The beast lunged.
It was a hulking thing, all sinew and plated hide, its jaws wide enough to swallow a man whole. Spiritual pressure rolled off it in oppressive waves, the mark of a predator that had survived countless hunts within the Great Zone of the Ascendant Grounds.
Zhao Ming did not panic.
He stepped once to the side.
The beast's claws carved into empty air.
A thin crackle of thunder danced along Zhao Ming's sleeve—not exploding outward, not roaring, but whispering. The qi moved like water guided by lightning, flowing around his limbs rather than bursting from them.
The beast turned, enraged, charging again.
Zhao Ming raised his palm.
The thunder answered—not as force, but as redirection.
The beast's momentum twisted. Its massive body veered, slammed into the stone ground, and skidded violently across the terrain. Dust rose. Rocks shattered.
Zhao Ming did not pursue.
He merely exhaled.
The beast scrambled up, confused, wounded not by injury—but by the theft of its own power. It hesitated.
Then fled.
Zhao Ming stood still, chest rising and falling steadily. The thunder around him faded as if it had never existed.
From a nearby rock formation, Lei Sheng watched in silence.
"…You didn't even scratch it," the Thunder Rider muttered.
Zhao Ming lowered his hand, fingers trembling faintly. "You said not to."
Lei Sheng snorted. "I said not to kill it. There's a difference."
Zhao Ming smiled thinly.
A week earlier.
The bar had moved.
When it settled again, the world outside was hostile in a way that made the Ascendant Grounds feel honest.
This was the Great Zone.
Here, beasts did not wait to be provoked.
They emerged from mist, from broken earth, from cracks in reality itself. Spiritual predators, territorial horrors, remnants of ancient bloodlines that cultivation society had failed to erase.
Zhao Ming had stared out at the landscape in silence.
Then he turned to Lei Sheng and bowed.
Deeply.
"I'll die if I keep running," Zhao Ming said. "And I'll be killed if I stop."
Lei Sheng leaned against the bar's counter, arms crossed. "Sounds like a you problem."
Zhao Ming did not rise.
"…Teach me," he said.
Lei Sheng's eyes narrowed.
"Don't misunderstand," Zhao Ming continued, voice steady but raw. "I don't want power. I don't want revenge. I don't want to climb anything."
He clenched his fists.
"I just don't want to be dragged like an animal anymore."
The bar was quiet.
Lei Sheng sighed.
"You Zhao brats are all the same," he muttered. "Born with too much lightning in your veins."
Zhao Ming flinched—but did not move.
Lei Sheng studied him for a long moment.
Then he spoke.
"I will not teach you how to strike," he said. "I will not teach you how to dominate, suppress, or destroy."
Zhao Ming looked up.
"I will teach you how to not be hit," Lei Sheng continued. "How to step aside. How to borrow momentum. How to let power pass through you instead of tearing you apart."
He leaned closer.
"And if I see even a hint of bloodlust in you, I stop."
Zhao Ming swallowed.
"I accept."
The training began immediately.
Lei Sheng did not explain much.
He threw stones at Zhao Ming.
Then blades.
Then lightning—controlled, precise, merciless.
Zhao Ming was knocked down again and again.
Not because he was slow.
But because he tried to resist.
"Stop fighting it!" Lei Sheng barked one morning as Zhao Ming skidded across the ground, coughing. "Thunder is not meant to be held! It moves!"
Zhao Ming lay on his back, staring at the sky.
"…Then what am I supposed to do?"
Lei Sheng pointed upward.
"Flow."
Something clicked.
From that day on, Zhao Ming stopped bracing.
He stopped hardening.
He let qi move.
Within three days, he could redirect minor impacts.
Within five, he could guide force away from vital points.
By the end of the week—
Lei Sheng watched Zhao Ming redirect a charging beast without striking it once.
The Thunder Rider felt something stir in his chest.
Annoyance.
And grudging admiration.
"…Damn prodigy," Lei Sheng muttered.
Zhao Ming wiped sweat from his brow. "Is that good?"
Lei Sheng shot him a look. "No. It's dangerous."
He turned away.
"People like you," he continued, "make the world greedy."
Zhao Ming was silent.
But as thunder faded gently around his body—passive, obedient, alive—it became clear why the Zhao family had once poured all their hope into him.
And why the world would never stop hunting him now.