The nights in the Outer Sect were always quieter than those in the Inner Sect.
While the elite disciples lived in palatial courtyards illuminated by glowing spirit-stones, Qianye avoided the flickering lanterns of the labor quarters. He moved like a shadow along the narrow, winding paths that led toward the forbidden depths of the back mountains. This area was seldom visited; the Spiritual Qi here was thin and unrefined, but it possessed one quality that Qianye valued above all else: solitude.
He needed a place— A sanctuary that belonged to him alone.
Deep within the mountain's embrace, a massive waterfall cascaded down from a jagged limestone cliff. The sound was like continuous thunder, a primal roar that vibrated through the night air. A thick mist hung over the base, turning the atmosphere damp and chilling, while the ground was a treacherous carpet of slick moss and jagged river stones.
Qianye stood before the waterfall, his head tilted back as he gazed upward.
The water fell like a silver dragon crashing to earth, its momentum terrifying.
He slowly unslung the rusted Tang blade from his back.
The blade remained mottled and scarred, but under the pale moonlight, the edge revealed a thin, razor-sharp line of cold light.
"Start with the blade."
Qianye took a deep breath, his feet digging into the earth for a stable stance. He gripped the hilt with both hands. There were no flashy flourishes, no complex katas from the sect's official manuals.
There was only the most fundamental move— The Straight Slash.
The blade fell.
Whoosh—!
The air was torn apart. The blade whistled with a heavy, oppressive sound as it struck the empty space before the rock wall.
A second strike. A third.
His movements were not fast, but they were incredibly stable.
With every swing, he adjusted the minute differences in his breathing, his footwork, and the rotation of his waist and hips. The blade wasn't simply "cutting"; it was "flowing." From the shoulder to the arm, from the wrist to the very tip of the steel, the power was a single, unbroken thread.
This was the "Blade-Sense" he had earned with his life in the wilderness.
Sweat began to bead on his forehead, mingling with the spray of the waterfall until his tunic was soaked through. The roar of the water interfered with his hearing; the mist blurred his vision; the wet ground threatened his balance. One slip, and his rhythm would be shattered.
But Qianye did not stop.
One strike. Another. And another.
The blade sliced through the mist, moving like a salmon swimming against a violent current.
He didn't know how long he had been swinging until his arms felt like lead and the webbing between his thumb and forefinger throbbed with pain. Only then did he sheath his blade, exhaling a long plume of turbid white air.
"The feel of the blade... is stable now."
He turned, facing the waterfall once more.
The real training was about to begin.
Qianye stripped off his outer tunic, leaving only his thin linen undershirt. He walked toward the very center of the impact zone, stepping directly beneath the falling column of water.
The torrent slammed into his shoulders and back.
BOOM—!
In an instant, it felt as though a massive sledgehammer had struck his skeleton. The violent impact forced his body downward, his knees buckling until they nearly hit the rock.
Cold.
Agony.
His breathing was instantly thrown into chaos.
The power of the waterfall was far more terrifying than it looked. Every cubic inch of water felt like a physical blow to his flesh and bone, vibrating through him until his internal organs felt numb.
Qianye grit his teeth, his feet wedging themselves into the cracks of the wet rocks. His back and waist muscles tensed like drawn bowstrings as he forced himself to stand upright.
He circulated his Qi.
The Stage Six power flowed through his body, spreading along his meridians to his four limbs to resist the crushing external force.
Despite his effort, his skin quickly turned a raw red. His shoulders felt as though they were being flayed by the constant pummeling of the water.
Time crawled by.
The waterfall did not grow weaker.
In a battle between man and nature, the only thing that could grow weak was the man.
Qianye's breathing became heavy and ragged. His lungs felt squeezed by the water pressure, and every intake of air was accompanied by a sharp, stinging pain.
"Hold on," he growled internally.
This was a more direct confrontation than the bullying of the Outer Sect. There was no mockery here, no unfair rules, and no politics—only the purest clash of raw power.
If he couldn't even stand his ground against a waterfall— Then what right did he have to talk about standing tall in the Azure Cloud Sect?
Under the rhythmic battering, his muscles began to tremble uncontrollably. His bones let out faint, microscopic creaks. His Qi was being drained rapidly, only to be forced back into circulation by his sheer willpower, washing over his physical form again and again.
Gradually, the stinging pain began to change.
It was no longer just pain.
It was a sensation of being— Compressed. Forged. Driven to break through his own limits.
Buzz...
The Qi within his body suddenly underwent a minute, subtle change.
The energy that had previously felt slightly sluggish or "thick" began to grow more condensed and fluid under the relentless pressure. His body's tolerance for the water's impact increased by a fraction of a percent without him even noticing.
Qianye's eyes sharpened.
"It's working."
He didn't retreat.
Instead, he adjusted his stance slightly, allowing the waterfall to strike him squarely on the chest.
BOOM!
For a moment, his breath stopped entirely. His chest heaved violently, and a metallic sweetness rose in his throat, which he forced back down.
He did not fall.
It wasn't until his legs went completely numb and his consciousness began to flicker into a blur that Qianye finally took a lunging step forward. He escaped the radius of the waterfall and collapsed onto one knee, gasping for air as if he were a man drowning.
His body felt as if it had been dismantled and put back together.
It was painful, but it was real.
He looked up at the roaring cascade, and the corner of his mouth slowly curled into a very faint, almost imperceptible smile.
"This... feels much better than being stepped on."
As the night grew deeper, Qianye sat cross-legged on a dry rock near the falls, circulating his Qi to recover his stamina. The thundering water was deafening, yet it brought an strange, iron-clad peace to his heart.
The cold glares, the bullying, and the contempt of the Outer Sect had not vanished. But in this moment, they were all locked away on the other side of the waterfall.
He knew clearly— Power was the only thing in this world that would never betray him.
The rusted Tang blade lay across his knees, droplets of water sliding down its mottled surface.
Qianye closed his eyes.
The waterfall continued to roar, serving as a silent witness—