The evening bells had just finished ringing across Azure Sky Pavilion when Li Wuchen finally found himself alone in his small quarters, surrounded by the familiar yet increasingly inadequate trappings of his life as a servant. The events of the day—the spreading rumors, the defensive preparations, the gradual evacuation of non-combatants—had created an atmosphere of anticipation that seemed to press against the walls like gathering storm clouds.
But tonight, Wuchen was determined to resolve a question that had haunted him since his awakening: what would happen if he attempted to cultivate internal energy while bonded with the Supreme Demon Blade?
"This is inadvisable," Wuji warned, his mental voice carrying notes of genuine concern. "The incompatibility between cultivation and our bond is not merely theoretical—it represents a fundamental conflict that could destroy both of us."
"I need to understand," Wuchen replied silently, settling into meditation posture on his straw mat. "If I'm going to make informed decisions about my future, I have to know exactly what I'm giving up and why."
The conversation was interrupted by a soft knock at his door. Wuchen opened it to find Xiao Ming standing in the corridor, holding a small bundle wrapped in worn cloth.
"I brought you something," the younger servant said, glancing around nervously before stepping into the room. "I know you've always wanted to learn cultivation, and with everything that's happening... well, I thought maybe you should have the chance to try one more time."
He unwrapped the bundle to reveal a thin manual bound in faded blue silk—a basic cultivation text that Wuchen recognized as one of the primer volumes from the pavilion's library. Such texts were theoretically available to all sect members, but in practice, servants rarely had the opportunity or permission to study them seriously.
"Xiao Ming, where did you get this?" Wuchen asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.
"I... borrowed it from the library," the young man admitted, his face reddening with embarrassment. "I know it's not strictly allowed, but with so many people evacuating and the remaining disciples focused on defense preparations, I thought no one would notice if one basic manual went missing for a few hours."
The gesture was both touching and ironic—a friend risking punishment to provide him with knowledge that could literally destroy him if applied. Wuchen accepted the manual with genuine gratitude, careful not to let his conflicted emotions show on his face.
"Thank you," he said simply. "This means more to me than you know."
After Xiao Ming departed with earnest wishes for success, Wuchen examined the cultivation manual with his enhanced perception. What had once seemed like an incomprehensible collection of esoteric terminology and abstract concepts now revealed itself as a surprisingly sophisticated system for manipulating spiritual energy and refining the human body.
"Elementary, but fundamentally sound," Wuji assessed as Wuchen flipped through the pages. "This particular methodology emphasizes gradual accumulation and careful meridian development—probably the safest approach for beginning cultivators."
"Which makes it the ideal test case," Wuchen observed. "If I'm going to attempt cultivation, it should be with the gentlest possible technique."
"I cannot stress strongly enough how dangerous this experiment could be. The resonance patterns generated by cultivation create interference that could sever our bond permanently—or worse, create feedback loops that destroy your spiritual foundation entirely."
Despite the warnings, Wuchen felt compelled to understand the exact nature of the choice he had made. The manual provided step-by-step instructions for the most basic form of qi cultivation: gathering ambient spiritual energy, circulating it through specific meridian pathways, and gradually building a foundation of internal power that could support more advanced techniques.
He began with the preparatory exercises—breathing patterns designed to sensitize the practitioner to spiritual energy flows. The techniques were simple enough that even a complete novice could follow them, and Wuchen found himself falling into the prescribed rhythms with surprising ease.
"Stop," Wuji commanded sharply as Wuchen began to sense the faint traces of ambient qi that permeated the pavilion. "Even this preliminary awareness is creating resonance patterns that threaten our stability."
"I can feel it," Wuchen breathed, amazed by the sensation of spiritual energy for the first time in his life. It was like discovering a new sense organ—suddenly becoming aware of currents and flows that had always existed but remained completely imperceptible.
"And I can feel it disrupting the harmonic frequencies that maintain our connection. Please, cease this experiment before irreparable damage occurs."
But Wuchen was too fascinated by the newfound perception to stop immediately. For twenty-two years, he had been blind to the spiritual dimensions of reality that others took for granted. Now, for the first time, he could sense the subtle energies that powered every technique and ability he had ever witnessed.
He followed the manual's instructions for the next stage: attempting to gather qi within his lower dantian, the energy center located just below the navel that served as the foundation for all cultivation. The process required him to draw ambient spiritual energy inward and compress it into a stable form that his body could store and utilize.
