The Azure Cloud Sect disappeared behind Lin Feng like a memory dissolving into mist.
High above, its golden rooftops gleamed faintly under the sinking sun, shimmering through the haze that clung to the mountain peaks.
For years, that sight had meant belonging.
Now, it was just a glittering cage on a hill.
"Expelled," Lin Feng muttered for what must have been the twentieth time. He adjusted the half-burnt strap of his travel bag and continued trudging down the endless stone stairway that spiraled through the cliffs. "Again."
His voice echoed in the cold air, bouncing off the mountainside. He sighed.
It wasn't as if being kicked out was new to him. This was the fourth sect that had deemed him too "reckless," too "unorthodox," or too "possibly insane."
Maybe, he thought, they weren't wrong.
The gourd of wine tied to his waist sloshed lazily with each step, teasing him with its soft, musical sound.
He looked down at it with narrowed eyes. "You'd better last longer than my patience."
"Complaining already?"
The voice came sharp as a sword unsheathing — cold, disdainful, and filled with a sense of superiority that made Lin Feng's eye twitch.
He stopped on the stairs and glanced around. "Oh good. I'm still hearing voices."
"You are speaking to Jin Jue, the Sword of the Heavens," the voice snapped. "Show some reverence, mortal."
Another voice rumbled in his skull, deep and primal, like thunder rolling across a distant plain.
"Hmph. You talk too much, sword. Let the boy breathe."
Lin Feng groaned. "And that must be the beast."
"Mo Xuan, King of Beasts," the second voice corrected him, sounding quite proud of itself.
Then came the third — a lazy drawl, slurred at the edges with drunken cheer.
"Names, titles, who cares… Got any more wine?"
Lin Feng pinched the bridge of his nose. "Wonderful. Three freeloaders in my head, and not one of you brought food."
"Food is for mortals," Jin Jue scoffed.
"So is stupidity," Lin Feng shot back. "You seem full of both."
That earned him silence — blessed, temporary silence — until Mo Xuan's low chuckle rumbled again.
"I like him," the beast spirit said. "He's got fangs."
Lin Feng trudged on, trying to ignore them, but the truth was impossible to avoid: the accident in the alchemy hut had fused three powerful entities into his body — a sword spirit, a beast core, and the drunken essence of some ancient immortal.
No sane cultivator would even attempt one spiritual fusion without divine guidance. He'd done three. Simultaneously. And survived.
The irony wasn't lost on him. The heavens didn't smite him because of arrogance — it was probably pity.
The sun was bleeding into the horizon by the time Lin Feng reached the bottom of the mountain. A soft golden light spilled over the world, tinting the forest ahead in shades of amber and crimson.
He stood there for a long moment, breathing in the air of freedom — and failure.
"Looks like it's just you and me now," he said softly, tapping the gourd on his belt.
The gourd made a faint glug in response, almost approvingly.
"You intend to survive on that pathetic mortal brew?" Jin Jue asked.
"You'd be surprised what desperation can ferment," Lin Feng muttered.
"Desperation ferments stupidity faster than wine," the sword spirit replied.
Lin Feng scowled. "Do all divine artifacts come with a personality problem, or am I just lucky?"
"You're alive. That's your luck."
He could almost hear Jin Jue smirk.
The path ahead led through a dense stretch of forest known as the Whispering Pines.
Tall, ancient trees towered above, their branches whispering secrets to each other as wind passed through them. Fireflies began to flicker between the shadows, and somewhere far off, the faint howl of a wolf echoed.
Lin Feng's steps slowed. His robes — still singed from the explosion — clung damply to his skin. The night air was growing colder, sharp with the scent of pine and earth.
He found a flat boulder beside the road and sat down with a long, weary sigh.
His stomach growled. Loudly.
"Dinner or wine…" he murmured. "Tough choice."
The gourd sloshed again, almost mocking him.
He sighed, uncorked it, and took a deep drink. The liquid burned like fire, sliding down his throat before blooming warmly through his chest.
Immediately, something inside him stirred.
A ripple of golden Qi danced beneath his skin — faint at first, then stronger. The tips of his fingers glowed briefly, tracing threads of light through the air.
"Interesting," Jin Jue murmured. "Your Qi pathways… they're corrupted."
"They're unique," Mo Xuan corrected. "Half-beast, half-sword, half… whatever that drunk fool is."
"One and a half halves makes a whole disaster," the drunken voice muttered sleepily. "But it'll do."
Lin Feng ignored them and focused inward. He could feel his dantian, swirling erratically — unstable, chaotic, yet alive.
A faint whisper echoed in his mind, mechanical and soft:
[Brew Breath Activated]
[Qi Circulation: 13%]
[Stabilization: Unpredictable]
"Huh," Lin Feng muttered, squinting at the invisible text floating before his eyes. "So I've got a built-in commentator now."
"It's the mark of the fusion," Jin Jue explained. "Your body has become an artifact of its own."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning every drink you take may make you stronger."
"Or explode you," Mo Xuan added cheerfully.
"Or drunker," said the third. "Mostly drunker."
Lin Feng sighed and leaned back against the rock. "Perfect. A cultivation system powered by hangovers."
The forest around him seemed to hum with life — crickets chirped, the wind rustled through leaves, and somewhere close, water trickled softly. He closed his eyes, just for a moment, letting exhaustion drag him under.
But rest never lasted long in the wilderness.
A sudden crack of a branch snapped his eyes open.
Then another.
Something moved in the darkness beyond the trees.
