In the nightmare realm, the corpse suddenly lunged forward, its fist slicing through the blood-soaked air.

Fu HongJun didn’t even have time to dodge.

BANG!

The punch connected with his chest, sending him flying. His back slammed into a jagged stone wall with a sickening crack, and he crumpled to the ground, coughing.

“Ugh….damn it…!” he hissed through clenched teeth.

He knew Emperor Ye wouldn’t show mercy. Not here. Not ever.

Forcing himself to stand, Fu HongJun gritted his teeth and tried to focus. That technique… I need to remember it.

He narrowed his eyes and leapt down from the rock, charging straight at the corpse.

The corpse mirrored his motion, dashing toward him with another punch.

But this time, Fu HongJun noticed something.

It’s using the same technique Master just showed me…

With his instincts roaring and blood pounding in his ears, he tried to mimic the corpse’s movement, the twist of the waist, the rotation of the shoulder, the snapping motion of the fist.

His timing was off.

The corpse’s punch grazed his shoulder, spinning him sideways.

But he didn’t fall.

He planted his foot, clenched his jaw, and swung back.

I can do this. I just need to copy it. Step by step…

High above, Emperor Ye hovered lazily on his drifting cloud, watching the scene unfold with a faint grin.

“Heh,” he muttered to himself, “not bad. At least your eyes work.”

Then his smile deepened, cold and sharp.

“But that’s still not enough. Fortunately…”
His voice dropped to a sinister whisper.

The brutal battle dragged on.

Fu HongJun fought desperately, fists clashing with bone and rotten flesh. His arms ached. His legs felt like lead. But still, he endured.

He had managed to mimic three stances of the technique now. His movements were clumsy, rough, far from perfect—but slowly, he was learning. His punches began to carry weight. His footwork no longer collapsed at every blow.

And yet… he was still losing.

The corpse’s strikes landed more often than his own. His face was bruised. His ribs throbbed. He had been thrown, slammed, battered more times than he could count.

But he never stopped getting up.

Again and again, like a stubborn weed refusing to die.

Above, Emperor Ye lounged lazily on a floating platform of bones, arms folded behind his head. Though his expression remained indifferent, a faint gleam of satisfaction danced in his eyes.

“…Stubborn brat,” he muttered with a smirk.

He closed his eyes for a moment and sensed it.

The sun had begun to rise in the real world.

The faint chirping of morning birds, so distant it could not be heard by anyone else, echoed in his divine sense like a soft bell.

But Emperor Ye knew.

“Hmm,” he mused, staring at the panting boy still trying to lift his fists. “That kind of mentality… not bad. Not bad at all.”

He waved a hand lazily, almost like brushing dust from his sleeve.

“Alas… time is too short.”

A gust of soul force coiled around Fu HongJun’s exhausted spirit and, without warning, yanked it from the nightmare realm.

Whoosh!

Fu HongJun’s body on the bed twitched as his soul slammed back into place Gasp!

His eyes shot open, and he bolted upright, drenched in cold sweat. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath.

But there was no time to rest.

BANG!

The door burst open with a loud kick.

Standing there, grinning like a bandit, was Yang Po Jing,his crooked yellow teeth practically glowing in the morning light. In one hand was a wooden bucket, and in the other, a bag.

Seeing Fu HongJun already awake, the old man raised an eyebrow, then gave an amused nod and dropped the bucket with a thud.

“Looks like you finally learned to wake up before the bath,” he said, chuckling. Then he tossed the bag over with a casual flick.

“Eat this and come to the training ground.”

Without waiting for a reply, he picked up the wooden bucket and walked off humming some off-key tune.

Fu HongJun sighed and caught the bag. Another mantou. Dry, tough, but warm. He munched as he dressed quickly and made his way to the training field.

As soon as he arrived, he felt it.

A cold stare.

Xue LuLi stood a few meters away, arms crossed, eyes fixed on him like he owed her money—and then some. Her expression was dark, unreadable, and full of restrained anger.

Fu HongJun blinked, confused.

“Did I do something…?” he muttered under his breath.

His mind flicked back to the Spirit Awakening Ceremony,the moment his spirit awakened and the backlash that followed. He remembered her fainting. Was it connected?

Before he could even piece it together

Whoosh!

Xue LuLi dashed forward and spun in a fast arc, launching a flying kick toward his chest.

Fu HongJun’s eyes widened, but his body reacted on instinct reflexes honed from last night’s brutal combat training. He stepped in and threw a punch straight at her incoming leg.

