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Chapter Eight: The Price of Resolve
Wei Feng's life became a cycle of endless trials. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, as he struggled to align himself with the subtle yet powerful Mist Spirit Gu. While his peers advanced with speed and grace, Wei Feng's growth was slower than anyone had anticipated. He could barely maintain the Gu's essence, let alone draw upon its full potential. Yet, despite the frustrations and setbacks, he continued, undeterred.
The Mist Spirit Gu, unlike the more straightforward Gu choices favored by other disciples, was a Gu of subtlety. It thrived on creating illusions, weaving webs of confusion and perception, all while remaining largely imperceptible to others. For someone of Wei Feng's limited natural talent, it was a constant battle to contain the Gu's power without letting it overwhelm him.
The halls of the Heaven's Path Sect became more distant with each passing day. Wei Feng found it increasingly difficult to interact with his peers, many of whom now treated him with either pity or contempt. The cultivation world was not kind to the weak, and in their eyes, Wei Feng was weak. Despite his resolve, his failures were a constant reminder of his limitations.
There were days when his mind grew clouded with frustration, when the weight of the endless training and ridicule threatened to break him. But on those days, he would return to his solitary cultivation spot in the deepest part of the sect, where the dense fog seemed to match the chaos within his own heart. There, in the quiet, Wei Feng would meditate, re-center himself, and remind himself why he had chosen this path. He had a vision. He had a purpose.
One such evening, after hours of meditative attempts to steady his Gu, Wei Feng was jolted awake by a strange sensation—a flicker of power. It was subtle at first, like a soft whisper on the wind, but it quickly blossomed into something more.
The Mist Spirit Gu had given him a glimpse of its true potential.
It wasn't much, but the feeling of power, of control, was enough to stir something deep within him. It wasn't complete mastery—far from it. But it was a breakthrough, the first real sign that his efforts weren't in vain.
Wei Feng's heart raced. This tiny success, this first real sign of progress, was the confirmation he had been waiting for. The Mist Spirit Gu was a slow and complex path, but it wasn't impossible. Not for him. He wasn't ready to give up. The road would still be long, but for the first time in a long while, Wei Feng allowed himself a small smile.
But even as he celebrated his minor victory, Wei Feng knew the true cost of this slow progress. The others would not see the results right away. He would have to endure more ridicule, more scorn. And with his limited talent, it would take years—perhaps decades—before he could fully master the Mist Spirit Gu.
The sect continued its grueling training regimens, and each day, Wei Feng found himself falling further behind. His cultivation was slow, stagnant even, compared to the explosive growth of the other disciples. But with every failure, Wei Feng grew more determined. He would not give up, no matter how long it took.
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Five Years Later
Five years had passed since Wei Feng's decision to cultivate the Mist Spirit Gu, and though his progress remained slow, there were subtle signs of improvement. He could now maintain the Gu's essence for longer periods of time, though the strain on his body and mind was still considerable. His peers were still far ahead of him, but Wei Feng had learned something vital in these years: cultivation was not just about talent; it was about perseverance, discipline, and resolve.
But even as he continued his struggles, Wei Feng's reputation had worsened. The sect's elders, who had once given him a chance, now viewed him with disappointment. The whispers behind his back had become louder, and even those who had once offered him kind words had begun to distance themselves. Only a handful of disciples, mostly the more reclusive ones, still offered him the occasional nod of respect.
One afternoon, as Wei Feng sat alone in the courtyard, attempting to refine his control over the Mist Spirit Gu, a familiar figure approached him.
It was Li Hu—the disciple who had mocked him all those years ago. His expression was unreadable, and Wei Feng could feel the tension in the air as he looked up.
"You're still at it, huh?" Li Hu's voice was low, almost condescending. "I thought by now, you'd realize this path isn't for you."
Wei Feng didn't respond immediately. He could feel the usual frustration bubbling up inside him, but he pushed it down. There was no need to engage in another pointless argument. Li Hu wasn't worth the energy.
Instead, Wei Feng focused on his cultivation, maintaining the fragile control he had over the Gu. The air around him seemed to thrum with unseen energy, and the fog that usually accompanied the Mist Spirit Gu began to form, though weakly. Li Hu didn't seem to notice it at first, but when the mist spread, he took a step back, his expression faltering for a moment.
"You're trying to use the Gu now?" Li Hu asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. "After all this time, you still think you can make it work?"
Wei Feng didn't look at him. He knew Li Hu's words were just a distraction, meant to provoke him. But there was something different about this moment. For the first time, the Mist Spirit Gu responded to his call with a hint of coherence. The mist swirled around him, the faintest traces of illusion taking shape in the air.
It wasn't much, but it was enough to silence Li Hu.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Finally, Wei Feng's voice broke the silence, steady and calm.
"Maybe you're right," Wei Feng said quietly. "Maybe this path isn't for me. But I've chosen it. And I will walk it until the end."
Li Hu stared at him, his expression unreadable, before turning and walking away.
As the mist faded, Wei Feng felt a strange calm wash over him. This path might be slow, this road might be harder than any other, but it was his. And he would walk it. No matter the cost.
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