The name she had uttered was not just known—it was feared.

Her father’s reaction had been instinctive, visceral. The very mention of the Emperor’s name sent a ripple of fear through the room. Layla saw the way the disciples stiffened, the way her mother turned away, as if shielding herself from an unseen threat. Even her father, a man who carried the weight of a dying sect upon his shoulders, had trembled.

This was not the man she had known in her past life. Something had changed.

She lowered her gaze, schooling her expression into one of innocence. “Forgive me,” she murmured, forcing hesitation into her tone. “I did not know his name carried such weight.”

Her father hesitated, then let out a heavy sigh. “It is not your fault,” he said at last. “You have been asleep for so long... There are many things that have changed since you last walked among us.”

Layla tilted her head. “Then,” she asked carefully, “what has not changed?”

A shadow crossed his face, but he did not avoid her question. “The world still belongs to the strong,” he said. “And those without strength are destined to be swept aside.”

Layla let the words settle, then, after a pause, asked, "And what of my siblings?"

Her mother flinched. Her father’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as if weighing whether to speak the truth or conceal it. "They..." He hesitated. "They have carved their own paths."

Layla’s fingers curled slightly. "And what paths are those?"

Her father let out a long sigh, standing from his seat and walking to the window. The lantern light flickered, casting elongated shadows along the wooden walls. Outside, the sect’s courtyard stretched before them, a relic of better days. The training grounds, once filled with eager disciples, now lay barren, save for a few determined students practicing stances beneath the cold moonlight. Cracked stone pillars, moss creeping along their bases, whispered of a time when this place had been respected.

Finally, he spoke. "Your elder brother, Jian, serves within the Imperial Court. He has pledged himself to the Emperor."

Layla kept her expression neutral, but inside, her mind churned. "A court official?"

Her mother’s voice was quiet, almost pleading. "It was the only way for him to survive. After the war, after... everything, he had no choice."

Her father’s lips thinned. "Perhaps he saw it as a way to preserve what little we had left. Or perhaps he simply saw no other road but to kneel."

Layla remained silent. Her elder brother, Jian, had once spoken of honor and dignity. To think that he now stood in service of the man whose name struck fear into even the elders of the sect—it was almost laughable.

"And my younger sister?" she asked at last.

This time, the answer did not come immediately. Her mother glanced away, while her father’s grip tightened around the wooden frame of the window. "No one knows where she is," he admitted. "She left years ago, refusing to accept our decline. Some say she sought refuge in another sect. Others whisper that she turned to the Demonic Cults."

Layla narrowed her eyes. "And you? What do you believe?"

Her father’s shoulders slumped, as though the weight of his years had doubled. "I believe she is alive. But whether she is the same girl you once knew... that, I cannot say."

The room felt colder. Layla let the silence stretch, absorbing the revelations. Her siblings—one in servitude to a tyrant, the other vanished into the unknown. Once, they had been family. Now, they were nothing but pieces in a grander game.

She exhaled softly and looked up at her father. "Then it seems I have much to learn. If I am to reclaim what was lost, I must understand the power that rules this world."” he said. “And those without strength are destined to be swept aside.”

1. Qi Cultivation

“Qi is the foundation of all power,” he said. “It flows through our bodies in energy circuits known as meridians. Through meditation, refinement, and tempering, one can expand their internal reserves and strengthen their core.”

Layla absorbed this carefully. “Is qi something one is born with?”

“Yes and no,” her father said. “All beings have qi, but some are born with a greater affinity. However, talent is not absolute. A dedicated cultivator with determination can surpass a genius who lacks discipline.”

Layla filed that information away. So, like in my past life, hard work could overcome birthright.

“The ranks of Qi Cultivation are as follows:” He lifted his fingers, marking each stage as he spoke.

Foundation Establishment – The beginning of all cultivators. The stage of refining and stabilizing the body’s connection to qi.

Qi Condensation – The first step toward true strength. The cultivator compresses qi into a denser, more potent form.

Core Formation – The cultivator forms a golden core within themselves, a source of boundless energy.

Nascent Soul – The core evolves into a soul-bound entity, giving the cultivator deeper control over energy and thought.

Spirit Ascension – The cultivator sheds their previous limitations, becoming a force that can influence reality itself.