Just before the blow could land, Xue LuLi twisted mid-air and jumped back with a smooth retreat, landing on her feet with a cold smirk.

“You dare throw a punch at me?” she snapped, pointing at him. “One day of training and you’ve grown that much courage?”

Fu HongJun was about to respond though he had no idea what to say when a thunderous voice cut through the morning air.

“Enough, LuLi!” Yang Po Jing barked from the distance. “Go back to your routine!”

Xue LuLi flinched slightly but didn’t argue. With a huff and one last glare, she turned on her heel and walked off, grumbling under her breath.

Yang Po Jing strode over and tossed something toward Fu HongJun. It landed at his feet with a dull thud a thick, rune-engraved wristband glowing faintly with golden symbols.

“Put that on. You’re running your morning routine with it,” the old man said flatly.

Fu HongJun bent down, picked it up, and strapped it around his wrist without thinking.

BAM!

The moment it clicked into place, his knees buckled. It felt like a mountain had just dropped onto his shoulders.

He gritted his teeth as his legs trembled, nearly collapsing.

“Grandpa,” Xue LuLi called from nearby, frowning. “Why are you giving him that? Isn’t it over ten jin?”

Yang Po Jing grinned, yellow teeth flashing. “Don’t underestimate that brat. At this rate, he’ll be sparring with you in no time.”

Fu HongJun didn’t hear the rest.

He took a deep breath, clenched his fists, and forced his legs forward. One step. Two. Slowly, painfully, he began his run.

Step by step.

Lap by lap.

By the time the sun had fully risen, his body was soaked in sweat, his shirt clinging to him like a second skin. His breath was ragged, but he endured. He didn’t stop.

After completing the required laps, he stumbled back to the training ground.

Yang Po Jing gave a short nod. “Come with me.”

Fu HongJun didn’t speak. He followed, silently dragging his body behind the old man.

The training began again.

Only this time, it was even worse.

The gravity formation was set to Level Two.

Yang Po Jing released his spiritual pressure once more—only this time, for a full three incense sticks. Fu HongJun was crushed to the ground again and again, his muscles screaming, bones grinding, spirit sealed.

And then

The Burning Ice Pond.

But not the usual spot.

Yang Po Jing led him deeper.

To the center.

Where the temperature plummeted and the energies became violent and chaotic. He said nothing as he shoved Fu HongJun in.

Fu HongJun didn’t scream this time.

He just clenched his jaw and sank beneath the water, disappearing into the shimmering, steaming chaos.

The icy sting bit into his bones. The searing heat licked at his flesh. But Fu HongJun endured it all,silent, still, determined.

Soon, night fell.

The day’s brutal training finally came to an end. Fu HongJun lay on the grass near the training platform, panting heavily, his limbs barely moving. For the first time all day, he exhaled a long, shaky breath of relief.

But peace, as always, was short-lived.

Thud.

Something landed beside him. A small, weathered book with faded gold characters etched on the cover.

"Nine Steps of Heaven."

Fu HongJun turned to look up. Yang Po Jing stood over him, arms crossed.

“Kid,” the old man said gruffly, “this is your next task. Memorize that movement technique and start practicing it. If something’s unclear, come ask me.”

Fu HongJun blinked at the book, still catching his breath.

“Oh and go wash up. Then come back for dinner.”

Yang Po Jing didn’t wait for a reply. He walked off into the darkness, whistling faintly as if today hadn’t been torture.

A cold voice echoed in his mind.

“Brat, don’t practice it yet. This low-grade technique is too crude. I’ll repair it for you,” said Emperor Ye, his tone filled with disdain.

Fu HongJun nodded silently. By now, he had learned not to question anything Emperor Ye said.

Twenty-five days passed.

During this time, Fu HongJun’s life became a relentless cycle of torment and transformation.

He now wore 30 jin wristbands as part of his morning runs, his legs growing stronger under the mounting pressure. The gravity formation had been increased to level three, and he endured eight incense sticks worth of spiritual suppression each day without collapsing.

The medicine bath, once a nightmare of agony, no longer caused pain. He could now soak at the very center of the Burning Ice Pond for five incense sticks without trembling.

And worst of all, the bitter poison soup a concoction of Yang Po Jing’s madness had become his daily drink.

But it was working.

His once-slender frame had filled out. His muscles grew lean and tight, his movements sharper and more explosive. He had even grown slightly taller. His skin had darkened under the brutal sun, taking on a light bronze tone that made him look more like a warrior than a scholar.

