CHAPTER 20

  After more than two shichen spent regulating his breathing and forcing his body to gradually adapt to tenfold gravity even while lying down, Yang Feng finally managed to fall asleep.

  He was exhausted to the extreme. The moment his body could endure the pressure, his consciousness loosened and slipped away.

  Less than a shichen later, a voice sounded outside his cave dwelling, clear and decisive.

  “Yang Feng. It is time for morning training.”

  It was Su Xueni.

  The voice was not loud, yet enhanced by spiritual force, it passed through the stone walls and reached deep into the cave.

  Yang Feng, sunk in deep sleep, jolted awake.

  Not because of the volume.

  But because of the spiritual force hidden within it.

  It did not shake the cave. It did not disturb the structure of the mountain.

  The vibration was focused entirely on him.

  The instant the force touched him, his body lost balance. Under tenfold gravity, even a slight disruption of rhythm carried consequences.

  He was thrown from the stone bed.

  His body struck the ground heavily.

  “Ah—!”

  He pushed himself upright in confusion. He did not understand why he had fallen. Tenfold gravity made every movement slow and heavy. He braced a hand against the cold stone floor and looked around the cave.

  “Still half asleep?”

  Su Xueni’s voice sounded again. This time it was not greatly amplified, yet the spiritual force within it felt like a thin cord tightening against his ears.

  “At One-Sword Peak, no one sleeps past the last watch of the night.”

  Yang Feng stilled.

  The rules were this strict.

  In the Outer Sect, he had grown used to living by his own rhythm. He took missions at the Mission Hall, exchanged contribution points, climbed the Ninefold Qi Refining Tower, ate, rested, slept. As long as he fulfilled the required quotas, that was enough. There was no master urging him forward. No one monitored his hours. If he was tired, he slept. If he wished to cultivate, he cultivated.

  Freedom had become a habit.

  But here, things were different.

  At One-Sword Peak, there was no such thing as “want.”

  There was only “must.”

  He forced his body, still heavy as lead, to move. His face was blank, his eyes still clouded with sleep as he stepped out of the cave abode.

  “Yang Feng greets Senior Sister Su.”

  As he bowed, his gaze shifted toward the person standing beside her.

  A young girl.

  Her face was round, her complexion a healthy bronze. Her hair was tied high on both sides, the ends swaying lightly in the mountain wind. She wore a modified purple robe that left her shoulders bare. Though her figure was small, her aura was far from weak.

  “May I know… Senior Sister’s name?”

  A high, clear voice answered at once, unexpectedly youthful.

  “I am Liao Jiran, Fourth Disciple of First Sword Peak, and the youngest here. You may call me Sister Jiran.”

  Yang Feng fell silent.

  Liao Jiran leaned forward, the distance between them closing abruptly. She raised a finger and poked him straight in the chest.

  “Ah… Sister Jiran… is there a problem?”

  Liao Jiran narrowed her eyes, the curve of her smile turning faintly dangerous.

  “Ah, hehe… Senior Sister, look. Someone here hasn’t been tempering his body at all. Skin soft, flesh thin. If he slips later and falls off the mountain, he’ll die for sure.”

  Su Xueni cleared her throat lightly.

  “That is enough.”

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  “It is late. We begin morning training.”

  “Do not keep Master waiting.”

  She turned, her gaze shifting toward the mountainside beyond.

  “Run three laps around One-Sword Peak.”

  Yang Feng looked at the wide central courtyard before him, then asked blankly,

  “Around… this courtyard? I don’t see any path.”

  Su Xueni frowned.

  “What are you saying?”

  “Do we require a path in order to run?”

  She lifted her hand and pointed toward the sheer cliff outside.

  Jagged stone outcrops jutted outward, uneven in height and distance, stretching all the way down toward the foot of the mountain. The mountain wind swept past, whipping their robes sharply.

  “We run on the stone.”

  “Not climb.”

  The wind cut cold against the skin.

  The protruding rocks were irregular and narrow, descending steeply toward the valley below.

  This was not a running path.

  This was a cliff.

  “Lightness Technique…”

  The thought flashed through his mind.

  Back in the Qi Refinement realm, he had never even considered it. His Spiritual Power had not been refined enough, nor abundant enough, to sustain such a technique.

  But then he paused.

  He was now in the Foundation realm.

  Yet…

  He had never learned any Lightness Technique.

  Su Xueni’s gaze shifted.

  The other two immediately straightened.

  “Greetings, Master.”

  “Greetings, Peak Master.”

  A white figure approached at an unhurried pace.

  The mountain wind did not stir her robes.

  Instead, an invisible pressure, cold and sharp, slowly spread across the peak.

  Leng Wuqing had arrived.

  Leng Wuqing stepped closer to the three standing before her. Her gaze passed over them once.

  “Xueni. Jiran. Yang Feng. Only three?”

  “Yes, Master. Xiaodao and Lingling are on mission and have yet to return.”

  “Mm.”

  Leng Wuqing’s eyes shifted toward Yang Feng.

  “You will not run today.”

  “Training is reserved for formal disciples of this peak. You are a merely registered disciple. I have nothing to teach you.”

  Yang Feng showed no reaction. He simply lowered his head and accepted it.

