The person perched on the tree branch had a graceful figure, obviously belonging to a woman.
A black veil covered her lower face, preventing anyone from seeing her true appearance.
However, her delicate, youthful eyebrows proved that she was not very old. An armband on her sleeve clearly indicated her identity: a High Heaven Pavilion Dark Hall Disciple.
High Heaven's Dark Hall was a special sector. While the Pavilion's three main elders were responsible for governing, the Dark Hall disciples were responsible for recording all sect affairs.
No matter how big or small, every matter was documented. Naturally, this included the results of the sanctioned duels between disciples.
Because of this, disciples never had to worry about being unable to prove their victories to earn Contribution Points. Hidden in the shadows, Dark Hall disciples would record the outcomes and summarize everyone's monthly records.
After recording the outcome of the recent duel, the young woman took out a smaller, personal ledger from her waist. She flipped it open to a specific date... the seventh of May, year fourteen... and recorded Yang Kai's 147th defeat.
Filling the pages above were the numerous records of Yang Kai's previous battles. From his very first fight to his most recent, every single entry ended with the exact same word: Defeat.
One hundred and forty-seven battles in a row, and he had lost every single one of them. Throughout the entire history of High Heaven Pavilion, this was a completely unique record. In a twisted sort of way, it was almost awe-inspiring.
Looking down from her branch, Xia Ning Chang quietly watched the experimental disciple as he stirred, his body still terribly weak from the morning's beating.
The moment he opened his eyes and tried to move, she knew exactly how much pain he must have felt. Yet, the boy didn't groan, didn't curse his opponent, and didn't wallow in self-pity.
Instead, he simply checked his surroundings, his brow furrowing in confusion. She noticed the subtle way his fingers tightened slightly against the dirt. He was incredibly sharp, even in this battered state.
She had expected a simple expression of gratitude when he eventually found the medicine bottle she had secretly left behind, but instead... why was he smiling?
Why would someone who just suffered his 147th consecutive loss be smiling?
Since becoming a Dark Hall disciple, she had recorded countless duels, victories, and defeats. She had witnessed both soaring genius and tragic mediocrity, but she had never come across someone quite like Yang Kai. His record was abysmal. He had no talent, no resources, and no backing. Yet... he still fought.
She had initially observed him out of pure curiosity. Then, out of pity. Now?
She wasn't exactly sure.
Perhaps it was a faint trace of admiration, though she would never admit it out loud.
As he tucked the small bottle away, she saw a shift in his demeanor. It was subtle, but unmistakable. A hint of cold determination, a profound moment of reflection. The way he carried himself as he finally walked away was different.
Is this boy really as untalented as the rumors say? she wondered.
She didn't have an answer.
With a soft flicker of movement, she vanished silently into the shadows.
.............
Back in his small, dimly lit hut, Yang Kai finally allowed himself a moment to rest. The one-sided battle earlier had completely drained him, and every breath sent a dull ache shooting through his ribs. He sat cross-legged on his hard bed.
He suddenly realized that he was still clutching something in his right hand. Looking down in doubt, he was slightly surprised to find a small, finely crafted porcelain bottle.
What is this? he thought. It was definitely not his. The only things the original Yang Kai had owned were the clothes on his back and his sweeping broom. How did he end up with this?
The small porcelain bottle had a neat label attached to it. Yang Kai read it quietly, "Blood Clotting Cream."
Blood Clotting Cream. Yang Kai searched his newly acquired memories and instantly recognized it.
It was the sect's standard medicine for healing external wounds. Although it was considered ordinary by the elite, its effects were very good for lower-level disciples. Generally, outer disciples would carry a bottle around for emergencies, but purchasing one at the High Heaven Logistics Pavilion was incredibly expensive for someone of his status.
It cost a full ten Contribution Points!
He smirked wryly. In most of the cultivation novels he used to read, a secret benefactor gifting medicine was a classic trope. Usually, it was a kind senior, a beautiful martial sister, or some mysterious elder who supposedly saw hidden potential in the struggling protagonist.
Could it be a beautiful young lady secretly watching over me? he joked internally.
Perhaps this bottle of cream wasn't worth much to the person who dropped it, but to Yang Kai's current battered body, it was a godsend. He wasn't a saint, but he lived by a simple rule: a debt of kindness, no matter how small, had to be remembered and eventually returned.
Calming down, his smirk faded as he traced his fingers over his bruised and battered skin.
One hundred and forty-seven losses.
The reality of this world was brutal and simple: he was weak. Far too weak.
But he wouldn't stay that way forever.
He unsealed the porcelain bottle and carefully applied the cream to his worst wounds. Almost instantly, a soothing, cooling sensation spread across his skin, rapidly dulling the sharp pain.
He exhaled a long breath.
The moment his body finally relaxed, something stirred deep within his soul.
A faint warmth. A subtle pulse of energy... like an ember struggling to ignite into a roaring flame.
Yang Kai's eyes snapped open. What is this?
He quickly focused his senses inward.
It was his gift.
He had felt something similar earlier during the fight with Zhou Ding Jun. The way his frail body had somehow endured the heavy blows, how his mind had remained perfectly clear despite the agonizing pain. At the time, he had chalked it up to adrenaline or his predecessor's sheer stubbornness. But now, he knew better.
Something fundamentally tied to his soul was keeping him going.
Something... unnatural.
Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the warmth. Slowly, he traced the sensation, pulling it under his conscious control.
Memories of the vast void and the white-haired elder flickered through his mind... and then, absolute clarity washed over him.
The Immortality.
It was real.
But it wasn't a limitless, omnipotent shield that negated damage.
Yang Kai's lips curled into a dry smile. Through this, I will never truly die, no matter how badly I get beaten.
But... he was still physically weak. And if he just kept relying on this conceptual gift to act as a punching bag, he would remain weak forever.
I may not die from my wounds, but I can still lose, he reasoned. I can still feel every ounce of the pain. And enduring pain alone does not equate to true strength.
He exhaled slowly.
If this was the ultimate safety net he had been given, he would use it efficiently. He wouldn't use it just to lazily endure endless defeats, but to violently break through his physical limits without fear of death.
No more losing.
No more waiting.
For the first time since waking up in this brutal world, a genuine fire burned in his chest.
He would not lose again.
And whatever god had given him this gift... or fate itself... would one day see that he had earned his place at the apex.