Snow lashed the mountain in endless, screaming winds.
Disciples huddled at the mouth of the gorge, battered, bandaged, shivering.
Their breath rose in ragged white clouds that vanished in the storm.
Mu stood unmoving before them.
Snow gathered on his shoulders, never melting.
Black eyes swept the group like a blade across a butcher's table.
He didn't speak for a long time.
He let the cold eat at them.
Let them remember pain.
Finally, he lifted one hand.
Pointed at the ancient iron door set into the mountain.
The assistants slammed on it three times.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Locks scraped open from within, ancient and shrieking.
The door swung inward on screaming hinges.
A wave of rank, heavy Qi rolled out—hot and cold at once.
It smelled of earth, blood, old sweat.
Steam curled from cracks in the stone.
Faint green light leaked from veins in the floor.
The disciples shifted uneasily.
Eyes wide.
Some trembled visibly.
Mu's voice was cold.
Matter-of-fact.
"Your reward."
"A low-tier Qi cave."
"Ten hours. Use them."
He turned slightly.
Gestured them forward like a shepherd for slaughter.
"Each of you will take a separate chamber."
"You will be alone."
"No one will see how you succeed… or fail."
A murmur ran through the group.
Fear.
Hope.
Desperation.
Wei Lian's eyes narrowed slightly.
Alone was good.
Alone meant no witnesses.
Assistants began grabbing them one by one, shoving them toward branching corridors.
Old carved tunnels split off in all directions from the central chamber.
Some were wide enough for two.
Others only barely a man's width.
Flickering torches guttered in wall sconces, spitting oily smoke.
Each tunnel ended in a small stone room carved roughly from the mountain.
No doors.
No windows.
Just black walls and the reek of old Qi.
Wei Lian was the last.
He followed the assistant in silence.
Didn't resist as he was shoved down a narrow side passage.
His chamber was small.
Barely enough space to sit cross-legged.
The walls wept slow trickles of water that steamed where they hit the floor.
Greenish veins of Qi ore pulsed dully in the rock.
Their light was sickly, unwelcoming.
The air was thick, humid, stifling.
He set the old book before him with care.
Watched the symbols crawl and fade under the cave's weird light.
He ran a thumb across the blackened handprint on its cover.
He closed his eyes.
Breathed in.
The Qi here was foul.
It clung to his tongue like iron.
Settled in his lungs like smoke.
But it was Qi.
He inhaled deeper.
Drew it in like poison he planned to master.
The Human Root responded immediately.
It pulsed once in his dantian.
Slow.
Heavy.
Authoritative.
The Qi in the chamber fought him.
It squirmed.
Resisted.
Wanted to disperse.
He didn't let it.
He crushed it.
Forced it into his meridians.
It moved like mud, but it moved.
Slow, heavy, inevitable.
It settled in his blood like lead.
He opened the book.
Didn't need the light.
He could see the words in his mind.
Second Level: Bone-Toughening.
Break.
Heal.
Break again.
Let Qi forge iron from your bones.
He smiled.
A thin, bloodless thing.
No witnesses.
He balled a fist.
Drove it into the stone floor.
Flesh split.
Bone cracked.
He didn't scream.
Didn't pause.
Qi surged instantly.
It moved like molten metal.
Crawled into the fracture.
Filled it.
Sealed it.
Hardened it.
Pain seared through him.
His vision blurred at the edges.
He leaned into it.
Again.
And again.
Each time the crack was slower to form.
Each time the bone was harder.
His breath echoed off the walls in harsh gasps.
Blood splattered the floor.
Steam rose where it hit the glowing veins in the rock.
The Human Root pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
Demanding.
Guiding.
Rewarding.
It didn't shield him from pain.
It made him use it.
Pain was currency.
Strength the purchase.
He switched arms.
Knuckles tore open.
Bone cracked.
He forced Qi into every break.
It obeyed.
It knew the path.
It remembered.
By the third hour, his forearms were clubs of scar and scab.
Flesh ugly.
Dense.
Uncompromising.
He didn't stop.
He moved to his shins.
Slammed them against the wall until cracks sang in his bones.
He let Qi fill them.
Thicker.
Stronger.
Unyielding.
The book watched him from the floor.
Symbols writhed and settled.
It approved.
He felt it then.
A barrier.
Thin.
Cracked.
He pushed.
Qi roared.
The barrier shattered.
Fourth layer of Qi Refinement.
He didn't even pause to celebrate.
He was greedy.
He drew in more Qi.
Pulled it in slow, relentless drags.
Others might be choking on it in their chambers.
He devoured it.
He cycled it through every meridian.
Pressed it into bone.
Into blood.
Into breath.
Pain was constant.
White.
Blinding.
He laughed once.
A low, broken sound.
It echoed back at him, mocking.
He slammed his shin again.
Watched the rock crack under him this time.
Not just his bone.
Blood dripped freely.
The Human Root pulsed approval.
Qi obeyed instantly.
He felt the second barrier swell before him.
He grinned.
Showed cracked teeth.
He pushed.
It gave.
Shattered like thin ice under a boot.
Fifth layer.
Qi flooded his dantian, heavy as a mountain.
It settled.
Perfect
He exhaled.
Steam poured from his mouth like a forge.
Blood steamed off his arms and legs.
Crusted instantly.
He lowered his hands.
Looked at them.
Not pretty.
Ugly.
Real.
Stronger.
He felt it in every movement.
Bones didn't creak—they groaned like iron bars.
Scars were thick as armor.
He closed the book.
Symbols on the cover went still.
Silent.
Satisfied.
He sat in the stink of blood, sweat, old Qi.
Listening to his own slow heartbeat.
Letting the Human Root purr in cold approval.
When the assistants came to bang on the walls, calling time, he rose.
Slow.
Deliberate.
He picked up the book.
Turned without a word.
Walked back up the tunnel.
No one saw what he'd done.
No one heard his screams.
No one watched him become something else.
He stepped into the cold air outside.
Snow hit his face like knives.
He didn't flinch.
Because he wasn't the same boy who walked in.
Not anymore.
And he never would be again.