After fifteen days of cutting through the dense forest, Qing Feng's steps did not falter. The thick canopy swallowed sunlight, leaving only faint glimmers between the leaves. His breath was heavy, his face pale, but his resolve was carved in stone: to survive, and to avenge the death of his parents slaughtered by the Flower Chained Sect.
At the end of his journey, he discovered a hidden cave behind thick bushes. A cold draft seeped from within, carrying traces of dense spiritual energy. "At last," he whispered faintly. With the last of his strength, he stepped inside.
---
Inside the Cave.
The cave was vast and shimmering. Carvings of dragons adorned the walls, radiating an ancient aura that pressed heavily upon the space. The pressure crushed against Qing Feng's chest, yet he pressed forward, choosing a stone as his meditation seat.
Once seated cross-legged, spiritual energy surged at him from all directions. His body trembled, blood seeping from his pores. Breathless, nauseated, he spat a mouthful of blood onto the stone, crimson against the cave's glow. Yet his eyes remained shut, his mind bound to a single goal: to break through to the second level of Qi Sensing.
Pure light swirled around him, orbs of radiance floating like miniature stars. He absorbed them relentlessly, though dark whispers crept into his ears: shortcuts to power lay in deceit and cruelty.
Suddenly, the space collapsed. The cave vanished, replaced by utter darkness. In that void, there was no air, no light—only bitter memories: the village aflame, his parents' screams, and the stench of blood.
From the darkness, a colossal eye emerged. Stars shimmered within its pupil, yet its aura pierced bone and marrow. Qing Feng's heart raced, his body frozen, unable to look away.
The eye shrank and vanished, replaced by the form of a massive dragon. Its scales glittered like constellations, each movement shaking the void. The dragon coiled around Qing Feng, its breath heavy as a mountain's collapse.
Qing Feng trembled, yet stood firm. He summoned the Willow Tree technique taught by his master, branches of will shielding him from the crushing weight. But under the dragon's gaze, that protection nearly shattered.
The dragon halted before him. Its voice was calm, cold, yet it struck his soul.
"Who are you?"
The surrounding void grew darker, as though the dragon swallowed all light and hope.
Qing Feng stood tall, posture steady. A faint smile touched his lips as he bowed with respect.
"My name is Qing Feng, Senior. I do not know why I am here. But I know you are a mighty being. This technique of balance was taught to me by my master."
The dragon's eyes narrowed with curiosity, as though weighing the truth behind the boy's words and the depth of his master's strength.
It lowered its head, breath chilling, mist clinging to Qing Feng's face.
"Who is your master, boy?" Its voice rumbled through the void. "Speak. Your life rests in my hand."
The weight of its gaze pressed down like a mountain. Qing Feng shivered, bones quaking.
The dragon's breath froze his throat dry. Swallowing hard, he bowed deeply.
"Senior, you wish to know my master?" His voice was steady despite his trembling body. "My master's name is the Willow Tree. He is my first teacher."
Lifting his gaze, Qing Feng looked upon the dragon with utmost respect.
The moment the name "Willow Tree" was spoken, the dragon burst into thunderous laughter. Its voice shook the darkness, cracks spreading through the void as each laugh struck like lightning.
"You said the Willow Tree?" Its eyes flared, half in disbelief, half in scorn. "So that old tree truly took a disciple. But why you? Too weak. Unworthy."
Qing Feng's eyes blazed with fury at the insult. His glare burned like embers ready to consume the dragon itself. The dragon's aura pressed harder, reopening wounds on his face until fresh blood streamed.
"Senior," his voice shook yet rang loud, "even if I lack talent, is that all that defines a cultivator's path? Hahaha!" His laugh burst forth, sharp and defiant. "Don't think you reign alone. You are not the mightiest in this universe. Someday, perhaps I will surpass you."
A faint smile accompanied his words, contrasting with his body on the brink of collapse.
The dragon's fury surged, scales trembling, light gathering at its fangs. The void quaked, destruction imminent.
But suddenly, carvings upon the cave walls blazed behind Qing Feng. Golden light erupted, merging into the phantom of a colossal dragon. Its scales blazed like the rising sun, its aura divine, smothering all darkness.
The dark dragon's gaze faltered. "The Dragon Emperor's Phantom...? Impossible! How could a weak boy awaken these ancient carvings? Could he truly have deciphered the cave's legacy?" Shock and fear warred in its thoughts.
Its eyes narrowed, locking onto Qing Feng with disbelief. Breath after breath weighed heavy, yet its gaze no longer brimmed with rage—but wonder.
"Boy," its voice echoed, more questioning than threatening. "When you first arrived… you truly had no idea what awaited you?"
Qing Feng bowed deeply, his voice polite though his body shook.
"That is true, Senior. When I stepped inside, I did not know why I was here."
Simple words, yet the golden phantom behind him made them resound with far greater weight.
The dragon listened, then laughed, its rumble splitting the void like thunder.
"So that's it…" its gaze pierced Qing Feng's heart. "That old tree truly chose you. Hmph, most intriguing."
