Forging the steel

"Each step here is a challenge," Lian Cheng said, his voice steady beside Wei Xiao. "A month of preparation awaits before the trials commence."

Wei Xiao's muscles tensed, ready. The air was thick with qi, and every breath he drew was a draught of potential.

Lian Cheng extended his hand, a low-grade qi gathering pill resting on his calloused palm. "This will aid you. Your qi circulation must be flawless."

Wei Xiao's fingers closed around the pill; its energy seeped into his skin, promising power. He nodded, locking eyes with Lian Cheng. "I understand."

"Swallow it at dawn," Lian Cheng instructed, "when the moon's essence is vibrant. It will harmonize with your spirit."

"Thank you, Master Lian." Wei Xiao pocketed the pill, its presence a silent vow. No words needed to convey his resolve—it was as clear as the night sky above them.

The chill morning air of the Spirit Moon Sect greeted Wei Xiao as he followed Lian Cheng to a secluded clearing. Dew clung to the unruly grass, shimmering like tiny pearls in the dawn light. They stopped at the center, where the earth felt alive, pulsing with energy.

"Path of Resonance," Lian Cheng began, his voice slicing through the silence. "Five stages. First, Qi Perception."

Wei Xiao's eyes narrowed, honing in on every syllable. He visualized the unseen force around him, imagined its taste, its color.

"Second, Qi Circulation." Lian's hand moved in fluid motions, emulating the flow of energy. "Foundation of all."

Wei Xiao absorbed the words, etching them into memory. Third stage, Fortress of Power; fourth, Unity with Cosmos; fifth, Harmony/Dominion. Each word was a stepping stone laid before him.

"Understand?" Lian Cheng's gaze pierced through the veil of morning mist.

"Understood," Wei Xiao replied, his voice a low thrum.

Alone now, Wei Xiao sat. Eyes closed, mind diving inward. The past loomed—a specter of failures, each a bitter lesson. His old life, a testament to what lay at the end of a flawed path.

"Never again," he whispered to himself.

Qi Circulation. The heartbeat of cultivation, where he had stumbled before. Memories clawed at him—missteps and arrogance that had cost him dearly in a life long gone.

"Focus," he commanded his wandering mind. Resolve crystallized within him, sharp as the frost on the ground.

Mistakes were stones in the river of time, but he was the current, ever-moving, reshaping his destiny with the relentless force of newfound purpose. Each breath drew in strength, each exhalation expelled weakness.

"Master it," Wei Xiao vowed silently. "This time, master it all."

Wei Xiao settled onto the cold, stone floor of the training hall, legs folding beneath him in a posture of ancient discipline. The murmur of distant disciples faded as he inhaled deeply, lungs expanding with the crisp morning air. His eyes sealed shut, lashes casting faint shadows on high cheekbones.

Within, a silent world beckoned.

Consciousness tunneled inward, to the core where his nascent qi lay dormant. A pulse—faint at first—thrummed through Wei Xiao's veins, the rhythm of life itself. Finger by finger, he unclenched his fists, willing the energy to rise, to flow.

"Guide it, don't force it," came Lian Cheng's voice, firm yet infused with an undercurrent of patience.

Wei Xiao nodded imperceptibly, attention unwavering as he envisioned the qi, a radiant stream seeking paths through his body. The meridians awaited, unseen conduits ready to channel the burgeoning power.

"Remember, twelve primary meridians," Lian Cheng continued. His silhouette loomed overhead, a beacon of wisdom cast in the soft glow of dawn. "Six yin. Six yang."

A flicker of understanding sparked within Wei Xiao. He sought the channels, delved for the Lung Meridian of Hand-Taiyin, felt the qi nudge against its threshold. Pressure built, seeking release.

"Good," breathed Lian Cheng. "Now, the eight extraordinary meridians. They are the rivers that feed the sea, the framework upon which your cultivation will ascend."

"Eight," Wei Xiao echoed internally, grasping the concept. Visions of ancient texts danced behind closed eyelids—charts and pathways, the Du Mai surging along his spine.

"Unlock them, and your potential... limitless." Lian Cheng's voice wove through the stillness, a guiding thread.

Wei Xiao's focus intensified, a blade honing its edge. One by one, he touched upon the acupuncture points scattered like stars across his skin. Three hundred sixty-one constellations charting his ascension.

"Exponential growth," whispered Wei Xiao, his mind a whirlpool of concentration.

