The rain fell softly over the mountains.
By the time Lin Feng reached the forest outside the Crimson Moon Sect, his body was a storm of bruises and pain. Every breath burned; every step felt like dragging a mountain behind him.
Lightning still pulsed faintly under his skin — chaotic, hungry — fighting to consume him from within.
He found a cave half-hidden behind a waterfall, collapsed at its mouth, and lay still for hours.
The only sound was the rhythm of falling water and his uneven breathing.
You shouldn't have faced him, Jin Jue said quietly. Not yet.
And yet you live, Mo Xuan rumbled. Perhaps that's reason enough.
Lin Feng opened one eye. "You both talk too much."
He coughed — and blood sprayed across the stone floor, glowing faintly gold.
The gourd at his waist shivered, its light dimming and brightening like a heartbeat. He reached for it, unscrewed the lid, and took a slow sip.
The liquid inside burned his throat, spreading warmth through his body. The ache eased slightly, the trembling lessened.
He exhaled, closing his eyes again.
"Let's see," he muttered, "if this broken body can still rise."
Days passed.
He stayed in the cave, hidden from the sect's patrols that scoured the valleys below. The nights were long, filled with silence and memory — of laughter long gone, of the sect that had turned on him, of the man he had once been.
In those moments, he didn't cultivate for strength.
He cultivated for survival.
At first, his attempts failed. The qi inside him fought itself — fire against lightning, lightning against beast, all tangled in chaos. His body convulsed with every breath of energy he tried to absorb.
You're forcing harmony where there's only conflict, Jin Jue said. The Three Breaths weren't meant to coexist.
Lin Feng gritted his teeth. "Then I'll make them coexist."
He focused again, slower this time. He visualized his dantian — a vast, cracked sphere glowing with fragments of three different lights.
Golden brew qi, wild crimson beast qi, and pale silver lightning qi circled each other like predators.
They clashed whenever he tried to guide them, erupting in pain that made him cough blood again and again.
But he refused to stop.
He began experimenting — adjusting his breathing rhythm, slowing his pulse, using pain as his compass. Each failure taught him where the flow broke; each spasm told him how the energy wanted to move.
Little by little, he stopped trying to dominate it.
He began to listen.
On the seventh night, as the rain eased and moonlight cut through the cave mouth, something changed.
Lin Feng sat cross-legged, motionless as stone.
His breath grew shallow, slow. The energies inside him circled — not violently this time, but curiously, like animals testing boundaries.
He guided them gently toward one another.
The beast qi pulsed first, fierce and instinctive. The lightning qi followed, sharp and proud. The brew qi drifted lazily between them, as if drunk — until it shimmered, stretching like golden smoke, and merged the other two together.
A low hum filled the cave.
The air thickened, vibrating with life. Outside, the rain stopped mid-fall — droplets suspended in the air, frozen by the surge of qi radiating from within.
Lin Feng's body glowed faintly, his veins etched in threads of gold and silver. His pulse slowed further, every heartbeat echoing like a drum of thunder.
Deep within his dantian, the three lights spiraled inward — and then collided, fusing into a single core of radiant amber light.
The air burst outward in a quiet shockwave.
[Brew Beast Blade Fusion — Stage Three Achieved]
When Lin Feng opened his eyes, the world looked different.
Colors were sharper. Sounds clearer. Even the flow of qi in the air was visible — streams of faint light dancing between trees, rocks, and the very raindrops.
He inhaled slowly. The energy that entered him was no longer chaotic. It moved like music, each note in harmony with his pulse.
Remarkable, Jin Jue whispered. You've done what even ancient cultivators failed to accomplish.
You made chaos obey, Mo Xuan said, almost reverently.
Lin Feng smiled faintly. "No. I just stopped treating chaos like an enemy."
He stood, stretching slowly. The cave wall behind him bore faint cracks — his earlier shockwave had fractured the stone.
As he stepped toward the waterfall's edge, dawn broke outside, sunlight spilling through the mist like liquid gold.
He reached for the gourd and fastened it to his belt. Its glow had changed — steadier, brighter, alive.
"Blade. Beast. Brew," he said softly. "Three paths, one spirit. Let's see how far this madness can go."
Later that day, he walked into the forest again, moving faster than before, every motion precise and balanced. The beasts that sensed him fled before his aura; even the wind seemed to part around his form.
He stopped by a river that had begun to flow again, its waters clearing the ashes of the old battle.
He knelt, dipped a hand in the cool current, and smiled at his reflection.
His eyes had changed — no longer weary, but sharp, carrying faint golden sparks that flickered like embers in still water.
The sect won't forget what you did, Jin Jue said. Li Yun will come again — and not alone.
"I'll be ready next time."
You'll have to be.
Lin Feng stood, looking toward the distant mountains. In the far horizon, the peaks glowed faintly red beneath the rising sun — the direction of the Crimson Moon Sect.
He turned away. "First, I need power. Then, I'll come back for justice."
The forest wind carried his voice like a whisper through the trees.
And as he walked away, the gourd at his waist pulsed once — faint thunder echoing somewhere deep inside it, as if the heavens themselves acknowledged his resolve.