The air hung heavy around Zhihui. Despite the anticipation, he remained still. Serene as a lake on a summer's day, he watched for the lightest ripple.
Zhihui stood motionless, his hands hanging loose at his sides and his tattered robes swaying gently in the breeze.
Time slowed to a crawl as the wind whispered through the cracks in the workshop, carrying the faint echoes of his heartbeat and breath.
The workshop was eerily silent, save for the creaking of the wooden floorboards under Zhihui's feet. One would wonder if there was anyone else in the building, for the air was devoid of life or any sort of vibrance.
He stood unperturbed, his eyes closed, his focus unwavering.
A wisp of gray smoke drifted towards Zhihu, dissipating upon reaching him. Suddenly, he felt a heavy impact on the side of his torso, knocking him into the wall with a sickening thud. The wood creaked in protest, clearly not built to withstand such an assault.
'Feels like a punch, no, palms.' He thought and stood up once more.
Pain seeped into Zhihui's body from his ribs; he pushed it aside, steadying his breath as he focused his concentration.
He began channeling his Qi, slowly making his meridians excited.
Seconds passed, then minutes.
Abruptly, there was a loud crash, and splinters of wood scattered through the air.
Zhihui smiled. He rose to his feet once more, pain erupting within him. But it paled in comparison to the suffering he had endured at the Mountain of Filth.
Apart from the occasional thud of wood falling from the ceiling, the room was completely silent.
A while later. The faint gray smoke appeared again, meandering towards him.
In an instant, he drew all his Qi towards his eyes, and they gleamed with a piercing gray brilliance. He opened his eyes just as a blow landed on his chest, knocking him back into the ceiling.
Zhihui crashed to the ground, but he quickly scrambled to his feet, grinning slightly. He had managed to catch a glimpse of his assailant, a short figure adorned in a long black robe, the hood concealing their face.
"Beating his disciple upon meeting after a year!" Zhihui exclaimed. "Truly a heartless master."
"Hohoho!" The black-robed figure laughed uproariously. "Beating?" "This old man was expressing his love for his disciple!" He snapped his fingers.
The metallic smell of blood vanished, replaced by the all-encompassing heat and scent of coal. Moonlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the workshop once more.
The forge, a raging fire at the heart of the workshop, spewed glowing embers that danced like fairies in the dim light. The walls, stained with the grime of countless creations, bore the proud marks of a craftsman's toil.
Racks filled with tongs, hammers, and chisels stood like guards, each tool a witness to the countless projects forged under the blacksmith's skilled hands.
The anvil, a weathered veteran, bore the scars of countless blows, its surface gleaming with a patina that spoke of strength and endurance. Slouched over the anvil was a burly man with brown hair, snoring, his right hand grasping a hammer tightly.
"An Illusion?' Zhihui pondered.
"Hmm, 6th level peak stage," The old man's voice was raspy, like the creaking of an ancient gate. His wiry fingers stroked his long, unkempt beard, which was flecked with grey. "You have made some progress."
The tattered robes he wore emitted a putrid odour, like the remnants of a bygone era. The scent wafted around him, a peculiar mix of ancient wisdom and the weariness of countless battles.
His piercing gray eyes, like storm clouds gathering intensity, fixed upon Zhihui. The young disciple stood frozen, his mouth agape, caught in the mesmerizing gaze of his master.
It had been a considerable time since Zhihui had last seen his master, yet the silence that gripped him was not born of longing, but of sheer awe.
During the past year, he has focused on improving his control over his Qi, sensing it, and applying it. Which led to him becoming much more attuned to sensing Qi in his surroundings.
In Zhihuis vision, the wild currents of Qi yielded to the old man's invisible command.Once free-spirited and unpredictable, the Qi now danced in an orderly procession, guided by an unseen hand. Each wisp and current acknowledged the old man's silent directive. In the old man's presence the surrounding Qi turned grey, becoming dull and gloomy.
The aura of the monstrous bear he had briefly fought couldn't hold a candle to the old man.
A subtle pressure hung in the air, not on Zhihui's body but on his very soul. It was as if the old man's gaze reached beyond the surface, touching the essence of his being. The minuscule aura seeping from the master's figure sent shivers down Zhihui's spine,
"Hmm?" Noticing Zhihui's expression, he reigned in his aura."Lost for words?" he said, smiling broadly. "Are you that happy to see me?"
Sigh "Who would be happy to see an old beggar?" A faint smile touched his lips. "I'm sorry, but I've no coins to spare you."