"Stay alert," Jin Jue warned, tone sharp.
"I smell fur," Mo Xuan growled. "And hunger."
Lin Feng slowly rose, scanning the treeline. The shadows shifted — and from within them, two golden eyes blinked open.
A low snarl echoed.
"Of course," Lin Feng muttered. "Because what's a peaceful night without being eaten?"
The creature stepped into view — an Ironback Wolf, its fur streaked with silvery plates that gleamed under the moonlight. Fangs as long as Lin Feng's fingers glistened with saliva.
It crouched, muscles tensing.
Lin Feng backed away a step, raising his hands. "Easy there, big guy. I'm not dinner. I'm barely a snack."
The wolf growled, lips curling.
"It's young," Mo Xuan said thoughtfully. "Tier-One beast. Not dangerous if you keep your distance."
"Define distance," Lin Feng whispered.
"Further than where you're standing," the beast replied.
The wolf lunged.
Lin Feng yelped, stumbling backward. His body moved before his mind caught up — instinct and panic guiding his hands. He grabbed his gourd and swung it upward.
The beast's claws met the wooden gourd with a metallic clang! — sparks flew where its talons struck.
"Ha!" Lin Feng grinned breathlessly. "Guess I'm harder to chew than I look!"
The wolf growled, circling. Its eyes locked on the glowing gourd in his grip.
Lin Feng could feel the liquid inside swirling violently — Qi surging like trapped lightning. He had no idea what he was doing, but that had never stopped him before.
"Alright," he muttered, gripping the gourd tightly. "Let's see what happens when I mix panic with alcohol."
He poured his Qi into the container. The air shimmered.
"Idiot—" Jin Jue began.
Too late.
The gourd erupted. A stream of golden fire exploded from the spout, arcing through the air like liquid lightning.
The Ironback Wolf was engulfed in a burst of shimmering flame. It yelped, tumbling backward as the fire spread across its armored fur — not burning, but boiling. The forest filled with the sharp scent of roasted fur and singed pine.
Lin Feng stumbled back, coughing. "By the Heavens, that actually worked!"
"Barely," Jin Jue hissed. "You could've incinerated yourself."
"But he didn't," Mo Xuan said with a chuckle. "And it was glorious."
"Needs more aroma," murmured the drunk voice. "Maybe add spirit honey next time."
The wolf, dazed and smoking, whined softly before bolting into the darkness.
Lin Feng stood there for a long moment, heart hammering. Then he looked down at the gourd. Its wooden surface glowed faintly with golden runes that hadn't been there before.
[Artifact Awakening: Wandering Spirit Gourd – Rank: Mortal Low]
He blinked. "Wait… it leveled up?"
"It responded to your will," Jin Jue explained. "You awakened its spirit."
"So my booze bottle just became a divine weapon?"
"A low-tier mortal artifact," corrected the sword.
"Same thing," Lin Feng said proudly. "The deadliest bottle in the realm."
"I hate him," Jin Jue muttered.
"I love him," Mo Xuan said.
"I want another drink," added the third.
Hours passed. The forest grew darker, but Lin Feng found a small clearing beside a creek and decided it would do. He gathered a few branches, coaxed a fire to life, and sat down beside it.
The flames danced across his face, casting long shadows. The night hummed softly around him — frogs croaked, and the wind sighed through the trees.
For the first time since the explosion, the silence wasn't unbearable.
He pulled the gourd to his lips, took a slow sip, and winced. The burn felt stronger now, sharper — almost electric.
"You're changing," Mo Xuan said quietly.
"Because of you three?" Lin Feng asked.
"Partly. But also because of what you are. Few mortals could survive housing even one spirit of our kind. You contain three."
"Lucky me."
The beast's tone turned oddly serious.
"Luck won't last forever, human. If your body fails to balance us, it will shatter from within."
Lin Feng looked down at his hands — faint veins of golden light still pulsed beneath his skin, tracing chaotic patterns.
"You sound worried," he said softly.
"Not for you," Mo Xuan growled. "For myself. I don't wish to perish with a fool."
That actually made Lin Feng smile. "Fair enough."
The sword spirit broke the moment's calm.
"You must begin cultivating properly if you wish to survive. Your body needs to harmonize our energies — sword, beast, and brew. Three paths. Three Breaths."
Lin Feng stared into the fire. "And how exactly does one 'harmonize' three different Dao energies?"
"With patience, discipline, and divine—"
"Or," Lin Feng interrupted, "with enough wine to make it someone else's problem."
A pause. Then the Drunken Immortal spirit laughed, low and musical.
"Finally, someone who understands cultivation."
As the fire dimmed, Lin Feng lay back, staring at the stars overhead.
Once, he'd dreamed of ascending through the ranks — of becoming a respected elder, maybe even touching immortality. Now, he was a homeless wanderer with three voices in his head and a glowing liquor bottle as a weapon.
And yet, strangely… he didn't feel defeated.
There was a kind of peace in the chaos.
A freedom he hadn't known inside the sect walls.
He raised his gourd toward the sky, toasting the moon.
"To Heaven," he said softly, "for kicking me out just hard enough to make me interesting."
"Blasphemy," Jin Jue muttered.
"Bold," Mo Xuan corrected.
"Beautiful," the drunk one whispered.
Lin Feng chuckled, took another sip, and let the warmth spread through him.
The night wind carried his laughter through the forest — faint, reckless, alive.
And somewhere far above, the stars seemed to shimmer just a little brighter, as if amused.