Before he could respond, the old man grabbed him by the back of the collar and dragged him once again to the center of the gravity formation.

The ground was cold beneath his feet. The air, thick with silence.

Yang Po Jing pointed to the circular platform.

“This is your final task for today. Listen carefully. This is crucial training. From now on, I will seal your spirit. Then, you will bear both the pressure of the formation and my spiritual suppression.”

“Wha…..wai….!” Fu HongJun tried to protest, but it was too late.

Yang Po Jing's fingers flashed through several hand signs. A surge of qi exploded outward, and in a single breath, Fu HongJun’s spirit was sealed. The energy within him went dead silent, like a candle snuffed in a storm.

Then, without warning, the old man tossed a spirit stone into the formation’s socket and threw Fu HongJun onto the platform like a sack of rice.

BOOM!

A crushing force slammed down from all sides. Fu HongJun hit the stone tiles face-first and couldn’t even lift his head.

His limbs shook. His back arched in pain. He couldn’t breathe.

Yang Po Jing’s voice rang out like thunder.

“Stand up. Now.”

“We body cultivators… do not kneel.”

“Even worse, we do not lie down like dogs.”

Fu HongJun’s vision blurred. His arms trembled as he tried to push himself off the ground but his muscles refused to listen. The weight pressing down on him felt like a mountain. Like he was being crushed by the heavens themselves.

Then, deep inside his mind, Emperor Ye’s voice roared like a whip made of lightning:

“Do you want to find your parents?”

“Then stand the hell up!!”

“Do you want them to believe they were right to abandon you?”

“If I were your father, I’d spit on this weak insect lying on the ground!”

Fu HongJun’s body shuddered.

His fingers twitched.

His knuckles scraped against the stone as he dug in with what little strength he had left.

And slowly…

He began to rise.

Veins bulged in his neck. His arms shook violently. But Fu HongJun gritted his teeth and forced his trembling legs to push him upright.

He stood.

Watching silently, both Emperor Ye within his mind and Yang Po Jing nodded in quiet approval.

Yang Po Jing stepped forward and planted three incense sticks beside the formation.

“Just keep standing,” he said calmly. “If you kneel or lie down, I’ll add one more incense stick.”

Fu HongJun didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Every muscle in his body screamed. But he clenched his jaw and endured.

As the incense burned, a strange tingling sensation began to rise, not from his chest like before, but from his legs. It crept upward, weaving through his flesh and bone. His legs felt like they were boiling from the inside. But at the same time, something inside them pulsed with life. With change.

The second incense burned away. Then the third.

At last, his strength gave out.

He collapsed.

His body hit the ground with a dull thud. Face pale. Breath shallow. He couldn’t even lift his arms.

Yang Po Jing stepped forward and looked down at him with neither mockery nor sympathy.

“Good enough,” he said flatly. “Go wash up and change. Then come back here.”

“You don’t have to snatch food with the others today.”

With those words, Yang Po Jing turned and walked away, leaving Fu HongJun gasping alone on the stone platform.

The sound of the dinner bell still echoed faintly across the academy.

Grinding his teeth, Fu HongJun began to crawl.

Hands scraping stone. Knees dragging behind. Step by step, he pulled himself across the familiar path he had run that morning only now, he couldn’t even stand.

But he tried anyway.

Halfway back, he grunted and forced his legs to straighten. They trembled violently, but somehow through sheer will he managed to stand.

Wobbling like a newborn calf, he stumbled into his room.

Inside, he stripped off his ruined uniform and limped into the bath to wash off the mud and sweat. Then, he scrubbed his uniform and slung it across a nearby tree to dry, just like Grandpa Ji had taught him back in the village.

He was battered, bruised, and numb… but at least he could still do his own laundry.

When he returned to the forest, he spotted Yang Po Jing crouched beside a small campfire, boiling something in a heavy iron pot.

Fu HongJun approached, muscles aching with every step.

“Master… I’ve finished.”

Yang Po Jing gave him a nod and handed him a steaming bowl of strange meat and broth from the pot.

“Eat this and rest. Starting tomorrow, I’ll increase the rounds, incense sticks, and weight. Be prepared.”

He pointed at the pot.

“And drink all of that too.”

Then, without another word, he turned and vanished into the woods.

Fu HongJun sat down cross-legged with the bowl in hand. He sniffed the meat suspiciously.

“This meat smells weird…”

Still, he took a bite.

The meat was tender and juicy, and a strange warm energy flowed through his limbs. It actually felt… good.

Then he drank the soup.

And immediately, his face twisted in horror.

“PFFFFTTT……!!”

So bitter. So foul. Like poison mixed with ashes. He almost vomited on the spot.

Clutching his stomach, he raised the bowl to throw it away
But just then, a cold voice thundered in his mind.

“Drink it all!”

It was Emperor Ye.

Fu HongJun froze.

Then sighed.

And drank every last drop, gagging the whole time.

Afterwards, he limped back to his room, collapsed onto the bed, and stared blankly at the ceiling.

“Is this cultivation? Or just torture with extra steps…”

His eyelids slowly drooped as sleep took him
But peace was a luxury he didn’t deserve.

Because while one master let him rest, the other had different plans.

In his mind, Emperor Ye grinned eerily, then reached out with one finger and yanked Fu HongJun’s soul from his body like a fish on a hook.

He was flung into a world of bones, blood, and rotting corpses.

Fu HongJun landed with a thud, immediately bolting upright.

“NO! Master! Not again! I don’t want to be chased by those weird creatures! I just want to sleep!”

Floating above on a drifting cloud, Emperor Ye chuckled darkly.

“Who said they’ll chase you tonight? This time, I have something new.”

He clapped once.

A corpse slowly rose from the bloody ground.

Stiff limbs. Hollow eyes. And a killing aura like a dull blade ready to tear flesh.

“Tonight is combat training,” Emperor Ye said cheerfully. “Watch closely.”

With slow, exaggerated movements, Emperor Ye demonstrated a fist technique, each strike precise and thunderous, shaking the very bones of the corpse.

Then he looked down and smirked.

“Brat. You’ll fight this corpse now. If you win, you sleep.”

“If you lose…”

He chuckled ominously.

“…you fight till morning.”