Morning broke heavy and gray over the ocean.
The waves rolled slow and patient outside the hollow Yan Shen had carved into the volcano's flank. Salt hung in the air. Basalt radiated the memory of yesterday's heat.
Yan Shen sat cross-legged near the cave mouth, the jade ring resting in his palm.
Outwardly, he was steady.
Inwardly, he examined the seam in his spirit.
The soul wound was no longer raw. Qin Shuren's technique had not shattered him, it had removed something. A thin absence remained behind his sternum. Not pain.
Silence.
He reached into the ring and withdrew another silver-gray pill.
"One more."
It dissolved instantly after he swallowed it.
Cool medicinal Qi spread through his veins. His smart atoms responded with mechanical precision, disassembling the energy, refining it, directing it toward the damaged edge of his consciousness. The hollow pulsed faintly, then steadied.
Hours passed.
When he opened his eyes, a thin stream of mist escaped his lips.
The wound was no longer leaking.
Scar tissue had formed.
Not perfect.
Functional.
He let his senses expand.
That was when he felt it.
Not sound.
Not movement.
Pressure.
Deep beneath the stone.
A buried thrum, slow, immense, steady.
Yan Shen did not move immediately. He simply listened.
The longer he focused, the clearer it became.
Fire Qi.
Dense. Ancient. Compressed beneath layers of volcanic rock.
He rose slowly.
"So the island isn't as quiet as it looks."
He had no way to reach that hum!
So he just dug down.
Basalt fractured under his hands with controlled force. He did not smash blindly; he carved in planes, guiding the collapse, preventing cave-ins. Each strike was precise. Each movement efficient.
The deeper he carved, the hotter the air became.
The hum intensified.
He adjusted direction subtly, following the gradient of heat through the rock. The tunnel angled downward. Sweat gathered along his spine.
Around forty meters deep, the stone ahead glowed faintly.
Then it gave way.
Heat slammed into him as the wall broke open.
A cavern opened below, a slow river of magma flowing through natural channels, red-gold light painting the stone. The Fire Qi here was thick enough to feel tangible, pressing against his skin.
Yan Shen stepped to the edge.
His smart atoms activated instinctively, dispersing excess heat, redistributing thermal load across tissue. The magma pulsed in steady rhythm.
He crouched.
This wasn't chaotic flame.
It was organized.
Alive with structure.
His cultivation stirred in response.
Middle Qi-Gathering.
Stable.
Too stable.
Stability after injury became stagnation.
He reached into the jade ring and withdrew a handful of low-grade spirit stones. Their pale glow looked fragile against the molten red.
He arranged them in a rough circle, Yin and Yang balanced in crude symmetry.
Functional.
Enough.
Yan Shen sat in the center.
"All right."
He exhaled slowly.
"Burn me properly."
He released control.
The Fire Qi rushed in instantly.
Heat detonated through muscle and marrow. His body locked for a fraction of a second as molten hot energy forced its way through pores and meridians.
Pain bloomed inward.
Deep.
Bone. Nerve. Dantian.
Steam rose from his skin. Sweat sizzled against hot stone. But his body held!
He did not resist.
His smart atoms expanded their internal lattice, redistributing thermal stress before it could destroy tissue. They did not reject the fire. They managed it.
He guided the torrent downward.
The Fire Qi tore through lingering stagnation from his injuries, burning impurities from his channels. Each pulse struck his dantian like a forge hammer.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
The spirit stones flickered violently, draining faster than expected.
Yan Shen adjusted.
No longer allowing a flood, he drew the fire in pulses, synchronized to his heartbeat.
The magma below answered with the same rhythm.
Inside him, Qi compressed.
Spun faster.
Folded inward under mounting pressure.
Veins glowed faintly beneath his skin.
The strain climbed higher.
Then
It settled....
The chaotic torrent collapsed into density.
His dantian expanded by a quarter, capacity widening like metal tempered under sustained heat.
Late Qi-Gathering.
No celestial sign.
No omen.
Only weight.
Yan Shen remained seated long after the spirit stones dimmed completely.
The chamber grew quieter.
He stood slowly.
His limbs felt heavier.
Stronger.
Each movement carried new density.
He flexed his hand. The air shimmered faintly around it.
"So this is what tempered stone feels like."
He turned toward the tunnel he'd carved and flew back up. The cooler air from above met him halfway, brushing his face like the touch of a ghost. His sweat chilled instantly, the scent of ash clinging to his hair.
When he emerged from the tunnel's mouth, the sun was already low over the sea. The sky was painted in bands of copper and blood, the ocean a mirror of molten gold. He stood there, breathing in the salt-laced air, every nerve alive.
He looked down at his hands, reddened, but whole and then out across the horizon. The world felt wider, sharper, alive with promise.
Behind him, the volcano rumbled faintly, a reminder that the heart of the island still burned.
Then he turned toward the ocean again, eyes narrowing against the dying light.
Tomorrow, he would start planning his next move