Bo Chen, Sect Leader of the Iron Vein Sect, stood atop a rocky outcrop, his sharp eyes scanning the courtyard below. The disciples before him practiced the Vein Surge Fist, their movements precise and their forms disciplined.
He watched them with an approving nod. "Good. Very good. Strength is born from suffering. Only through relentless discipline can one achieve greatness. The body is a weapon—one that must be forged through heat, pressure, and time. There are no shortcuts on the martial path."
His words carried the weight of decades of cultivation and discipline. Bo Chen folded his arms, his expression as firm as tempered steel, but there was a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. None of the disciples were slacking; their dedication pleased him.
However, his attention soon shifted. Beyond the main training ground, a group of small children peeked through a half-open door, their wide eyes fixed on the older disciples. The youngsters, no older than seven or eight, were clumsily mimicking the Vein Surge Fist.
Their movements were awkward, their balance shaky, but their serious expressions made the sight almost comical.
Bo Chen let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Those little brats… They've barely begun to build their foundations, yet they're already dreaming of mastering techniques beyond their reach. Admirable, but foolish."
He sighed deeply, his amusement tinged with concern. Vein Surge Fist wasn't an advanced technique, but it required a stable foundation and a trained body. For these children, whose bodies were as fragile as spider silk, attempting such techniques was akin to courting disaster.
"If they force this too early," Bo Chen muttered, his tone darkening, "they'll cripple themselves before their journey even begins."
With purposeful strides, he began descending toward the children, intent on stopping their reckless attempts. But then, something caught his eye—a boy sitting cross-legged, his eyes closed in serene concentration.
Bo Chen froze mid-step. His eyes narrowed, and his heart skipped a beat. At first, he thought it was a trick of the light. But no, it was real. A faint, almost imperceptible aura of natural energy was gathering around the boy.
The Sect Leader's breath hitched. "No… it can't be." His trained senses honed in on the boy, scrutinizing every detail. The child wasn't just absorbing natural energy—he was refining it into internal energy and circulating it through his meridians.
Bo Chen's jaw slackened as if thunder had struck him. "Impossible," he whispered. "He's barely seven years old! How is he not rupturing his meridians?"
The boy, however, sat perfectly still, his small frame enveloped in a soft, white glow. There was no tension in his posture, no strain on his face. His breathing was steady, his expression tranquil.
To Bo Chen, the scene was nothing short of miraculous. He muttered to himself, "The meridians of a child this young can't handle Internal Energy. It's reckless—even suicidal—to attempt such a thing without proper foundation and guidance. And yet..."
The Sect Leader's mind raced. Before reaching the Meridian Strengthening Stage, refining internal energy was universally regarded as madness. Meridians needed to be tempered through rigorous training before they could endure the flow of Internal Energy. Otherwise, they would rupture, leading to agonizing pain or even death.
But this boy—this unassuming child—was defying all known logic. Not only was he refining internal energy, but his meridians showed no signs of strain. The energy flowed smoothly, like a gentle river through well-carved channels.
Bo Chen's voice trembled slightly, a rare occurrence for the indomitable Sect Leader. "How… how is this possible? A mere child... refining internal energy?"
The Sect Leader's intense gaze did not go unnoticed. The other children who had been sneakily mimicking the Vein Surge Fist, froze mid-motion. Their minds erupting into a chaotic flurry of thoughts.
'Oh no, oh no, he's looking this way! Does he know I stole an extra meat bun last week? Wait, does that even matter right now?!'
'Why is Sect Leader so quiet? Quiet is bad. Quiet means he's planning something… something painful!'
'Should I fake fainting? Maybe he'll send me to the infirmary instead of punishing me. But what if they make me drink that gross bitter tea?'
The chubbiest of the kids gulped, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. 'I should've stayed home today. I could've faked a stomachache… but noooo, I had to be here for 'training.' Stupid, stupid, stupid!'
A particularly nervous girl stole a glance at Xiao Huzi. 'Look at him, so calm. It's like he doesn't even know what's coming. Or… wait. What if he's already fainted?'
Another boy rubbed his face anxiously. 'What if Sect Leader punishes us for copying martial techniques? I'm too young to die! I haven't even tasted roasted pheasant yet!'
"S-Sect Leader..." one of them stammered, trembling.
The children quickly dropped their poses, standing in a sloppy line with faces as pale as ghosts. Yet, amidst all this chaos, Xiao Huzi continued practicing the Ironflow Technique, blissfully unaware of the trouble brewing around him.
Bo Chen waved his hand, dismissing the children. "Leave," he said, his voice calm.
The kids didn't need to be told twice. They scrambled out of the courtyard like a flock of startled chickens, whispering amongst themselves as they glanced nervously back at Xiao Huzi.
