Thirty miles west of Cloud Mist City lay a bustling little town, strategically positioned at a crossroads, bustling with merchants, travelers, and townsfolk going about their day. Several prominent families from Cloud Mist City had set up shop here, including the Xing Clan, who owned a modestly-sized but popular establishment called the Xing Wine Tavern.
Nestled behind the tavern was a small, grassy hill. A lone figure lay sprawled on its peak, a young man with a blade of grass dangling from his lips. He stared up at the sky, seemingly lost in thought. This was Xing Jue, freshly banished from Cloud Mist City and nursing a bruised ego, along with a broken heart.
"Xing Jue, I've finished tidying up the cottage for you," a gruff, kind voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Thank you, Old Zhang." Xing Jue opened his eyes, forcing a smile. "I think I'll stay out here a while longer. Need some time to think."
Old Zhang gave him a knowing look, a heavy sigh escaping his lips, before turning to leave him to his thoughts.
Gazing at the fiery hues painting the evening sky, Xing Jue couldn't shake off the bitter disappointment that had settled deep within him. "Is this it, then?" he whispered, his voice filled with despair. "Is this all there is for me?" The setting sun mirrored the sun setting on his dreams, dreams he had dared to believe in.
Once, he had been filled with such hope, such unwavering belief in himself. Having experienced the harsh realities of life on the streets, he'd come to the Xing Clan understanding one crucial truth: strength was everything. When they recognized his talent for cultivation, he'd clung to it like a lifeline, a way out of a life of poverty and powerlessness.
And he had excelled. By the age of ten, Xing Jue became a Low-Rank Martial Artist. He was hailed as a prodigy, a shining star in the vast expanse of the Xing Clan. He had allowed himself to believe he was destined for greatness.
But fate, it seemed, had other plans.
No matter how hard he trained, he couldn't progress beyond the level of a High-Rank Martial Artist. To advance further, he needed to become a Martial Apprentice, which meant condensing Martial Qi and forming his Qi Sea, the source of a Martial Apprentice's power. He had nothing to show for all his relentless training, no Qi Sea, no future as a Martial Artist. His once bright future had now reduced to a grim present, a cruel irony that filled him with a searing rage.
Staring up at the blood-red sky, Xing Jue finally snapped. "Are you kidding me?" he roared. "You give me this gift, this talent… only to snatch it away? What a cruel joke!"
"My, my, such language from such a young man." A voice, amused and laced with gentle mockery, interrupted his tirade.
Xing Jue whirled around. Standing behind him stood an old man with a shock of white hair and a long, flowing white robe. He was smiling, eyes twinkling with an almost unnerving merriment, especially considering Xing Jue had been completely oblivious to his approach. Who was this man?
"Who are you?" Xing Jue demanded, instantly on guard. Anyone who could sneak up on him so easily was no ordinary old man. This man was powerful, at least a High-Rank Martial Apprentice, maybe even higher.
"Who I am is of little importance," the old man said, settling down beside Xing Jue with an effortless grace that belied his age. "What matters is that I can help you."
"Help me?" Xing Jue scoffed. He wanted to believe, a small part of him clinging to the stranger's words like a drowning man to a straw. What help could this man possibly offer? He snorted. Unless… He quickly dismissed the thought as absurd. It was impossible.
He turned away, closing his eyes, pretending the old man didn't exist.
The old man, unfazed by Xing Jue's dismissive attitude, let a moment of silence stretch between them before speaking again.
"What if I told you," he said, a knowing smile playing on his lips, "that I can help you condense your Qi Sea?""What? My Qi Sea?" Xing Jue shot up as if struck by lightning, staring at the old man in disbelief. Had he heard right?
"Indeed," the old man replied, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Your Qi Sea."
Xing Jue stared at him, a mix of hope and incredulity warring within him. How did this stranger know about his predicament? But then, it wasn't that surprising. Word traveled fast, especially in a small town like this one. Still, the idea of anyone, even this enigmatic figure, being able to help him form his Qi Sea… it seemed too good to be true.
"Unless…" he began, his voice barely a whisper, the faintest glimmer of hope flickering in his eyes.
He had heard rumors … legends really, about mythical beasts called Beast Souls that possessed the power to help humans condense their Qi Seas. But such creatures were incredibly rare and immensely powerful, nearly impossible to defeat even for seasoned Martial Apprentices. It was the stuff of legends.
"Unless one possesses a Beast Soul and a sufficiently potent elixir, yes?" the old man interrupted, finishing Xing Jue's sentence with an amused chuckle.
"Do you… do you have them?" Xing Jue stammered, his eyes widening. His heart raced, his usual composure forgotten. To think he had dismissed this old man as just another curious onlooker! He knew about Beast Souls, even knew the accompanying elixir required to make it work - this was no ordinary knowledge!
A sliver of doubt remained. As much as his heart leaped at this impossible hope, his mind urged him to be cautious. Such treasures were beyond valuable, surely this was a cruel trick?
"A Centennial Sky Python's Beast Soul and a Mystic-rank, High-grade Qi Condensation Pill should do the trick, don't you think?" The old man smiled, extending his hand. Resting on his palm were two objects—a glowing orb, pulsating with a gentle light, and a pill, its surface shimmering, emanating a faint, sweet fragrance.
Xing Jue almost choked. He stared at the items in the old man's hand, his mind reeling. This unassuming old man … he actually had them? His eyes, wide with disbelief and budding excitement, darted from the treasures to the old man and back again.
"What's the matter, boy?" The old man's lips curled into a knowing smile. "You want them, don't you?"
"But… why?" Xing Jue finally managed to stammer out, his voice barely a whisper. He couldn't deny it—he did want them, desperately. He'd heard whispers about Mystic-rank pills, considered priceless treasures even in Cloud Mist City.
In the world of Martial Cultivation, pills were categorized just like Martial skills: Heaven, Earth, Mystic, and Yellow, each with its own three tiers—high, middle, and low—with high-grade being the most potent. Creating such pills was a complex and time-consuming process, making them even more valuable than Martial skills of the same rank.
"Because," the old man said, his voice gentle but firm, "I believe in you." He smiled and, without another word, tossed the Beast Soul and the pill to Xing Jue.
Xing Jue fumbled, his hands trembling as he caught them. He stared at the objects nestled in his palms, his heart pounding in his chest. In his fifteen years of life, he had never felt such a rush of pure, unadulterated hope.
"Thank you, Master." Xing Jue looked up, his voice thick with emotion, his heart swelling with gratitude. He was about to prostrate himself in thanks, only to find the clearing empty. The old man had vanished.
He searched frantically, desperately wanting to thank his benefactor, but the old man was gone, disappeared as if he were a figment of his imagination. It was then that the sheer power of the old man truly hit him. To appear and disappear without a trace …
"The Beast Soul is powerful. Even with the pill, the process is dangerous. Your life hangs in the balance. Success is not guaranteed, but I have faith in you." The old man's voice echoed in his mind, startling him. He was gone, yet his voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. To project his voice across such a distance … this man was no ordinary Martial Apprentice, no, he was a Martial Lord, a being of immense, almost mythical power!
"A cultivation technique… and a Martial skill?" His initial fear gave way to incredulous joy. The old man trusted him, believed in him, enough to bestow such precious gifts… He looked down at the spot where the old man had been sitting. Sure enough, two ancient-looking books lay on the grass—a cultivation technique and a Martial skill, ready to unlock his true potential.