A war is won before it starts

Elder Shen Ming stood like an ancient monolith before the sea of disciples, his voice resonating through the hushed air. "The national sects tournament draws near," he began, each word deliberate, "and our Spirit Moon Sect has been allotted but five precious slots. Discipline, above all, will determine who represents us."

Wei Xiao's stance was rigid, a statue amidst the throng. Elder Shen Ming's words were more than commands; they were the keys to Wei Xiao's chains—a chance to uplift his clan.

"Focus," Elder Shen Ming continued, his silver hair shimmering as if imbued with lunar wisdom, "will be your ally. The trials are arduous, designed to test the very limits of your cultivation."

Wei Xiao nodded, barely perceptible. His mind raced, strategies forming like constellations in the night sky. Each scenario played out, victory the only acceptable outcome.

"Remember," Elder Shen Ming said, locking eyes with Wei Xiao for a brief moment, "this is not merely about personal glory. It is about bringing honor to our sect, to the legacy of the Spirit Moon sect."

Wei Xiao's pulse quickened. Honor. Legacy. Freedom. These were the tenets that fueled his resolve. As Elder Shen Ming dismissed the assembly, Wei Xiao's figure remained motionless, already envisioning the battles ahead.

The training grounds sprawled before them, a canvas of ancient earth awaiting the brushstrokes of exertion and perseverance. Elder Shen Ming's voice was the wind that stirred the leaves from their silence. "Qiu Shen," he said, his gaze steady, "You already stand at the precipice of core foundation's peak; focus on your combat skills."

Qiu Shen nodded, muscles tensing like coiled dragons ready to spring into flight, his determination a tangible force beneath the morning sun.

"Qiu Ning," the Elder turned, a softness touching his stern visage, "do not rush the third stage. Your meridians whisper of extraordinary potential." She drew a breath, her fiery curls a vibrant contrast against the discipline etched in her posture. "Improve your qi circulation," he counseled, his words painting pictures of flowing rivers within.

Wei Xiao watched, his mind a sharpened blade slicing through distractions, focused solely on the Elder's next words. "Come," Shen Ming beckoned, leading them toward the Lunar Core, a place pulsating with energies unseen but deeply felt.

"Observe closely," the Elder instructed, settling into a stance as rooted as the ageless trees encircling them. He moved with the grace of seasons changing, hands tracing arcs that captured the very essence of the moon's pull. Energy hummed around him, a silent chorus of nature's hidden strength.

Wei Xiao mirrored him, movements crisp, each shift of weight a deliberate echo of celestial harmony. He reached out with senses honed by trials and tribulations, the moon's silver glow a beacon for his inner sight. Grass underfoot shared its life force willingly, and Wei Xiao embraced it, his spirit opening like night-blooming flowers to the kiss of dew.

"Channel it through," Elder Shen Ming whispered, a guiding star in Wei Xiao's firmament of focus.

The qi obeyed, a river conforming to the banks of his will, cascading through meridians with newfound purpose. Wei Xiao's jaw set, eyes a pair of obsidian pools reflecting the depths of his resolve. He was the conduit, the bringer of convergence between the earthly and the divine.

"Again," the Elder commanded, and Wei Xiao complied, each repetition honing his Spiritual Grounding, each cycle of breath weaving Energy Integration tighter. The pulse of the earth thrummed beneath his feet, the caress of the breeze a testament to his ascending mastery.

With each movement, Wei Xiao's spirit soared, the shackles of his past dissolving in the face of relentless progress. The path ahead was arduous, fraught with trials, but the flame of his ambition burned brighter than ever, an unquenchable fire in the heart of the Spirit Moon Sect.

The night deepened, the moon a sentinel in the sky. Wei Xiao stood alone amidst the shadows of the Spirit Moon Sect's training grounds, the silver luminescence etching his figure in stark relief against the dark expanse. His silhouette moved with fluid precision, arms sweeping through the air, legs pivoting on the soft earth. Each motion carved a more perfect arc, his body an instrument played by the celestial tune.

"Focus," he murmured to himself, breath misting in the cold air. The spiritual energy of the cosmos wove around him, a tapestry of power that he threaded through his meridians. He channeled it, harnessed it, felt it magnify within him like a storm gathering force.

In the darkness, eyes watched.

"Look at him," one disciple whispered from the edge of the grounds, shadowed figures huddled together, "night after night, unwavering."

"His cultivation... It's almost unnatural," another replied, voice tinged with a blend of respect and jealousy.

"Unnatural or not," a third voice chimed in, softer yet edged with eagerness, "it's working."

