Wei Feng sat cross-legged on the floor of his cave, the flickering shadows cast by the dim lanterns creating an eerie dance on the stone walls. His thoughts wandered back to the moment of his defeat at Zhou Kai's hands.
They thought he was some kind of prodigy, a genius of the Blood Stream Sect—a one-in-a-hundred-years talent, they called him. But the truth was different. Zhou Kai had completely outclassed him. Wei Feng could still recall the feeling of helplessness when Zhou Kai stood over him, eyes cold and calculating. He could have ended his life there and then, but he didn't.
The reason wasn't out of mercy. It wasn't out of pity. No, Zhou Kai had a different reason for sparing him. The sect wanted the red stone, not him. He had been nothing more than a pawn in their grand game. Zhou Kai had kept him alive, not for his sake, but because Wei Feng was the only one who could retrieve the stone for the sect.
His fists clenched at the memory.
Wei Feng leaned back against the cold wall of the cave, letting the silence fill the space around him. He had spent two years in this isolation, cultivating, reflecting, and forging his own path forward. As he sat there, his mind focused on his journey, a quiet philosophy took root in his soul—failure... reflect... learn... improve. Rinse and repeat.
He had come to understand that failure was not the end but the beginning. Every defeat, every setback, had been an opportunity for him to reflect, to extract feedback, and to refine his path. He thought back to Rotten Apple City—the destruction, the loss, the pain. It had all been fuel for his growth. He had learned so much from the destruction he had witnessed, especially about himself.
One thing had become clear: his body had always been a weakness. He was lean, but not strong. Scrawny, compared to the other disciples. The knowledge of bodybuilding was sparse in this world, but Wei Feng had an advantage. He had come from Earth, where fitness knowledge was far more advanced. He had brought modern techniques of muscle development with him into this world, adapting them to the unique challenges of cultivation.
He had used his body as a canvas, transforming it with squats, push-ups, dips, and bodyweight exercises that built muscle and increased his endurance. But he didn't stop there—he had found ways to use his environment to aid his progress. Rocks for weight training, trees for overhead presses, pull-ups using the thick branches—his methods weren't anything extraordinary, but they were consistent and effective. The result was a body that was now a far cry from the skinny, weak figure he once was.
As his muscles bulged with raw power, Wei Feng couldn't help but appreciate the irony. His strength, his physical form, had been something he had neglected for so long. Yet now, with the knowledge he had gleaned from Earth's bodybuilding practices, he had forged his body into the vessel for the power he sought.
But his training wasn't the only reward he had received from his time in isolation.
Wei Feng reached over to the small wooden table beside him, where two items lay: the golden pill and the black book.
Wei Feng's hands tightened around the golden pill and the black book as a surge of anticipation shot through him. He had come so far, endured so much, and now, these items—the pill and the book—were the final keys to unlocking his full potential. The golden pill, gleaming like a small sun in his hand, was meant to elevate his cultivation, pushing him past his current limits. But it was the black book, an enigmatic object of strange, shifting symbols, that held the real mystery. It wasn't just a collection of words—it was a gateway to power.
Without hesitation, Wei Feng swallowed the golden pill, the bitter taste lingering on his tongue for only a moment before it dissolved into his system. Immediately, his body seemed to tremble with a wave of energy, like an electric current surging through his veins. His vision blurred, and then, it was as if his entire mind was opening up to an infinite well of knowledge.
He saw flashes—blurs of movements, battles, and combat techniques that felt as though they had been imprinted into his soul. His mind raced through a storm of martial arts knowledge—stances, strikes, counters—all flowing into him at once.
Where once he had struggled with even basic martial skills, now the complex and fluid techniques seemed as familiar to him as breathing. He understood them, not just intellectually, but with every fiber of his being. The experiences of countless martial artists, the wisdom of those who had fought before him, filled his consciousness.
He went from someone with only basic, crude experience in combat to a master—a martial artist who knew how to fight, who knew every inch of the human body's weakness, and how to exploit it. His senses sharpened, and his body seemed to hum with energy. In an instant, he was no longer the weak, inexperienced disciple that had first entered the Blood Stream Sect. He had become a true martial artist.
Taking a deep breath, Wei Feng's hands now turned to the black book in his lap. It was still blank, the pages white and unmarked. He didn't hesitate. As he infused his qi into the book, the pages began to shimmer. Slowly, ink began to form on the empty sheets, lines of characters materializing from thin air. A technique.
His eyes widened as the letters took shape, forming into something clear and precise. The technique that appeared was called 7th Sense—a martial technique designed to heighten the senses and allow the practitioner to create counter techniques in real time, based on their opponent's movements. It was a style built on fluidity and adaptability. The user would instinctively form counters to whatever their opponent did, not relying on preconceived techniques or formulas, but simply using their mind and body in the most natural, efficient way possible.
7th Sense was designed to be used in melee combat. It allowed the practitioner to instantly perceive an opponent's intentions. For example, if an opponent was a striker—someone who relied on powerful punches and kicks—Wei Feng's mind would automatically generate a counter to those strikes. A grappling technique, a joint lock, a throw—anything that could neutralize the attack, created on the spot.
It wasn't just an offensive technique. It was about reading the battle, understanding your opponent's movements, and responding instinctively. The concept was elegant in its simplicity, but Wei Feng knew it would take years of practice to master the full breadth of the technique. Yet the possibilities it opened up were limitless.
Wei Feng closed the book slowly, the pages once again turning blank. His mind was still reeling from the new knowledge that had just flooded his system.
The golden pill had enhanced his attainment levels, turning him into a master of martial arts within the span of a few moments, and the black book had granted him a powerful technique that would shape his combat style from here on out. He felt as though he had been reborn—not just in body, but in mind.
As Wei Feng stood up, his muscles rippling under his robes, he felt the weight of the two items in his hands. This was no longer the path of a simple disciple. With the knowledge he had gained and the new technique at his disposal, Wei Feng was prepared to face any challenge that awaited him. No longer would he be the one who struggled in battle. He would be the one creating the battles, mastering them.
With a sense of calm determination, Wei Feng placed the black book down and took a deep breath. It was time to leave his cave—time to show the Blood Stream Sect what a real genius looked like. He wasn't just some lucky newcomer. No, he was something much more. And those who underestimated him would soon learn just how powerful he had become.