The Tempered Steel

A suppressed scream echoed within the narrow confines of the cave. Han Lian felt as if every drop of his blood had turned into boiling acid. Beneath Mo Shanshan's palm, the energy flowing into him was no longer a mere warm current; it was a rampaging wild dragon, crashing through and obliterating every blockage within his narrow meridians.

"Do not resist! If you stiffen your muscles, this energy will shatter your own bones!" Mo Shanshan's voice was calm yet commanding amidst the storm of agony Lian was enduring.

Lian tried to relax his body, a task that felt nearly impossible when every nerve was shrieking for relief. Sweat mixed with blood began to seep from his pores, carrying a nauseating, metallic stench—the impurities and toxins that had long clogged his vessel, the dregs of a common life being forcibly purged.

He remembered helping his father at the forge. His father often said that to produce a fine blade, raw iron had to be heated until it glowed red, then struck repeatedly with a heavy hammer to drive out every impurity.

'I am that iron,' Lian thought in a haze of semi-consciousness. 'And this pain is the hammer.'

With that thought, Lian stopped focusing on the agony. Instead, he visualized himself as a piece of steel being tempered. He allowed Mo Shanshan's energy to shatter the "rust" within his veins, letting every obstacle crumble one by one.

Suddenly, a soft crack resonated from within his body. It wasn't a bone breaking; it felt as if a massive dam had finally burst. The energy flow that had been excruciatingly painful transformed into a cool, refreshing stream, flowing smoothly from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes.

Lian's darkened vision suddenly became preternaturally clear. Even with his eyes closed, he could "see" the cave's structure through the vibrations in the air. He could hear the heartbeat of a bat hanging from the ceiling; he could even sense the flow of water running deep underground.

Mo Shanshan withdrew his hand. He looked slightly pale, his breathing somewhat heavy. He looked at the youth before him with an unreadable expression.

"Incredible..." Mo Shanshan whispered. "Twelve primary meridians fully opened in a single session. Your body... was truly born to be a vessel for great Qi."

Lian opened his eyes. The black of his pupils now carried a deep, metallic sheen. He looked at his hands; his skin appeared clearer, and the small cuts from his flight had already closed, leaving behind faint, almost invisible scars.

"I... I feel light," Lian said, his voice deeper and more stable. He stood up, feeling as though gravity no longer pressed upon him as heavily as before.

"Do not get ahead of yourself, brat," Mo Shanshan interrupted, leaning his maimed body against the wall. "I have only opened the door. To step inside and climb the ladder of power, you must still crawl. What you feel now is only the Early Stage of the Marrow Cleansing Realm. In the outside world, even a low-level bodyguard has reached this level."

Lian bowed deeply. "Thank you, Senior Mo. I know I am still far from being able to take my revenge."

Mo Shanshan tossed a dry, brittle twig toward Lian. "Take that. From this day forward, that twig is your sword. Do not ask why I do not give you metal. If you cannot feel the 'life' within a twig, you will never be worthy of holding a real blade."

Lian caught the twig. It was light, fragile, and looked utterly useless. "What must I do?"

"Thrust. Ten thousand times a day," Mo Shanshan answered curtly before closing his eyes as if to sleep. "Every thrust must have one purpose: to pierce the air without making a sound. If I still hear the whistle of the wind when you swing it, you will have no food tonight."

Lian looked toward the cave entrance. Snow was still falling, and dawn was breaking over the eastern horizon, bringing a cold, blue light. He knew his enemies out there had thousands of followers, legendary weapons, and lethal techniques. He had only a mad, one-armed teacher and a wooden twig.

But Lian did not complain. He stepped to a wide corner of the cave, planted his feet firmly, and began to thrust the twig forward.

Wussh!

The sound of the wind was clear.

"Too noisy!" Mo Shanshan barked without opening his eyes.

Lian took a breath, stabilized his emotions, and tried again.

Wussh!

"Fool! You are using muscle power, not your will!"

Lian continued to thrust. Ten times, a hundred times, a thousand times. His arm began to go numb, and his shoulder muscles felt as if they were tearing again, but every time he felt weak, he visualized the face of the Black Cloud Sect leader smiling over his father's corpse.

Blood began to drip from his palms, blistered by the friction against the bark, but Lian did not stop. Each thrust became more focused. He began to realize that to silence the wind, he could not fight the air; he had to become part of the air itself.

On the five-thousandth thrust, something strange happened. The twig felt as if it had vanished from his hand. When he lunged forward, there was no whistle of wind. Only a sharp silence.

The twig pierced a dry leaf falling from the ceiling so cleanly that the leaf didn't even flutter; it simply hung there with a perfect, tiny hole in its center.

Mo Shanshan opened one eye. A cynical smirk played on his parched lips. 'Terrifying talent,' he thought. 'Perhaps... just perhaps, he is the one who will reclaim what they stole from me.'

"Enough for this morning," Mo Shanshan said loudly. "Now, go to the river. Catch three fish using that twig. If you ruin the meat, you will sleep hungry again."

Lian nodded, tucking the twig into his waist as if it were a priceless heirloom, and stepped out toward the frozen river with a newfound resolve.

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