"True talent is measured thus," affirmed Lian Cheng. His gaze never strayed from the young disciple whose resolve mirrored the unyielding mountains framing the sect.

"Will be measured," corrected Wei Xiao silently, a vow etched into his every fiber.

"Persevere," urged Lian Cheng, his presence a fortress amidst the tempest of Wei Xiao's trials.

"Persevering," promised Wei Xiao, breaths syncing with the cadence of burgeoning power.

The qi answered, a loyal beast heeding its master's call.

Wei Xiao's breath grew shallow, the meditation deepening into a trance. The air in the training chamber became viscous, time stretching thin as reality faded. He teetered on the brink of consciousness, and that's when it seized him—an otherworldly dream.

Visions swirled, a maelstrom of cryptic symbols and ancient runes. They danced before him, elusive yet insistent. The stone within his soul pulsed, a heartbeat syncing with the dream's cadence. He saw rivers of light, meridians not of flesh but of spirit, coursing through landscapes unseen by mortal eyes.

He soared over them, his essence entwined with the qi that thrummed below—a visceral map to mastery. Each beat of the stone's rhythm infused him with knowledge, a silent language of the universe whispered directly into his core.

"Understand," the dream seemed to command, and he did. Qi pathways illuminated, secrets of flow and blockage unraveling before his inner gaze. The stone's glow intensified, a sun birthing dawn within him, filling every crevice of his being with raw, untamed energy.

Snap.

Wei Xiao's eyes flew open, the dream shattering like glass. Reality rushed back—the cool stone floor beneath him, the hum of fellow cultivators in distant practice. But the insights lingered, indelible marks upon his soul.

"More," he breathed, the word a talisman against the remnants of sleep.

He rose, limbs fluid with newfound vigor. The chamber spun momentarily, orientation recalibrating as he anchored himself in the now. Wei Xiao settled into stance, legs rooted, arms poised to channel the heavens. Eyes narrowed, focus sharp as obsidian.

"Harmonize," he commanded internally.

Qi responded, once a wild stallion, now a steed bowing to its rider. It coursed through the channels Lian Cheng had elucidated, obedient yet powerful. With each rotation, Wei Xiao sensed the strengthening of his meridians, the harmonious dance of internal cosmos aligning with external intent.

"Flow," he urged the energy, guiding it with precision born of the dream's teachings. His hands moved with purpose, sculpting the air as if it were clay to his will.

"Balance," whispered the wisdom of the stone, and he complied, finding the equilibrium between force and finesse. Wei Xiao's body became a conduit, a temple for the sacred art of cultivation.

"Ascend," the dream echoed, a ghostly refrain spurring him onward. Wei Xiao's spirit answered, leaping towards the heights of his potential, every fiber singing with the promise of what lay ahead.

Wei Xiao's breath came in steady rhythm, his mind a fortress against distraction. He sat cross-legged, eyes closed, hands resting on knees, palms to the sky. A lattice of meridians spread through him, invisible rivers awaiting his command. The air around him hummed with potential, charged with his intent.

"Commence," he murmured, the single word a gateway to action.

His consciousness coursed through the twelve primary meridians, probing for the subtleties that only one who had walked the path before could discern. Lungs first, metal energy, the sharp inhale and exhale mirrored by qi's ebb and flow. He moved methodically, past-life knowledge his map, every turn familiar yet newly treacherous.

"Kidneys, water," Wei Xiao intoned, tracing the fluid line of power within. He continued, element by element, channel by channel. His internal vision illuminated each pathway, clarity piercing through the remnants of a previous existence's fog. Wood fed fire, fire created earth, earth bore metal, and metal enriched water. The cycle was endless, a tapestry woven from his very essence.

Suddenly, resistance—a snarl in the network. His jaw clenched, focus narrowing to a needle's point at the blockage within his liver meridian. Wood energy stifled, growth stunted. It pulsed, a defiant barrier mocking his efforts.

"Break," he commanded, voice a whisper of granite.

He summoned the qi gathering pill's essence, a surge of warmth flooding his core. With it, strength from the stone merged, a twin force battering against the obstruction. His brow furrowed, determination a blade honed on the grindstone of relentless will.

"Yield," he growled to the stubborn knot.

Pressure built, a crescendo of internal forces clashing, until—release. The blockage shattered, qi cascading like a breached dam. Relief washed over Wei Xiao, sweet victory tempered by the knowledge of battles yet to come. He exhaled sharply, breath misting in the air, a visual testament to the heat of his inner struggle.