Qing Feng's heart pounded. The dragon's expression was unreadable—mockery, knowledge, or a hidden truth.
Then, a faint smile curved the dragon's lips. Its voice thundered with authority.
"Boy, give me your name. Mine is Qin Ziyan—that is what the world calls me."
Qing Feng bowed low, chest trembling under its aura.
"Senior Qin Ziyan, my name is Qing Feng. My first master is the Willow Tree… I am but a village boy, victim of the Flower Chained Sect's massacre."
His voice quivered, yet his eyes burned with unyielding fire—grief and vengeance entwined.
Qin Ziyan coiled majestically, scales glimmering like stars forming a throne. His movements slowed, lowering his divine might to converse with a mortal.
"Very well, Qing Feng. Let us talk. I want to know what made that old tree choose you."
Qing Feng froze, stunned. For the first time, a dragon—supposedly a legend—spoke to him as though they were equals. Awe and fear tangled within him.
---
Twenty Hours Later.
After recounting his past, Qing Feng's calm face darkened again with sorrow. Memories of his father's death, his mother's fall, resurfaced painfully. His chest tightened, tears nearly fell in the void.
Qin Ziyan was silent. Witnessing the boy's wounds reopen, regret stirred within him. For a rare moment, his divine aura faded, replaced by remorse.
"Qing Feng… forgive me," his voice heavy yet gentle. "I did not mean to reopen your pain. Thank you for sharing—now I see why the Old Tree chose you."
Looking into the dragon's sincere eyes, Qing Feng no longer saw threat, but truth. A faint smile lifted his lips; trust began to form.
As he rose, Qin Ziyan's body erupted in radiant light. His scales glowed gold, as though dissolving into eternal night.
Realizing his time was near, Qin Ziyan opened his maw. From his throat, a shining token emerged, hovering before floating to Qing Feng.
Stunned, Qing Feng reached out. The moment the token touched his palm, an ancient majesty engulfed him, heart racing as though he held a legacy of ages.
"Qing Feng," Qin Ziyan's voice echoed, serene yet commanding, "that is my sect's token. If one day you reach the Realm of Dimensional Dwellers, or ascend to the Immortal plane, come to my sect—Dragon Mystical Sect."
Then, another token emerged, sharper in aura, boiling with latent power.
"From this day, you are not only the Old Tree's disciple," Qin Ziyan declared, "but mine as well. My first legacy to you: Dragon Fist Technique. But heed this—use it only in the Body Forging Realm. Wield it wisely."
His glow dimmed further. Qing Feng clutched the tokens, overwhelmed by awe, respect, and newfound resolve.
As Qin Ziyan's final light faded, Qing Feng stood rigid, bowing deeply with arms extended. Silence reigned, as though the heavens themselves witnessed his vow.
"From this day forth," he proclaimed, voice trembling with conviction, "I, Qing Feng, disciple of the Willow Tree and Qin Ziyan, the peerless dragon, swear by my soul and blood to one day stand at the gates of the Dragon Mystical Sect, carrying my masters' names to the heavens!"
The words echoed not only through the void but also into his very spirit, etched into his soul.
Cracks of light split the darkness. The illusion shattered. Qing Feng clutched the tokens, bewildered yet burning with newfound determination.
---
Back in the Cave.
His awareness snapped back to his real body, still seated cross-legged upon the stone. Yet now his body blazed like an eternal torch. Spiritual energy erupted, piercing the cave roof, rising into the heavens as a pillar of light that reached beyond sight.
The pillar trembled, its echo resounding across the world: a cultivator had broken through to the second level of Qi Sensing.
Qing Feng's face was clean of blood, his breath steady. His eyes opened sharp and gleaming, a new strength coursing through his meridians.
"Qi Sensing, second level…" he whispered, relief mingled with fiery resolve.
He rose, the once-oppressive cave now vast and clear. With steady steps, Qing Feng left behind the dragon carvings and shadows. Yet within his heart, the names of his masters—the Willow Tree and Qin Ziyan—burned as an eternal flame.
---
Outside the Cave.
Emerging, Qing Feng prepared to continue through the Valley of Death's forest. But he halted.
Before him, the air rippled and bloomed into radiance. A luminous circle unfolded, dazzling, layer upon layer until nine rings shone in succession. Each radiated an ancient might, as if embodying heaven's law beyond mortal reach.
Qing Feng's eyes widened, heart thundering. Instinct screamed caution, but his soul was drawn. Breath held, he reached out.
The instant his fingers brushed the light, a voice resonated within his soul.
"Now, the Heavenly Emperor's legacy is yours. There are nine stages to this inheritance. If you wish to ascend, seek the path yourself."
The voice faded, but its echo pulsed in his chest. The circles sank into his body, vanishing without trace.
Qing Feng stood still, lips curling into a slow smile. His eyes gleamed—not only for breaking through, but for bearing a legacy beyond imagination.
"Flower Chained Sect… Yan Clan…" his voice low, resolute. "This blood debt, I shall repay with blood."
With unwavering steps, he pressed deeper into the Valley of Death. No longer just a wounded disciple, but now—the heir to the Heavenly Emperor.