They observed as Wei Xiao transitioned into a stance of absolute control, the very air seeming to thicken around him. The whispers swirled, some admiring, some skeptical, all unable to deny the palpable increase in his strength.

"Will he surpass even the elders?" A hushed question laced with awe.

"Impossible," came a scoff, though lacking conviction.

"Watch." A simple command, but all eyes were already fixed, unable to look away.

Wei Xiao's form flowed seamlessly, a dance with the wind, a communion with the earth. Every repetition was a step closer to mastery, every inhale a draw of raw energy, every exhale a release of potential.

"Again," he whispered to himself, a mantra against complacency.

"Is he ever satisfied?" someone wondered aloud, a murmur lost on the breeze.

"Doesn't seem so," another answered, the words carrying a mix of grudging admiration and a hint of challenge.

Yet Wei Xiao heard none of it, his world reduced to the boundary of skin and spirit, his focus a blade cutting through distraction. The moonlight remained his silent partner, a witness to the lone disciple's tenacity.

"Again."

Wei Xiao's stance shifted, an unorthodox fusion of movements flowing from his core. The onlookers' astonishment was palpable as he blended the sect’s celestial techniques with martial arts from the stone. His hands traced arcs of power in the air, each pattern a complex tapestry of ancient and modern wisdom.

"Never seen moves like those," a disciple muttered, eyes wide.

"Where did he learn that?" another whispered, leaning forward to catch every detail.

Each technique resonated with the next, a symphony of strength and precision. Wei Xiao's breath synced with the rhythm of the earth, his spirit riding the cresting waves of borrowed time. He was redefining limits, his memory a wellspring of innovation.

"Is that even allowed?" someone questioned, uncertainty lacing their voice.

"Doesn't matter," replied a grizzled disciple, respect threading through his tone. "It's brilliant."

As night deepened, Wei Xiao slipped away from prying eyes to a dimly lit corner of the marketplace. A clandestine exchange unfolded; midgrade pills exchanged for coin, haggling kept terse, purposeful. With deft fingers, he counted out the earnings, his mind a spinning reel of calculations.

"Low-grade pills," he murmured, selecting the vials with care. More could be procured with these funds – sustenance for Broken Creek Village.

"Sure you won't keep some?" the merchant asked, voice tinged with greed.

"None," Wei Xiao snapped, his gaze icy resolve. "They need it more."

He bundled the resources, every item a lifeline for his clan. In the silence of his room, he arranged the parcels, ready for discreet delivery. His kin would find strength in numbers, an edge against oppression.

"Every bit counts," he whispered, sealing the last package. His hand hovered over the stone embedded in his sole, its pulse a silent promise to fuel his rise without aid.

"Strength to my people. Freedom to my land." His words were a vow, the stone's glow a secret pact between past glory and future triumph.

Wei Xiao's fingers danced across the parchment with a rhythmic precision, each stroke of the brush embedding ancient knowledge into the fibers. He summoned memories from his previous life—a litany of movements and forms that once coursed through his veins like pulsating qi.

"Step, pivot, strike," he muttered under his breath, visualizing the martial dance as he inscribed it. "Breathe in the world's energy; exhale your own force."

Ink blots spread like dark stars, mapping out the path for neophyte cultivators. The pages piled up beside him—manuals of martial prowess destined for Broken Creek Village.

"Balance. Harmony. Impact," Wei Xiao continued, each word a mantra fueling his resolve.

As twilight embraced the courtyard, Wei Xiao set the scrolls aside. His gaze fell upon the stone embedded in his sole, its surface a tapestry of runes known only to him. He settled into a lotus position, the stone's cool touch against his skin anchoring him to the moment.

"From within," he whispered, closing his eyes.

The stone throbbed, a heartbeat syncing with his own. Energy swirled around him, nature's bounty converging on his being. Moonlight spilled over his form, casting a silver sheen on his taut muscles.

"Guide me," Wei Xiao breathed out.

His aura flared, touching the corners of the training ground. Leaves rustled in response, a silent chorus to his internal symphony. The stone pulsed faster, amplifying every sensation—the whisper of grass, the caress of wind, the quiet strength of the earth.

"Channel, integrate, ascend," he chanted softly.

The night deepened; Wei Xiao remained steadfast, a lone figure bound to the cosmos by an invisible thread of determination. Each inhale drew more power, every exhale expelled weakness.

"Unyielding," he rasped, feeling the stone's might suffuse his spirit.

Wei Xiao opened his eyes, their depths reflecting the vastness of the skies above. The stone dimmed, its duty fulfilled for now. A new day loomed, but for Wei Xiao, there was no rest—only the relentless pursuit of excellence.

"Again," he commanded himself, rising to greet the dawn with unbroken spirit.

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