"Forward," he affirmed, spirit undaunted as he prepared to tackle the next meridian. Each success a step closer to mastery, each obstacle another chance to prove his worth. Wei Xiao knew no other way but the ceaseless march of progress, his path a relentless pursuit of the cultivation peaks that taunted him from the horizon.

Lian Cheng stood, the silhouette of his form stark against the pale twilight that enveloped the Spirit Moon Sect's training grounds. His eyes, ancient pools of knowing, reflected a profound surprise as he watched Wei Xiao's practice.

"Four yin and three yang meridians in mere weeks," Lian Cheng murmured under his breath, his voice a low hum that mingled with the rustling leaves around them. "Where are your limits, Wei Xiao?"

The young cultivator's muscles tensed, pulling at the energy channels within his body. Sweat beaded on his brow, evidence of his exertion, yet his eyes remained closed, his expression serene amidst the monumental effort.

"Most consider four to eight cleared meridians average," Lian Cheng continued, speaking now to the wind as if sharing an ancient secret, "Eleven or twelve—the mark of geniuses. But the extraordinary ones? They reach for legends, grasp at the tales sung by dragons." His gaze sharpened, alighting with a fire that had seen eons come and go. "Could you be one such legend, Wei Xiao?"

Wei Xiao's eyes snapped open, a spark igniting within their depths. He nodded once, sharply, absorbing the weight of Lian Cheng's words.

"Your progress excites me," said Lian Cheng, his tone warm with anticipation for the future. "I await the heights you will reach."

"Thank you, Elder," Wei Xiao replied, his voice steady, each word a vow. "I will not disappoint."

Days bled into nights, time marked by the rhythmic cadence of Wei Xiao's routine. Meditation at dawn, qi flowing like a river within him. The gathering pill lay on his tongue, a bitter promise of power. It dissolved, and with it, barriers within him crumbled.

Physical training ensued, relentless. Punches thrown with precision, kicks slicing through the air. Each movement deliberate, each step a dance between force and fluidity. Fellow cultivators paused, caught by the intensity of his focus—an unyielding storm that raged silently within the tranquil eye.

"Look at him," they whispered among themselves, "like a force of nature."

With every cycle of sun and moon, Wei Xiao honed his craft. Pills taken at measured intervals, power blooming within him. Meridians strengthened, his foundation solidified beneath him as a mountain roots deep into the earth.

"Forward," he would whisper to himself, the single word a mantra that propelled him through exhaustion, through doubt, through the sheer cliff face of his own limitations. Onlookers saw only the surface—a man of flesh and bone—but beneath it raged a spirit fierce enough to challenge the heavens.

Wei Xiao's reflection shimmered on the surface of the moonlit pond, a ghostly echo of his form as he stood at the precipice of destiny. The Spirit Moon Sect's inner quarters loomed before him, their ancient walls suffused with the hushed whispers of countless generations of cultivators who had walked this path.

"Eight meridians," he mused, a smirk playing on his lips. "The standard to surpass."

He flexed his hands, sensing the thrum of qi within, a surging river that had once been but a meandering stream. The pill’s energy coursed through him, a reminder of the ground he had covered, the heights yet to scale.

"Still not enough" he whispered to the night, his voice barely audible over the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. The precise number of meridians he'd mastered remained his secret, his hidden edge in the coming trials. An enigma wrapped in the quiet confidence of a man who knew his worth.

Steps sure and silent, Wei Xiao approached the threshold where shadows clung like cobwebs to the edges of lantern light. He squared his shoulders, every muscle coiled with potential, every thought sharpened to a fine point.

"Trials," he breathed out, a promise to himself, to the memory of Broken Creek Village, to the future that awaited. His anticipation was a palpable force, a current that could not be contained within the vessel of his flesh and bone.

"Let them come," he declared, the words carving themselves into the fabric of the universe. The resolve that anchored him was as unbreakable as the Black Tortoise Clan's defenses, as fierce as the White Tiger Clan's honor.

In the stillness that followed, there was no fanfare, no sound but the steady beat of his heart—a warrior's drum heralding the dawn of battle.

Wei Xiao took his final step from the outer realm of toil and sweat into the sacred space where legends were forged. There, at the edge of the training grounds, he turned one last time to look upon the world he would soon transcend.

"Trials," he said, a steel-clad vow, a whisper of wings against the silence. "I am ready."

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