Li Chen did not leave the ravine immediately.
He remained seated until the sun climbed high enough to burn the mist away, revealing the jagged stone far below. Zhou Fan's body lay broken among the rocks, twisted at an unnatural angle. Death was certain.
Only then did Li Chen stand.
Each movement sent a dull ache through his limbs. His meridians felt tight and inflamed, like scarred flesh pulled too far. When he tried to circulate the faint Qi within him, resistance met him at every turn.
I forced it, he realized. And survived.
That survival came at a price.
He retreated into a shallow cave nearby, sealing the entrance with loose stones and brush. Inside, the air was stale, but dry. Li Chen sat cross-legged, placed the tattered manual before him, and opened it.
The Iron River Breathing Art was crude.
The characters were uneven, explanations sparse, and many diagrams incomplete. Yet to Li Chen, it was a treasure beyond measure. He read slowly, committing each word to memory.
Qi flows like a river.Force it, and the banks collapse.Guide it, and stone itself will yield.
Li Chen exhaled.
He began.
Breath in. Slow. Shallow. Pain flared immediately as Qi stirred. He did not stop. He followed the manual precisely, guiding the energy along the most stable meridian paths, avoiding those that screamed in protest.
Minutes passed.
Then hours.
Sweat soaked his clothes. Blood seeped from the corners of his mouth. Several times, darkness threatened to take him.
But gradually, imperceptibly the resistance eased.
The ember grew.
On the third day, Li Chen opened his eyes.
His senses had sharpened again. He could feel the pulse of the mountain beneath him, the faint presence of insects in the walls, the slow drift of clouds above stone.
Qi Condensation — Level One.
It was not announced by heaven or marked by light.
It simply was.
Li Chen did not smile.
He continued.
Days turned into weeks. He emerged only to gather water and hunt. Each advancement came with agony, each breath etched into muscle and bone. His damaged meridians slowed his progress, but they also forced precision. Waste was impossible. Greed meant collapse.
By the end of the first month, Li Chen reached Qi Condensation Level Two.
His body was leaner, harder. Hunger faded more slowly. Fatigue loosened its grip.
One night, as rain fell softly outside the cave, Li Chen sensed something new.
A ripple.
He extinguished his fire and held his breath.
Footsteps.
Multiple.
Voices drifted through the rain.
"The scouts said someone's been cultivating nearby."
"Outer region. Probably a rogue mortal."
"Doesn't matter. If he has resources, we take them."
Li Chen's eyes were cold.
He understood now.
Cultivation was not a path walked alone not because of companionship, but because predators followed any trail of power.
He concealed his presence as best he could, suppressing his Qi as Zhou Fan once taught him. The ember dimmed, trembling under restraint.
Three figures approached the cave.
Iron River Sect robes.
Li Chen's fingers closed around his blade.
This time, there would be no negotiation.
The path had begun in pain.
And it would be paved in blood.