  At One-Sword Peak, he had no standing. He was merely someone permitted to remain.

  “However,” Leng Wuqing continued, “One-Sword Peak does not keep the unneeded.”

  She pointed toward a larger cave abode.

  “You will enter that cave. Go deep inside. There is an underground pool. Draw water from it, then proceed to the rear of the cave. The peak’s Spirit Herb Garden lies there. Water the plants.”

  Su Xueni glanced at Yang Feng, understanding her master’s intent.

  “For every three spirit herbs, one bucket of water.”

  “The buckets are already placed beside the pool.”

  “This task is usually done by Jiran.”

  “But from today onward, it is yours.”

  Yang Feng bowed.

  “This disciple accepts.”

  When Yang Feng’s figure disappeared into the cave abode, Su Xueni spoke in a lowered voice.

  “Master, do you truly believe he can accomplish it?”

  Leng Wuqing smiled faintly.

  “I believe he will.”

  She looked at her disciples.

  “Do you know why One-Sword Peak has no Earth Foundation, though it is the sect’s standard?”

  Su Xueni hesitated.

  “Because only Heaven Foundation may stand upon our peak?”

  “Correct. But not sufficient.”

  “One who lacks the resolve to step toward Heaven Foundation is, in my eyes, unworthy to remain.”

  Liao Jiran tilted her head, resting a finger lightly against her lips.

  “Then why has Master taken notice of Yang Feng? He is only Mortal Foundation.”

  Leng Wuqing regarded her for a moment before speaking.

  “His sword path is very straight.”

  “If he could strike only once in a state where his Dao Heart converged, that would be a promising seed. But if he struck more than one thousand seven hundred times in that same state…”

  Leng Wuqing’s smile turned thin.

  “That is no longer fortune.”

  She turned away.

  “It grows late.”

  “Begin Lightness training.”

  The morning wind swept cold across the stone ledges.

  On the summit of One-Sword Peak, a harsh morning had begun.

  When the footsteps of the three gradually faded from the stone courtyard, the cave abode sank back into silence.

  Yang Feng walked deeper inside. The light from the outside dimmed quickly behind him, replaced by the cold dampness that had settled within the mountain. Tenfold gravity continued to press upon every muscle, forcing him to weigh each step with care.

  The underground pool lay at the far end of the cave.

  Its surface was still, like a dark mirror. Spiritual Qi was compressed close to the water, not dispersing, not stirring. Two wooden buckets rested at the edge, as though they had been waiting for him.

  Yang Feng bent down. The simple motion alone caused his back to tighten as if a cord had been drawn to its limit. He kept his spine straight, steadied his breathing, and lowered the bucket into the water.

  The sound of water filling it was low and heavy.

  When he lifted it, his arm immediately sank.

  Not because the bucket was large, but because under tenfold gravity, everything bore ten times its weight. His wrist trembled slightly. The water within the bucket shifted, small ripples brushing against the wood. A single drop spilled over and struck the stone floor.

  Yang Feng paused.

  He watched the drop seep into a crack in the rock for a long moment.

  In the Outer Sect, he had once believed he had come far. He had climbed the Ninefold Qi Refining Tower, pushed himself to the brink, broken through to Foundation ahead of time, and stood in the plaza facing another’s sword Qi. Yet now, with a single full bucket of water in his hands, he had to gather his entire focus merely to keep it from tilting.

  He tightened his grip on the handle and adjusted his center of balance. His right shoulder had dipped slightly, his rear foot had not yet anchored fully, his wrist had drifted outward by half an inch. He corrected each detail slowly, almost imperceptibly, before taking the next step.

  Stepping out of the Cave Abode, the mountain wind swept across the cliff face, biting cold. The two buckets in his hands trembled faintly; the water inside swayed before settling once more.

  Yang Feng did not quicken his pace. Nor did he try to appear steadier than necessary. He simply placed his foot upon the first protruding stone, tested his balance, and then stepped forward.

  Three spirit herbs. One bucket of water.

  The rule was clear. No explanation was required, and no urging was given. It only had to be done correctly.

  He gradually understood that at One-Sword Peak, there was no notion of unfair treatment. Nor was there favoritism for those who had broken through early or once stood against another’s Sword Qi in the Outer Sect. One’s standing spoke for itself.

  You are a registered disciple.

  Then do the work of a registered disciple.

  No resentment.

  No comparison.

  If it is not done well, someone else will take your place.

  If it is done well, no praise will follow.

  Things here had operated in this manner long before he arrived, and they would continue in the same manner long after he left.

  Yang Feng completed the first stretch of stone and set the bucket down beside three spirit herbs. He watered them evenly, neither too much nor too little. The soil absorbed the water slowly, releasing a faint scent of damp earth.

  He lifted the bucket and turned back.

  He did not think further.

  He did not question whether he deserved to remain.

  At this place, such a question held no meaning.

  To remain, one must live in accordance with one’s position.

  Do what is yours to do.

  Until no one needs to remind you.

  The morning wind remained cold as ever.

  Upon the cliffside of One-Sword Peak, a solitary figure moved back and forth between the Cave Abode and the herb garden, carrying water in silence, as though the task had always belonged to him.

  Thus began Yang Feng’s first morning upon the peak.

  There was no sword.

  Only work to be done.

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