The moment he began actively manipulating qi, the dagger concealed against his ribs became ice-cold, its temperature dropping so rapidly that he gasped from the shock. But more alarming was the immediate sense of wrongness that flooded through his consciousness—a discordant note that seemed to threaten the very fabric of his existence.
"STOP!" Wuji's mental voice exploded through his awareness with such force that Wuchen's eyes snapped open and his concentration shattered completely.
The accumulated qi dissipated instantly, leaving him gasping and disoriented on his mat. The dagger's temperature gradually returned to normal, but the sense of fundamental wrongness lingered like the aftertaste of poison.
"What happened?" Wuchen asked, his voice shaking with residual shock.
"Exactly what I warned would happen. The moment you began gathering qi, interference patterns formed that threatened to tear apart both your spiritual foundation and our bond. If you had continued for even a few seconds longer, the damage might have been irreversible."
Wuchen sat in stunned silence, processing the implications of what he had just experienced. The cultivation that represented the ultimate aspiration for everyone in the martial world was not merely forbidden to him—it was actively toxic, incompatible with his nature in ways that defied explanation.
"Why?" he asked finally. "I understand that you require a non-cultivating wielder, but why is the incompatibility so absolute?"
"Because cultivation is fundamentally about imposing human will upon natural forces, while I am those natural forces in their pure, unrestrained form. When you attempt to cultivate, you're essentially trying to control me—and I cannot be controlled without ceasing to be what I am."
The explanation provided clarity but no comfort. Wuchen understood now that his choice was not simply between different paths to power, but between entirely different modes of existence. He could be a cultivator or he could be the wielder of the Supreme Demon Blade, but he could never be both.
"There is more you should understand," Wuji continued, his mental voice gentler now. "The reason I rejected every previous potential wielder was not arbitrary preference, but necessity. Only someone who has never successfully cultivated can maintain the spiritual purity required for our bond."
"You mean I was always meant for this? That my inability to cultivate was actually preparation?"
"Destiny is a complex concept. Let us say instead that the pattern of your life—the struggles, the humiliations, the preservation of your essential nature despite years of hardship—created exactly the conditions necessary for us to find each other."
Wuchen looked down at the cultivation manual, its pages now seeming more like a catalog of forbidden knowledge than a guide to empowerment. With careful hands, he closed the book and set it aside, symbolically rejecting not just the specific techniques it contained but the entire worldview it represented.
"That choice requires enormous courage," Wuji observed. "Most people in your position would continue attempting cultivation despite the risks, unable to accept that their greatest strength lies in embracing apparent weakness."
"It doesn't feel like courage," Wuchen admitted. "It feels like... acceptance. Like finally understanding what I've always been, even when I didn't want to believe it."
The conversation was interrupted by distant sounds of commotion from the main compound—shouts of alarm, the rapid movement of many feet, and the distinctive hum of defensive formations activating at maximum power. Wuchen moved quickly to his small window, looking out across the pavilion to see disciples running toward the perimeter walls with weapons drawn.
"It begins," Wuji noted grimly. "Our enemies have decided that tonight is the time for direct action."
"The attack?"
"The opening moves, certainly. Though I suspect this will be another probe rather than their main assault—they want to test the sect's defensive capabilities before committing their full strength."
Wuchen watched as formations of disciples took positions along the compound's walls and towers, their spiritual energy creating visible auras of power in the darkness. From his limited vantage point, he could see at least thirty defenders moving with the coordinated precision of well-trained warriors preparing for siege warfare.
"Should I join them?"
"Not yet. Let us observe their capabilities and tactics before revealing our presence. Information gathered now will be invaluable when the real battle begins."
As the night deepened and the sounds of preparation continued, Wuchen maintained his vigil by the window while contemplating the irrevocable choice he had just made. By rejecting cultivation, he had burned the bridges that might have led back to a normal life within the martial world's hierarchy. From this point forward, his path would be unique—neither that of a traditional cultivator nor that of an ordinary mortal.
"You understand now why so few can walk this road," Wuji observed as they watched defensive lights flicker across the pavilion's walls. "It requires abandoning not just specific techniques, but the entire framework of assumptions that governs how power is understood and pursued."
"What comes next?"
"Next, we discover whether the choice was worth making. Tomorrow will bring tests that no amount of traditional cultivation could prepare you to face."
The cultivation manual lay forgotten on the floor beside him as Wuchen prepared for what might be his last night as an anonymous servant. When dawn came, the martial world would begin to learn that power could take forms that transcended every category they thought they understood.