Orin continued his daily cultivation in secret, weaving it into the quiet hours of his college life. At dawn, while his roommates snored under their covers, he sat cross-legged, drawing in the faint strands of Qi that drifted like mist in the air.
The Skin Strengthening Realm wasn't dramatic—it didn't give flashy powers or enhanced strength—but it changed his body in subtler ways.
He noticed it when he accidentally scraped against a rusted railing on campus. Where it should have torn his skin, it merely left a faint white mark that vanished minutes later. His skin was now dense, resilient, like tightly-woven armor beneath the surface.
Late one evening, he crept to the old athletics field under the excuse of "late-night jogging." There, in the shadows beyond the floodlights, Orin put his body to the test.
He sprinted barefoot across the track, leapt onto railings, dropped into pushups, then pounded his fists against a tree with gradually increasing force.
His skin held up.
"It doesn't hurt. Not even bruising. Skin strengthening definitely worked."
But strength? Speed?
Still ordinary.
Life didn't stop while Orin cultivated.
He still attended classes, submitted assignments, and worked on updates for his now-profitable mobile game. He still pretended to be just another college student—nodding at classmates, eating in the cafeteria, sleeping in his cramped bunk.
But every night, as the city hummed in the background, he closed his eyes and breathed in Qi from the dark. Bit by bit, it gathered within him.
Time moved quietly around Orin, but inside him, transformation brewed.
Every night, after the city lights dimmed and his dorm fell into slumber, he sat in silence. Breathing slowly. Drawing in strands of Qi. Letting them seep through his pores and settle into his skin like molten threads of steel being hammered and cooled.
Weeks passed.
His routine became clockwork—cultivate before dawn, attend classes by day, code during breaks, test his strength under the excuse of nightly jogging. Between it all, Orin's skin hardened, layer by layer, until even sharp gravel beneath his bare feet felt like mere pebbles.
The scroll had marked the realms: Lower. Middle. Higher. Peak.
And now—after months of persistence—he felt it.
A subtle sheen shimmered beneath his skin, visible only when the moonlight hit it just right. Like a silvery membrane woven under his flesh. His body tingled with resistance, not just to pain, but to pressure, cold, and heat.
He could now resist a knife's edge, and bruises that once lingered for days faded in minutes.
"I've reached the peak," he muttered one night, watching the bruises on his forearm vanish after he struck a concrete wall with full force. "Any more refinement will spill over into my muscles."
One day
Orin sat cross-legged in the shadows of the old gym, eyes closed, breath steady. His skin, now refined to the peak of the Skin Strengthening Realm, shimmered faintly with vitality, each pore seeming to breathe on its own.
Tonight felt different.
The Qi that entered his body didn't settle on his skin like usual. Instead, it sank deeper, slipping past the protective barrier he had forged over months. It pulsed into his muscles—fibers twitching, tightening—as if they'd been waiting all this time.
"It's happening," he whispered.
A warm pressure bloomed in his limbs.
It wasn't painful—but it wasn't comfortable either. The sensation was like stretching a muscle after long disuse, except it came from within. Tendons tugged, bones creaked softly, and his heartbeat grew louder in his ears as if echoing through his whole body.
With one final exhale, the Qi settled.
His veins glowed faintly for a heartbeat, and then—silence.
"I broke through. Lower stage of the Muscle Strengthening Realm…"
He stood slowly and clenched his fist.
The sensation was subtle but unmistakable. His arm felt charged, as if a coil had been wound tight inside. Not just resistant—but strong. Very strong.
By the next morning, Orin's appetite surged like a storm.
He devoured his breakfast—twice the usual amount—and still felt hungry by noon. That evening, he went out alone and ordered a full platter of grilled meat at a street-side diner. Chicken, mutton, beef—anything with protein.
"Qi shapes the body… but the body needs fuel too."
Cultivators weren't above biology. Muscle growth needed protein, minerals, and energy to keep up with the internal refinement Qi demanded. And Orin, now in the muscle stage, was burning through it fast.
He began prepping meals in his dorm using a portable grill. Eggs, chicken breasts, fish—whatever he could afford. His game money helped keep the fridge stocked.
His roommate joked, "Dude, are you training for a marathon or bulking up for a gym contest?"
Orin just smiled. "Something like that."
With every night of cultivation, his strength grew.
Pushups felt too easy. Jogging turned into sprinting. Lifting heavy chairs with one arm became normal. But he kept his changes subtle in public, holding back, never showing off.
Because the real goal was still ahead.
"Middle stage won't be far now. I'll need even more Qi… and maybe more supplements."
But It wasn't easy.
His game continued to grow, bringing in revenue and bugs in equal measure. Some days he skipped lectures, blaming "freelance work" or "stomach bugs." But in truth, he was chasing something far older than a diploma.
Yet he still submitted his assignments on time, still chatted casually with classmates, still walked the path of an average student by day.
But by night? He walked a different path.
But one thing was clear:
Orin's body was no longer ordinary.
And this world—hidden behind layers of modern illusion—was just beginning to show its true face.