Divine Manifestation – A realm beyond mortals, where a cultivator’s will can shape the world itself.

Her father paused, then continued, his tone heavy with reverence.

“Many have walked these paths before you,” he said. “Some rose to greatness, their names etched into history as paragons of cultivation. Others... succumbed to the allure of power, their legacies drowned in blood and madness.”

He lifted his gaze to meet Layla’s. “Let me tell you of them.”

Famous Cultivators

“There was Zhao Wujin, the Jade Dragon Immortal. They say he reached Divine Manifestation at the age of thirty, his golden core so dense with qi that he could reshape entire landscapes with a flick of his sleeve. He was a man of wisdom, one who sought to uplift weaker cultivators instead of crushing them beneath his feet. His greatest feat? Holding back the collapse of the Eastern Celestial Mountains by weaving qi into the very air, creating an unshatterable equilibrium that still holds to this day.”

“Then there was Lady Xuanyin of the White Lotus, who pioneered the art of dual-core cultivation, allowing her to wield both Yin and Yang qi in harmony. With her mastery, she could heal the gravest wounds or unleash destruction in equal measure. It was said that during the Warring Sects Era, entire battlefields fell silent at her arrival, knowing that either salvation or annihilation would soon follow.”

Layla listened intently, committing their names to memory. But then her father’s expression darkened.

Infamous Cultivators

“But not all who reach the pinnacle of cultivation remain just. Some fall into ruin, consumed by their own ambitions.”

He exhaled, then spoke the first name in a whisper. “Hei Long, the Abyssal Tyrant.”

Layla frowned. She had never heard the name before, but the weight of it in the air was enough to send a chill down her spine.

“Once a prodigy, once a hero,” her father said bitterly. “They say he was the first to reach Spirit Ascension in an era where others barely touched Nascent Soul. He sought absolute control over the flow of qi in others, turning warriors into lifeless puppets. When he attacked the Holy Monasteries, he enslaved thousands, using their very life force to sustain his own. The heavens struck him down in the end, or so the legends say. But there are whispers... whispers that his techniques did not die with him.”

Layla remained silent as her father continued.

“And then, there was Mo Cheng the Devourer. He did not cultivate qi—he stole it. His techniques drained others, siphoning years of hard work in an instant. He fed upon the meridians of weaker cultivators, draining them to fuel his own power. He became so feared that entire sects abandoned their lands rather than risk being his prey.”

Layla exhaled slowly. For every legend of honor and wisdom, there were those of terror and ruin.

Her father studied her face carefully. “Power does not make a person just, Meilin. Remember that.”

2. Martial Techniques

“Qi alone does not make one powerful,” her father continued. “Without refinement, it is like possessing an ocean but lacking the ability to wield a sword.”

Layla nodded. Discipline and technique over raw strength.

“There are three primary combat styles:”

Pure Martialists – Those who refine their bodies through relentless training, capable of splitting mountains without ever using qi.

Qi Warriors – Those who blend martial arts with qi, using enhanced techniques to perform supernatural feats.

Dao Seekers – Those who dedicate themselves to the understanding of the world’s principles, wielding reality itself as a weapon.

“The strongest warriors walk multiple paths,” her father said. “One who refines only their qi will fall against a master of combat. One who hones only their body will break against true power. Balance is the key.”

Famous Martial Artists

“There have been many who stood at the pinnacle of martial arts,” he continued. “Legends who shaped the world not with raw qi, but with technique honed to perfection.”

“Shen Tian, the Heavenly Spear, was a warrior so refined in spear arts that his strikes could pierce through reality itself. It is said that at his peak, his spear could travel beyond space, striking down enemies before they even realized they had been attacked. He never relied on overwhelming qi, but on precision, footwork, and mastery of angles.”

“Then there was Jiang Yue, the Flowing Moon, a woman whose swordplay was like water—impossible to predict, yet endlessly adaptable. She defeated entire sects without ever being touched, flowing between their attacks like a phantom. Even when faced with cultivators wielding immense qi, her blade always found the gap between their defenses, striking where no amount of energy could protect them.”

Layla listened, intrigued. These were not cultivators who relied on sheer power. They turned martial techniques into an art, a philosophy.

Infamous Martial Artists

Her father’s expression darkened.

“But not all who perfect their techniques use them for honor.”

