"…Wake up… Wake up… WAKE UP, YOU FILTHY PEASANT!"
Kira heard someone screaming at her.
She opened her eyes groggily.
"What do you want? Are you a rooster? Why are you waking me like this?" the rudely awakened Kira asked, staring coldly at the irritated young woman.
"If I'm a rooster, then you're a disgusting swine," the angry girl retorted. "I am Kresa, second daughter of Lord Shira from the Southern Dragon Valley," she added with pride.
"Is that supposed to tell me something?" Kira asked, unimpressed.
She could see a mixture of emotions on Kresa's face—predominantly anger and disgust, with a hint of wounded pride.
Kira smiled at her reaction, which only infuriated the noble girl more.
"I want you gone. I refuse to share a room with a peasant," Kresa spat.
"Too bad for you. Your precious noble titles are worthless here, so nobody—especially me—cares what you want," Kira said dismissively as she got out of bed, leaving the fuming Kresa behind as she stepped out of their quarters.
Kira stopped for a moment, taking in the sight. It was the first time she saw the quarter area in daylight. Countless small dwellings stretched out around her. In the distance, the beautiful Library stood proudly. Behind it, the nine mountains reached for the sky, wrapped in clouds.
It was still early. Few disciples were out. The crisp morning air filled Kira with unexpected energy.
She started walking along the plastered road, passing quarter after quarter, heading toward the river.
After half an hour, she reached the riverbank. The sight stole her breath. It looked like a painting—stretching from horizon to horizon, the crystal-clear water revealed every stone beneath its surface. Fish darted below, and the thick, vibrant vegetation lining the banks rustled gently in the breeze.
Kira wandered along the river for a few minutes until she found a secluded spot—a quiet little bay with no current, hidden from prying eyes.
She stripped off the rough rags she called clothes, now standing completely naked. Her fingers traced some of the scars she'd gotten from beatings—by other orphans or the adults who caught her stealing food.
A chill ran down her spine. Her malnourished body offered little warmth. Despite that, she had grown tall for her age—172 cm at nearly sixteen. She looked down at her barely noticeable breasts. She had never liked her body—tall, slender, flat-chested. Other girls had curves, softness. She only had angles and bones.
"Why can't I be as beautiful as them?" A wave of melancholy washed over her.
Strangely, Mizu came to mind—with her flawless skin, hypnotic curves, and large breasts.
"Heavens, why is she so beautiful?" she wondered, her insecurities drowned in thoughts of Mizu's body.
She smiled, but the warmth in her belly vanished as a gust of wind disheveled her already messy ebony hair.
Kira picked up her old rags from the sandy ground and folded them as neatly as she could. She held them like a precious treasure.
She stared at them as she walked toward the water, the cold sand between her toes sending shivers up her spine. Those rags were the only thing she had owned for as long as she could remember. How many tears and how much blood had they absorbed? She couldn't recall.
"Why am I sentimental about some stupid old clothes?" she thought. "They represent my old life—Kira the Orphan. Kira the Nothing."
A single tear welled up in the emerald of her eye.
"Today, Kira the Orphan dies," she whispered, wiping away the tear one last time with her old companion. She threw the rags into the river, far enough that the current would carry them out of sight.
"Today, Kira the Cultivator rises." She stood there, naked and newly born.
Kira stepped into the icy water, ignoring her body's instinct to flee from the freezing cold. She let herself fall, immersing her entire body.
There it was again—that feeling. That foreign energy washing over her skin.
After cleaning herself, she returned to shore.
From her bag, she took out her sect robes and marveled at the fine, simple clothing. She threw them on—the clothes of a cultivator. The quality of the fabric was almost wasted on such a plain design. Many noble girls would go mad seeing such luxury used so modestly.
Kira chuckled.
She looked at her reflection in the water. The white robes hung loosely on her frame, leaving room to grow. A simple blue belt completed the look of an outer disciple.
She gave herself a little twirl, basking in the finest clothes she had ever worn.
Staring at her reflection, she muttered, "This is your only chance to achieve something. To escape a mundane life."
"I will kill you if you fuck it up," she told her distorted reflection.
She pulled the Thunder Storm Tempering method from her bag and began to read. The technique began with an explanation of the concept of body tempering.