"We're free! Wait, no, Huzi's still there. Poor guy. He's about to learn why they call it the Iron Palm of Discipline."
"Yeah, he's gonna get smacked so hard his ancestors will feel it," another added, half whispering, half giggling nervously.
"I bet Sect Leader will make him sweep the whole mountain for a week. No, a month! With a toothbrush!"
"No, worse! Sect Leader might make him kneel on the porcupine mat!" another whispered dramatically, his voice trembling at the thought of such a legendary punishment.
As they turned their backs, some couldn't help but glance back at Xiao Huzi. Their expressions were a mix of pity and dread.
"Do you think he'll cry?"
"Nah, Huzi's too dumb to realize he's in trouble."
Bo Chen, meanwhile, paid no attention to their antics. His gaze was firmly fixed on Xiao Huzi. The boy was still drawing in natural energy, his small chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. For someone his age, this level of control was unthinkable.
"This boy…" Bo Chen murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "Is he a prodigy—or just too foolish to realize he should have exploded by now? This matter is too big now. I should call Grand Elder and other higher-ups now."
He decided to wait. Whatever Xiao Huzi was doing, it was unlike anything he'd ever seen. Whether he was genius or not, the answer would reveal itself soon enough.
.....
Time had become… strange. It felt like both an eternity and a fleeting moment had passed. Finally, I sensed it. A faint pulse within my Dantian. Something had changed.
I peered inward, focusing.
'Is this… the internal energy I refined?'
It was small, barely the size of a droplet, but it was there. Real. The energy had traveled through my meridians, clearing away impurities, strengthening the pathways within me. Even though I had no formal knowledge, I could feel it—this was right.
A deep satisfaction welled in my chest. This was cultivation. This was what true martial artists pursued.
The thought filled me with quiet exhilaration.
But then—
Something felt off.
Too quiet.
The air around me, once filled with the voices of my fellow disciples, was now utterly silent. No whispers, no laughter, not even the sound of training. A strange unease crawled up my spine.
"Wait… where is everyone?"
I opened my eyes.
The courtyard was empty.
The children, the disciples—gone.
I blinked, my mind struggling to catch up. Had I been too lost in cultivation to notice?
A sudden, crushing presence pressed down on me.
I looked up.
I stood frozen, my breath catching in my throat. Before me stood four elderly figures, their presence so vast it was as if the weight of the heavens themselves bore down upon my tiny frame.
The one in the center drew my attention the most—an old man whose long white beard swayed with each movement. His gaze locked onto mine, piercing, unreadable, as if seeking to unearth the deepest secrets hidden within my soul.
Then, he spoke.
"Little one," his voice was gentle, yet there was an unmistakable authority in his tone. "Where did you learn to refine natural energy?"
A normal child might have cowered before such figures, might have trembled under their scrutiny, but I was not a child. I kept my expression serene, and met his gaze with unwavering calm.
I knew I could not reveal the truth. Who knew what might happen If I told them the truth? Human heart has always been unpredictable since ancient times. I could only try to play dumb in front of these elders.
I lowered my head slightly, adopting an air of humility. "Respected elders," I said, my voice steady, measured. "I was only meditating when I suddenly felt the world around me… change. The energy in the air called to me, and without understanding how, I followed that guidance. Before I knew it, the energy had entered my body and refined itself naturally."
A calculated half-truth. Enough to be plausible, vague enough to prevent further probing.
The elders exchanged glances, silent messages passing between them. Some were skeptical, their eyes narrowing. Others seemed intrigued, curiosity flickering in their expressions.
The old man studied me with a sharpness that sent a chill down my spine. "This is not something that happens by chance," he murmured. "Your meridians show no signs of instability. Your refinement is smooth, flawless." His voice lowered. "Almost… unnatural."
I remained calm, though my mind raced. Looks like he didn't fall for my bullshit. I had to make this explanation feel unpolished, uncertain—as if even I did not fully grasp what had happened.
"Elders, I… I cannot explain it either," I said, my voice tinged with hesitation. "It was as though my body simply knew what to do. Like I was being guided by something beyond myself."
The long-bearded elder exhaled, deep in thought. His voice barely above a whisper, he mused, "Guidance from within… or perhaps a natural connection?"
Another elder, a man with a rigid posture and eyes like tempered steel, nodded. "Even if it was luck, such an occurrence is exceedingly rare. Potential like this… it cannot be ignored."
A silent decision passed between them. The long-bearded elder stepped forward, placing a firm yet strangely warm hand on my shoulder.
"From this day forth, you will no longer be an ordinary disciple," he declared. "You will be nurtured carefully." Then, his voice softened.
"Little one, are you willing to take me as your master?"