“Wu Xun, the Thousand Hands Executioner, was said to have mastered every form of hand-to-hand combat, his strikes so fast that he could tear through armor like paper. But instead of becoming a protector of the weak, he became a butcher. He sold his skills to the highest bidder, wiping out entire clans in a single night. Some say his techniques still live on, hidden within the underworld, passed down among assassins.”

“And then there was Bao Shuren, the Laughing Demon, whose fists could break mountains, but whose mind was even more terrifying. He believed that suffering created strength, and so he crushed countless challengers just to watch them rise again. He left behind no students, only ruins. Some say his spirit lingers in cursed battlefields, whispering forbidden secrets to those desperate enough to listen.”

Layla exhaled slowly. To master martial techniques was to walk a path of discipline and refinement, but it was also a path that could lead to unchecked destruction.

Her father studied her carefully. “Strength is not defined by power alone, Meilin. It is defined by how it is used.”

3. Dao Comprehension

“And then,” he said, his voice quieting, “there is the Dao.”

Layla frowned. “The Dao?”

“The Way of All Things.”

Unlike qi and martial techniques, which could be measured and practiced, Dao Comprehension was enlightenment itself.

“To understand the Dao is to understand existence,” her father explained. “Each cultivator seeks a different truth. Some comprehend the Dao of Fire and wield flame as an extension of their will. Some follow the Dao of the Sword, making their blade an unbreakable law of the universe. Others follow the Dao of Nothingness, fading into oblivion beyond the reach of time.”

Layla considered this carefully. The Dao was not just power. It was the philosophy of the world itself.

Famous Dao Seekers

“Many have glimpsed the true nature of reality,” her father continued. “But only a few have ever dared to embody it fully.”

“Master Tianlu, the Whispering Wind, understood the Dao of Emptiness. He could erase his presence from existence so completely that even the heavens could not record his presence. It is said that he walked between battlefields unseen, his enemies falling as if struck by fate itself.”

“Then there was Lady Yunqing, the Ocean’s Reflection, whose mastery of the Dao of Mirrors allowed her to create infinite reflections of herself. Each was as real as the original, indistinguishable and deadly. She once fought an entire sect alone, her illusions turning every enemy against each other, until none remained standing but herself.”

Infamous Dao Seekers

His expression grew grim.

“But not all who seek enlightenment use it for wisdom.”

“The Black Sage, Xu Mo, followed the Dao of Decay, believing that all things must return to nothingness. He did not fight wars—he simply touched cities, and they crumbled. He whispered words, and entire bloodlines withered. Even now, the ruins of his passage are places where no life dares to grow.”

“And then, there was Gao Lan, the Thousand Truths, a man who glimpsed the fundamental laws of existence. But instead of guiding others, he sought to reshape reality itself. His Dao of Dominion allowed him to impose his will upon the world, twisting nature to obey his thoughts. When he was finally defeated, it took seven Grandmasters and the sacrifice of an entire sect to bind his existence into an eternal prison.”

Layla exhaled. The Dao was not just strength—it was knowledge. And knowledge could be the greatest weapon of all.

Her father watched her carefully. “To walk the Dao is to glimpse the truth behind the illusion of power. It is to wield the fabric of reality itself.”

She tilted her head slightly, feigning uncertainty. "If all cultivators must progress through the known stages, and if even the strongest can fall, then where do I stand? What level have I reached?"

Her father exhaled, studying her carefully. "You have been in an unwakeable slumber for weeks, Meilin. Your meridians should have withered, your qi should have stagnated."

He reached out, pressing two fingers against her wrist. Layla braced herself, expecting to feel a surge of energy, a remnant of some hidden power.

But there was nothing. No hum of boundless strength, no comforting wave of qi flowing through her veins. Only the faintest flicker of energy, weak and dormant, like dying embers struggling to reignite.

Her father frowned, withdrawing his hand. "Your cultivation... it is not gone, but it is fragile. Whatever put you in that state has severed your progress. You will need to start again."

Layla let out a slow breath, pushing aside any lingering delusions of an easy return. If she had truly retained her strength, then why did she feel so... unrefined? Her body did not pulse with overwhelming energy, nor did she sense any newfound power coursing through her meridians.

She clenched her hands. If anything, she felt weak.