The old man's grin grew even wider while he laughed and said, "You're right. I can't take from someone who has nothing."
Zhihui's pleased expression turned into a frown, his eyes narrowing. He glanced towards a certain spot in the room, then sprinted towards the table, shoving it aside and lifting up a loose wooden plank. He peered underneath, revealing a small leather bag.
The smell of copper lingered around it, but the pouch was empty.
Zhihui's face hardened, and his expression was incredulous. "How?" he demanded.
The old man gazed at Ronald, who was still snoring loudly. Zhihui followed his gaze, and his eyes widened in realization. 'Anvil freak..did he give up my stash?'
Zhihui clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white. 'My year of savings..'
He glared at Roland with his gaze sharp like daggers. He took a step towards the anvil, then paused and turned to the old man.
Zhihui had spent the past year learning to craft weapons, mostly arrows, which he sold to the village hunters at a lower price than Roland's, though they were of lesser quality.
Though he had grown accustomed to begging, it was far from enjoyable. Living in the workshop wasn't ideal, but he preferred it over the life of a beggar.
He once believed there was hope to escape the fate of a beggar, but alas, his master had different plans.
"Old man." Zhihui gazed at his master with a disbelieving expression. "You want to see me beg that badly?"
"Your arts have improved, yes," the old man heaved a deep sigh. "But you have not yet truly understood what it means to be a beggar." From his long gray beard, he pulled out a handful of copper coins.
"These coins you value so highly are nothing but chains, preventing you from reaching true enlightenment!" he declared. "I, your loving and caring master, have broken the shackles of worldly possessions from your feet!"
'The usual rambling, he hasn't changed one bit.' Zhihui mused. Reluctant acceptance settling over him like a heavy shroud. With his master's return, the inescapable reality dawned—he would once again embrace the lifestyle of a beggar.
"What you need is the richness of the mind! The wealth of experience!" The old man walked towards the entrance of the workshop. "Come, we'll continue your training."
Zhihui's expression brightened upon hearing that. 'Will I finally learn some actual combat techniques?' He thought, putting down Roland's hammer, which he had been seconds from destroying.
Upon leaving, they were greeted with the sight of a pink-haired girl adorned in brown garments standing against the dark backdrop of the night. The shouts of the drunkards in the background echoed through the air.
"Who's this?" The old man asked, his gaze fixed on the pink-haired girl in front of him. Who was staring at Zhihui with a worried expression. "Hoho, you've been quite busy while I was gone." he murmured with a smirk.
"It's nothing like that." Zhihui protested. 'An eighteen-year-old with a kid like this... I'm not that insane,' he mused, shaking his head. "Don't get any strange ideas, old man."
Ai frowned, her pout deepening as she gazed at the old man. He smiled and asked, "What's your name?"
"Ai," she replied sullenly.
"Are you Zhihui's grandfather?"
The old man coughed. "I am his master."
"Really? Can you teach me magic too?" Ai's tone was filled with longing.
"Magic?" The old man turned to Zhihui, his expression grave. "What does she mean?" His tone was cold and menacing, a hint of killing intent lurking beneath the surface.
Zhihui looked bewildered. "She knows I'm a cultivator," he explained. "She must have confused it with magic."
"I see," mused the old man, his eyes alight with a mischievous gleam, as if unravelling a secret. "Alright, I'll accept you as my disciple on one condition."
In response, Ai's eyes lit up like stars, brimming with hope as she exclaimed, "Yes! What is it?"
The old man's demeanor took a whimsical turn, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Once you're of age, you'll marry my disciple."
"Wha-" Before Zhihui could react, an unexpected force silenced him abruptly—a swift impact on his throat sent him into unconsciousness.
The old man shifted his gaze to Ai, who, against her youthful appearance, bore a resolute expression, her small fists clenched in unwavering determination. "I can't."
A sage-like aura rippled from the old man, his voice carrying a weight of wisdom. "Then I would suggest you give up on revenge."
Ai, visibly startled, shot back, "How did you know?"
The old man gracefully crouched, placing a gentle hand on her head. "Dragons are a revered race in this world—mighty and respected. Your path won't be easy, little girl."
"This world is not as forgiving as you think."
"Even with my help, there's no guarantee," he continued, his words hanging in the air with an air of uncertainty. "But I can assure you that it'll be impossible without it. You've been fortunate not to have been discovered yet."
Ai stood in a heavy silence, memories rushing through her mind like a torrential river. Fueled by a surge of anger, she eventually turned her gaze toward the slumbering figure on the ground, gritted her teeth, and reluctantly conceded, "Okay."