The clash between Wang Chung and Mo Han sent shockwaves rippling across the valley.
Water erupted from the river's surface, rising like silver spears under the moonlight.
Wang Chung's breath came out sharp. His sword hand trembled slightly, the veins on his arm bulging as he tried to withstand the pressure of Mo Han's spiritual might.
Mo Han stood firm, calm, and unhurried. His black robes fluttered behind him, and his spiritual qi surged like an unbroken tide.
> "For someone in the Body Refinement Realm, your reflexes are impressive," Mo Han said quietly. "But you're still too weak to fight me."
He vanished.
Wang Chung barely had time to react. A glimmer of steel flashed in front of him. He ducked, turning his body sideways, and slashed upward instinctively. The two swords met — and sparks exploded again.
The force threw him several meters back. His boots dug deep furrows into the riverbank before he finally stopped, coughing blood.
> "Tch." Mo Han lowered his sword slightly. "Still alive."
Wang Chung straightened, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes were cold and unwavering.
> "Alive is enough."
The bead in his soul pulsed faintly, releasing a soft light that flowed through his meridians, purifying the chaotic qi within him. His aura, though still faint, grew more stable — refined.
Mo Han noticed it instantly.
> "Interesting. Your qi is… pure. Too pure. How did you achieve that?"
Wang Chung said nothing.
He stepped forward. His sword gleamed faintly under the moon, a simple iron blade that now carried the will of someone who refused to kneel.
Each swing he made was clean — no wasted movement, no fancy technique, only precision and killing intent honed through survival.
Mo Han parried easily at first, but something about the rhythm unsettled him. The boy's movements — though simple — grew sharper with each clash. Every failed strike taught him something. Every wound made him faster.
It was as if he were learning in the middle of battle.
> What kind of monster is this? Mo Han thought, his brows furrowing.
Their blades met again — and again.
On the tenth strike, Wang Chung pivoted mid-step, changing direction so quickly that Mo Han barely had time to react. The sword grazed his cheek, leaving a shallow cut.
A drop of blood slid down.
For the first time, Mo Han's expression darkened.
> "Enough!"
He unleashed his full aura. The forest shuddered. The water in the river split open from the sheer force.
Wang Chung felt the pressure slam into him like a mountain. His bones creaked; his legs trembled. His vision blurred.
But inside him, the bead pulsed harder — faster — brighter.
The refined qi surged through him like molten light, stabilizing his core. He forced himself forward, eyes sharp like a blade.
> "I won't fall here!"
He gathered every drop of strength, every refined breath of qi, and poured it into his sword. The blade trembled violently — then released a thin golden arc that cut across the night.
Shiiiing!
Mo Han's eyes widened. He raised his sword to block — too late. The golden light grazed his shoulder, burning through his robe and flesh.
The smell of scorched blood filled the air.
The light faded, and both men froze.
Mo Han stared at Wang Chung, a strange gleam in his eyes — a mixture of pain, surprise, and… admiration.
Then he laughed.
> "Not bad, boy. Not bad at all."
He stepped back, sheathing his sword. "If you live long enough, you might actually become someone worth fearing."
Wang Chung said nothing, his sword still raised, though his body trembled from exhaustion.
> "Relax," Mo Han said, his tone calm once more. "I'm not paid enough to die tonight. Consider this a warning. The Scarlet Sun Sect will come for you — and they won't send men as kind as me."
He turned and vanished into the mist, leaving only the faint echo of his voice.
> "Survive, Wang Chung. If fate allows it… we'll meet again."
The forest grew quiet once more.
Wang Chung dropped to one knee, panting heavily. His body screamed in pain, his meridians burning, but his heart… his heart was calm.
The bead's light slowly dimmed, settling into silence once more.
He looked up at the blood-red moon hanging over the river and whispered,
> "I'll survive. No matter what it takes."
The water flowed on — gentle, endless, and cold — carrying the reflection of a lone figure standing against the heavens themselves.
That night marked the moment Wang Chung truly began walking the path of the Celestial Immortal Emperor.