Even in the nightmare realm, he had grown.

He could now perform the first four stances of the Emperor’s fist technique with ease. The fifth stance, though not fully mastered, had begun to take shape under pressure. In combat, his body moved instinctively—faster, smarter, stronger.

Emperor Ye had also begun to modify the “Nine Steps of Heaven,” weaving in hidden principles of speed and illusion. The newly altered technique felt entirely different like thunder rolling through the earth.

Fu HongJun incorporated it into both his real-world running drills and the nightmare realm combat. His footwork grew faster, lighter, and harder to predict, like a shadow flickering between dimensions His cultivation base had also advanced.

His meridians had opened up to thirty-seven, each one toughened and cleansed through relentless physical training. But even as his body neared the standard for foundational cultivation, Emperor Ye remained silent.

"No," the cold voice had said days ago.
"You’re not ready. Not until you open all 108 meridians."
"Qi without a strong vessel is wasted."

And so, Fu HongJun continued to suffer without a single thread of spiritual energy to comfort him.

At the training ground, the morning sun cast long shadows across the cracked stone. Yang Po Jing stood with his hands behind his back, his gaze shifting between Fu HongJun and Xue LuLi.

He spoke flatly.

“Starting tomorrow LuLi, you stay here and cultivate. I expect to see you break through to the third level of Qi Cultivation.”

Xue LuLi flinched slightly, but didn’t speak back. Her brows twitched as her gaze drifted to Fu HongJun for a brief second, then back to her feet.

Yang Po Jing turned to Fu HongJun.

“And you, brat. Come with me.”

His yellow-toothed grin widened slightly.

“I’ll be traveling for some time, and you’ll be training directly under me.”

Then he turned, beginning to walk off with his usual slow but heavy steps.

“Today’s your rest day,” he added over his shoulder.
“Use it well. Pack your bag. We leave at dawn.”

Fu HongJun watched the old man disappear into the distance.

For a moment, there was silence between him and Xue LuLi.

Then he exhaled.

Tomorrow… a new kind of hell would begin.

As Fu HongJun turned to leave, Xue LuLi crossed her arms and muttered coldly behind him,
“If you dare come back empty-handed, I’ll kick you again.”

Fu HongJun didn’t even turn around.
“I don’t have money,” he replied flatly and walked off without looking back.

He returned to his room and shut the door behind him.

His travel bag still lay untouched in the corner he hadn’t bothered with it since he arrived. So he simply collapsed onto his bed, staring at the wooden ceiling above him.

“Cultivation… When will I finally become strong?”
His voice barely rose above a whisper.

Meanwhile… far across the Sea of Death…

A massive warship drifted silently across dark waters. Protective formations shimmered faintly across its hull, keeping the turbulent sea at bay. Upon the main deck, beneath the glowing blue runes, several figures stood around a projection map.

A robed man bowed slightly and reported,
“Sect Master, the seal around Water City may be weakening. We can begin pressing the border at any time.”

A cold voice replied from the shadows.

“Wait.”

From within the command tent, a man stepped forward. His white robes fluttered like mist, and his crimson eyes burned with quiet authority. Though only middle-aged, he carried a presence that silenced even the sea breeze.

“The seal must be broken from all four corners simultaneously,” he said.
“Send a signal to Thousand Flame Sect. Tell them to prepare—we’ve already located the four minor seals. Now, we need the main one.”

“Yes, Sect Master.”

The man stood alone for a while, staring into the distance, his gaze piercing beyond the horizon.

“…The star. Where are you?”

Meanwhile, in Jingkong City…

Inside the gleaming golden palace, a high-level court meeting was underway. The grand meeting hall was filled with robed ministers, some ancient, others middle-aged all gathered around a massive table of spirit-forged jade.

At the highest seat sat the king himself, his expression unreadable beneath his golden crown.

A worried official stepped forward and bowed.

“Your Majesty, strange cultivators have been spotted roaming the four major cities. We suspect they may be looking for something… possibly the seal.”

The king said nothing for a moment. Then his eyes shifted to a calm, weathered old general seated beside him,Yang Po Jing.

“General Yang. What’s your opinion?”

Yang Po Jing’s eyes narrowed.
“It’s possible. I’ve long suspected… that person has returned.”

The room fell silent.

After a moment, the king’s voice echoed with quiet urgency.
“Then investigate immediately. If they find the seal, our entire kingdom could fall.”

He paused.
“Also… General Sikong still hasn’t returned from his mission. Find him. Dead or alive.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”