The silence following Fang Yao's defeat was suffocating.
Zhen Wuji stood alone at the center of the ring, the broken tiles beneath his feet still trembling from the impact of his blow. Dust settled slowly. The arena, once filled with the lazy chatter of outer sect disciples and sneers from arrogant youths, was now frozen. Even birds had stopped chirping.
Only the dull groan of Fang Yao, unconscious and bloodied on the ground, filled the void.
"How… how is that possible?" someone whispered.
"He doesn't even have Qi… That strength... it's absurd."
The examining elder narrowed his eyes. His casual indifference was now gone, replaced by a sharp glint of suspicion. "What method did you use?" he asked, voice clipped.
Wuji met his gaze with cold calm. "A body tempering method."
"Body tempering? Without Qi? Do you take me for a fool?"
"I didn't ask you to believe," Wuji replied.
Murmurs spread again. In the Three-Scars Sect, physical cultivation was largely considered outdated. Even the few who followed body paths still used Qi as the foundation. Someone like Zhen Wuji, without a trace of spiritual energy, standing victorious in the first round—it wasn't just abnormal, it was provocative.
"You…" the elder finally said, "advance to the second trial."
Wuji walked off the stage as several stunned candidates parted before him.
From the crowd, Lin Yanyu watched him quietly, her expression unreadable.
The trials continued. Most were predictable—talented youths from side branches of noble families advancing easily, their refined Qi cultivation granting them smooth control and enhanced strikes. A few commoners passed by sheer tenacity or luck.
Wuji, meanwhile, sat alone in a corner, cross-legged and silent.
He wasn't meditating—he was feeling.
Beneath his skin, his bones hummed. His blood surged in rhythm with his breath. The [Heaven-Crushing Titan Body Scripture] was still circulating, even when still. Each breath refined his marrow. Each heartbeat compressed muscle fiber tighter.
He had only completed the First Engraving. But his body was already becoming something else.
The second trial began before dusk.
It was a simple challenge: strike the Stone Origin Pillar and register a force above the set threshold. This was a standard tool for gauging raw strength—most outer sect candidates averaged around 300–500 jin, while elite ones surpassed 700 jin.
When it was Wuji's turn, several laughed.
"No Qi again. Maybe he broke Fang Yao by luck."
"This will be fun to watch."
The examiner nodded toward the pillar. "Strike."
Wuji walked up.
The pillar loomed before him—ten feet tall, forged from Origin Steel, reinforced with spirit runes to gauge impact through vibration depth.
He took a stance.
He exhaled.
Then punched.
BOOOOOOM.
A deep echo rang through the valley. The entire base of the pillar sank an inch into the earth. Dust exploded outward.
The runes lit up—
1380 jin.
The crowd erupted.
"What?!"
"That's… that's beyond the seventh refinement layer!"
"Without Qi?"
Even the examiner took a step back, expression now truly shaken. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Finally, he said stiffly, "You pass. Next."
Wuji stepped aside.
Now, none dared look down on him.
The third trial was not of force—but of endurance.
The participants were led to a massive ravine where spiritual wind constantly roared. It was known as the Wind Abyss—a natural formation where spatial winds howled day and night. Candidates had to endure its pressure for as long as possible. This test separated mere brawlers from true cultivators, as it required inner resilience and control.
Dozens failed within minutes.
Some lasted half an hour.
Wuji stepped in.
The wind hit him like knives. Spiritual pressure cut across his skin, shredding clothes and biting into flesh. The Qi cultivators deflected it with energy barriers or breathing techniques.
Wuji had none of that.
So he stood, and let it cut.
He bled.
But he endured.
The pain was immense—but to his body, it was training. Each blade of wind stimulated his nerves. Each cut sent regenerative pulses across his limbs.
He lasted an hour.
When he stepped out, his torso was laced with shallow cuts—but his body had grown visibly firmer. His skin had begun adapting. Thickening.
The examiner looked at him now like he was looking at a monster. "Pass," he said shortly.
Wuji nodded and walked away.
That night, the qualifying list was posted.
Out of nearly two hundred candidates, only twenty-three passed.
Wuji was last on the list—not because of his score, but because he had no background, no clan, and no Qi cultivation. Some elders still believed he cheated, or was hiding a secret treasure.
But rules were rules. And his strength was real.
He was now an outer disciple of the Three-Scars Sect.
As he returned to the temporary quarters for newcomers, Lin Yanyu appeared from the shadows.
"You passed," she said with a faint smile.
"You already knew I would."
"You're reckless," she replied. "There's no way the higher-ups won't take notice. That kind of power without Qi... it's threatening to their system."
"Let them be threatened."
She sighed. "You'll need allies."
"I'll survive."
"I'm not so sure," she said, eyes narrowing slightly. "Tomorrow, you'll receive your uniform and dorm assignment. That's when they'll start testing you. Watch out for the second and third-tier disciples. Many of them are from the Three-Scars inner circle."
Wuji nodded. "Thanks."
She hesitated. "Why are you doing this?"
He turned toward the moon.
"To prove that a human doesn't need fate, fortune, or bloodline to reach the peak," he said slowly. "I will forge a body that denies the heavens. I will walk a path that doesn't kneel to any Dao."
She looked at him for a long moment.
Then she smiled.
"I hope you make it, Zhen Wuji. I really do."
The next morning, he received his robe—a coarse gray uniform with the Three-Scars insignia embroidered in black on the sleeve. He was assigned to Ash Branch, a rundown wing of the outer sect reserved for orphans, servants, and rejects.
The rooms were barely livable. The training ground was cracked, the spiritual stones provided were the lowest grade, and the disciples wore expressions of constant despair.
But Wuji was satisfied.
He did not need spirit stones.
He did not need comfort.
All he needed… was resistance.
Each night, he trained under moonlight.
He advanced the [Heaven-Crushing Titan Body Scripture] into Pulse Forging. He controlled his blood flow, pressurized his heartbeat, and enhanced circulation speed.
His fists could now crack solid stone.
His bones had become tougher than ironwood.
And he was just beginning.
But the sect had begun to stir.
Rumors spread like wildfire.
"A mortal without Qi crushed Fang Yao."
"They say his body weighs more than a spirit beast."
"Some elders want to test him."
By the end of the week, a message came.
He was summoned.
By an Inner Disciple.