The sheer, explosive power that had coursed through Lin Feng's meridians felt less like borrowed strength and more like a reclaimed inheritance. His body thrummed with the energy of the Ninth Level of Qi Condensation. He didn't just feel stronger; he felt faster and, strangely, spatially aware.
However, true power in the cultivation world wasn't measured by stored energy alone, but by martial skill—the techniques used to unleash that energy. Lin Feng possessed none.
His sect's core manual, the low-grade Crimson Cloud Palm, was designed for solid, earth-element cultivators, completely mismatched for the chaotic, spatial energy now humming within him.
He needed a technique, and there was only one place to get one: the Sutra Depository.
The Price of Admission
Lin Feng left his hut and walked toward the main compound. His pace was light, nearly weightless—a subconscious product of his awakening.
He knew what today was: the monthly Inner Sect Assessment, the day Outer Disciples could attempt to pass a basic test and gain access to better resources, including the Sutra Depository's lower floor. For Lin Feng, it had always been a humiliating ritual, ending in bruises and ridicule.
As he neared the main gate, he was intercepted by Zhao Shi, the bully from the day before, accompanied by two lackeys.
"Well, well. If it isn't the Sweeper," Zhao Shi sneered, noticing the unfamiliar, confident stride of Lin Feng. Zhao Shi was already in the Body Tempering stage, a full realm above Lin Feng's previous state. "Did you finally realize your pitiful destiny and decide to leave the sect? Saves us the trouble of kicking you out."
"I'm here for the assessment, Zhao Shi," Lin Feng stated, his voice level. He didn't back down.
Zhao Shi and his lackeys burst into laughter. "The assessment? You, stuck at the First Level, trying to pass the test for Body Tempering disciples? You're going to embarrass yourself, Lin Feng. Perhaps you need a reminder of the gap between us."
Without warning, Zhao Shi launched a casual, mid-level technique: the Iron Mountain Fist. It wasn't meant to kill, just to crush a few ribs and remind Lin Feng of his place.
The punch was fast, heavy, and aimed squarely at Lin Feng's chest.
The Debut of the Void Step
In the past, Lin Feng would have been sent flying, coughing up blood.
But now, as the punch sliced through the air, that unique, spatial energy that felt like the echo of the Void Soul Seal surged. It wasn't channeled through his meridians, but through his very perception.
It wasn't a technique he knew, but an instinct.
As the fist approached, Lin Feng didn't jump or dodge. Instead, he felt the space around the fist shift. He focused his will on the air beside his right shoulder, and for a fraction of a second, he seemed to blur, stepping not just around the fist, but through a tiny ripple in the fabric of space.
Zhao Shi's powerful Iron Mountain Fist missed its target completely, hitting nothing but air.
Lin Feng reappeared two steps away, completely unharmed. The entire movement took less than a breath.
Zhao Shi froze, his eyes wide with disbelief. His two companions stared slack-jawed. They hadn't seen him move; they had seen him vanish and reappear.
"What… what technique was that?" Zhao Shi stammered, his confidence shaken.
Lin Feng kept his face neutral, though a triumphant thrill shot through his chest. He hadn't known he could do that. He had instinctively tapped into the spatial energy to perform a rudimentary Void Step.
"I don't need to tell you," Lin Feng replied, his voice calm. "I have an assessment to attend." He walked past the stunned trio and headed towards the training grounds.
The testing area was a large, crowded plaza. Elder Sun, a dour-faced, mid-level Body Tempering expert, presided over the entrance to the inner courts.
The final test for Outer Disciples was the Power Stone Strike. Candidates had to strike a black obsidian stone with a full-force technique. The stone glowed from 1 to 10. A score of 7 was required for Inner Sect entry.
A dozen disciples had already failed, their attempts yielding pathetic scores of 3 or 4.
"Next!" Elder Sun called out, looking bored.
Lin Feng stepped forward. A murmur went through the small crowd. The Sweeper?
Zhao Shi had arrived and was pointing and whispering with his friends, clearly trying to save face by spreading the tale of the "lucky dodge."
"Lin Feng," Elder Sun stated, not bothering to look up. "Do you have your entry token? You are still listed at the First Level of Qi Condensation. You should be sweeping the paths, not wasting time."
"I have broken through, Elder," Lin Feng stated respectfully. "I am now at the Ninth Level of Qi Condensation."
The crowd erupted in skeptical laughter. Zhao Shi bellowed, "He broke through eight levels in one day? Impossible! He's lying!"
Elder Sun finally raised his head, glaring at Lin Feng. "Lying about one's cultivation is punishable by expulsion, boy."
Lin Feng met the Elder's gaze. "I wouldn't lie to enter a place I already deserve to be, Elder. Please, activate the stone."
With an annoyed grunt, Elder Sun channeled a sliver of Qi into the obsidian stone, preparing it for the strike.
Lin Feng took a deep breath. He didn't use the Crimson Cloud Palm. Instead, he channeled the entirety of his surging, volatile Qi into his right hand, focusing his will—and that strange, pervasive spatial sense—into a single point. He didn't use a technique, but raw, pure energy.
His fist shot out.
CRACK!
The resulting sound was not a thud, but a sharp, cracking retort, like glass breaking. A wave of force radiated outward, causing the closest spectators to stumble.
The Power Stone immediately flashed bright white, skipping the low numbers entirely.
8!
The plaza fell silent. Not only had he reached the threshold, but the raw power of the strike exceeded many who were already in the Body Tempering realm.
Zhao Shi looked like he'd seen a ghost. Elder Sun's eyes were wide.
"Impossible," the Elder muttered, looking carefully at Lin Feng's hand. He could sense the pure, dense Qi of a Peak Qi Condensation cultivator. "You may proceed. Inner Sect access granted."
The New Technique
Lin Feng moved past the stunned disciples and into the Sutra Depository. It was a dusty, three-story tower.
The first floor was filled with low-grade, common manuals—the sort of techniques Zhao Shi used. Lin Feng immediately saw that his affinity was not for these heavy, slow skills.
He sought out the oldest, most ignored shelves. Hidden deep in a forgotten corner, under a thick layer of dust, he found an ancient, leather-bound scroll tied with brittle twine.
It was titled: "Phantom Flash Footwork."
The first few lines were dismissive: A remnant cultivation art of the early Void Era. Too subtle and volatile for modern practitioners. Practicing risks Qi deviation.
Too subtle and volatile. Lin Feng's heart pounded. This sounded perfect.
He unfurled the scroll quickly and began to read, oblivious to the fact that he was now an Inner Disciple. The technique was not for offense, but for movement—the foundation of all evasive arts.
It described focusing Qi, not just on the legs, but on the space immediately surrounding the feet, using subtle tremors to gain fractional speed and directional changes.
He spent the next hour memorizing the entire scroll. When he stepped outside the Depository, the sun was setting. He was no longer just the Sweeper; he was Lin Feng, an Inner Disciple, who had just shattered the limits of his realm.
He walked to the nearest secluded training yard and began testing the technique, the Phantom Flash Footwork. It was clumsy at first, but when he infused the practice with the residual spatial energy from the Void Soul Seal, the results were instantaneous and shocking.
He moved, and he vanished. He wasn't just running; he was weaving through minute dimensional ripples. The motion was fast, silent, and unpredictable.
One year, he thought, perfecting the movement. I have the speed now. Next, I need the power to fight for her.