Zhen spat on the ground.
"Maybe if someone taught me a real cultivation method"
A saber came whistling through the air like a meteor, embedding itself in the rock beside him.
"Real?" Master Cang's voice thundered. "I gave you thirty-seven martial arts manuals, three palm styles, and that useless-looking footwork technique that lets you dodge lightning!"
"Yeah, but..." Ye Zhen panted. "I'm still stuck at Skin Manifestation. I'm basically just… a muscular mortal!"
"Good. Mortals learn not to be idiots. Cultivators get arrogant."
Ye Zhen muttered something about old men and dementia, then picked up the saber. It felt heavier today. Or maybe his arms were just jelly.
"What's this one called again?" he asked.
"Thousand Deaths Waltz," Cang said. "Invented it while drunk. Don't die practicing it sober."
Present Day!
Two days later, Ye Zhen stood at the base of a cliff.
Above him rose a series of steps carved into the rock leading to the elegant jade gates of the Cloudveil Sword Sect.
He had a single robe, one scroll (his transfer token), and a tattered saber tied to his back with fishing line. No Qi signature. No spiritual root awakened. Just a calm gaze and sore knuckles.
A junior disciple at the gate scoffed when he approached.
"Outer disciples use the side gate."
Ye Zhen squinted. "You guys have gates?"
"What?"
"Never mind." He handed over his token. The scroll opened, glowing faintly. The guard's face froze.
"This… is a personal transfer seal from wait, Broken Heaven Sect? That place still exists?"
Ye Zhen grinned.
"Barely."
Cloudveil was beautiful, Ye Zhen had to admit.
White pavilions perched on floating terraces. Disciples flew on swords like lazy birds. Qi in the air was rich, dense, and tinged with silver. Swords hummed on racks as if alive.
Ye Zhen stifled a yawn.
Then he was led to the Outer Disciples' Assembly Courtyard, where other new arrivals were grouped. Fresh faces. Cocky grins. Fancy robes. Glowing skin. Everyone leaked Qi pressure like perfume.
A cultivator in sleek robes and an arrogant smirk stood at the center. His voice carried easily:
"This year's new disciples must duel for placement," he said. "The winner of each match advances. The loser mops the toilets."
Laughter.
The elder waved at Ye Zhen.
"You. Scruffy one. You're not even leaking Qi. You'll go first."
"Against who?" Ye Zhen asked.
"Me," said a handsome young man who stepped forward, flipping his hair. "Name's Lin Fan. Sword path. Core Awakening realm."
Ye Zhen raised an eyebrow. "Cool name. Sounds like a fanboy."
Lin Fan narrowed his eyes. "I'll try not to break your ribs."
"I'd say the same," Ye Zhen said, stretching. "But honestly, you might break your own wrists trying."
Gasps echoed from the courtyard. Several female disciples giggled. Lin Fan's eye twitched.
"Begin!" the elder barked.
Lin Fan lunged like lightning, sword flashing silver. Most disciples couldn't even follow the motion.
Ye Zhen stepped to the side, so casually it looked like he wasn't trying.
CLANG.Lin Fan's sword hit air. Then it hit ground. Then it went flying.
Because Ye Zhen's palm had already slammed into his chest like a boulder falling from heaven.
The move was ugly. Clunky. It didn't look refined at all.
But Lin Fan coughed up blood and flew ten feet before collapsing.
Ye Zhen stood over him, rubbing his wrist.
"That was the Lame Heaven-Slapping Palm," he said to no one in particular. "Trademark pending."
Silence.
Then:
"...He doesn't have a cultivation base how did he..." "What sect uses palms like that?" "Is… is Broken Heaven Sect… actually not a joke?"
Up in the rafters, a white-clothed girl with cold eyes and a sheathed sword hanging at her back watched from above. She narrowed her gaze at Ye Zhen.
"Interesting," she whispered. "That wasn't Qi. That was pure… force."