The sun hadn't yet dared to rise, but Lin Chen was already standing atop the jagged cliff behind the sect grounds.
Barefoot.
Shirtless.
Palms faintly aglow with pulsing inner Qi that shimmered like liquid gold.
The morning wind bit at his skin, but his grin was feral — sharp enough to cut the dawn itself.
"Alright, Lin Chen," he muttered, rolling his shoulders till his bones cracked like distant thunder.
"If you're going to survive the Hidden Trial… your slap technique needs to reach the next realm."
---
He drew in a slow, deliberate breath.
Qi gathered in his right palm, swirling, condensing — a storm begging to be unleashed.
SMACK!
His palm slammed through a thick wooden post. Splinters exploded like fireworks, scattering into the chilly wind.
Lin Chen clicked his tongue, unimpressed.
"Not enough. I need it sharp enough to slap a tiger into vegetarianism… permanently."
---
He turned to the next post — wrapped in black-scaled beast hide, reinforced with spiritual steel bands.
More Qi. Deeper this time.
Muscles coiled, tendons taut like drawn bowstrings.
SMACK!
The post trembled, groaned under the impact… but held.
Lin Chen's grin turned wicked, eyes glinting like cold stars.
"Closer. Maybe by the 3rd stage, I can slap a Nascent Soul cultivator bald and make him thank me for the haircut."
---
Hours bled away.
The once-silent cliff now echoed with the rhythm of destruction — broken posts lay scattered like corpses, cracked stones groaned underfoot, and even a few trees stood lopsided, their trunks fractured by stray blows.
Sweat ran down Lin Chen's spine as he wiped his brow with a calloused hand.
"Good… but physical slaps are just the start."
---
Cross-legged, he sank into meditation, spine straight as a spear.
Qi flooded his meridians, cycling faster, fiercer, until his dantian roared to life.
Inside that golden sea, the faint image of a colossal palm began to shimmer — radiant, majestic.
His unique technique was awakening.
Heavenly Slapping Arts: First Layer — Palm Like Thunder.
The air around him trembled.
Leaves nearby curled inward as if cowering from an unseen storm.
---
As the Qi whirled faster, his playful grin faded.
His face hardened — all edges, no softness now.
No more jokes.
No more smirks.
Only purpose.
"If I want to reclaim my throne… reclaim them…"
His fists clenched till his knuckles turned white.
"Then even my slaps must break through realms."
---
By midday, his muscles screamed in protest, every inch of his body sore and bruised.
But inside, his Qi had transformed — leaner, sharper, like a blade honed on the whetstone of pain.
He could feel it: that subtle shift.
His palms no longer just delivered brute force; they carried rhythm now.
A pulse.
Like thunder gathering before the heavens crack apart.
---
Back in his modest quarters, Lin Chen stood before a basin.
He poured a gourd of cool water over himself, the droplets hissing as they met his overheated skin.
Water trickled down, revealing the faint golden lines etched along his arms — marks of Qi tempering.
"One more day till the trial," he murmured, staring at his reflection.
"I've got the fee. Got the technique. All that's left—"
He grinned, teeth flashing like a predator's.
"—is to make the heavens remember the name Lin Chen."
---
Knock knock!
A voice called from outside.
"Brother Lin! Elder Mo has sent word! Final briefing before the trial. Please come to the pavilion before sunset!"
Lin Chen cracked his neck.
Each pop sounded like distant bamboo snapping.
"Perfect. Time to go hear how many creative ways I might die."
---
He dressed in fresh robes — black as midnight, trimmed with silver thread that caught the light like strands of moonlight.
At his waist, he belted on a plain sword — unadorned, but keen.
His fingers lingered on the hilt.
"Not planning to use you much… but better safe than sorry."
---
As he stepped out, the sect disciples parted like the Red Sea.
Where once they sneered and jeered, now they lowered their gazes, lips tight, spines stiff.
Even inner sect elites stepped aside, eyes shadowed with caution.
Lin Chen's crooked grin returned, old and familiar.
"From dog meat… to minor celebrity. Hah. Progress."
---
Meanwhile, Lin Chen arrived at Elder Mo's pavilion.
Hands clasped behind his back, his gait slow but unyielding — an emperor in disguise.
He eyed the structure with a smirk.
"Let's get this deadly briefing over with…"
His gaze sharpened, voice dropping to a low growl.
"Because tomorrow… the real game begins."
---
End of Chapter 11