Chapter 5: Hellish Training
Six months slipped by since Fang learned about her spirit roots, and honestly, her life had flipped upside down. She used to be just that quiet servant, barely noticed—but now, she woke each day to pain and sweat.
The misty mountains, which once felt so peaceful, now rang with her ragged breathing and the noise of her aching muscles. Master didn't sugarcoat anything. From day one, he told her straight: her Blessed Devil and Cursed Immortal Roots weren't just weird—they were both a blessing and a curse. Regular cultivators could only take in one type of spiritual qi, and usually, it matched a single element. But Fang? No, her roots demanded she control both yin and yang chi at the same time. That's tough for anyone, but she was still just thirteen. Her body had to transform—had to become so tough, so unbreakable—that it could handle the violent clash of these opposing energies, or else it'd tear her apart.
"Most people just follow one path," Master said, grinning lazily. "You don't have that luxury. You've got to walk two, and they pull in opposite directions. So first, we turn your body into a fortress. Can't collapse, no matter what."
That's when her ordeal started.
Every morning—it didn't matter if the sun was up yet or not—Fang rolled off her thin bedding and braced herself for torture. This morning was no different.
Sweat stung her eyes as she held herself in a plank position on cold rocks behind their shack. A heavy twenty-kilo stone pressed on her back, rough against her spine. Her arms shook so much she thought they might snap, old scars from her slave days straining under the effort. She counted silently and pushed up—one, two, three—her chest barely scraped the earth as she went down again.
A thousand push-ups. No breaks.
Her muscles screamed, but she gritted her teeth. She wouldn't stop. Not a chance. Her anger—raw, smoldering, aimed at the helpless child she used to be—pushed her harder than any medicine could. "I'm never going back to that," she told herself with every desperate repetition.
When the push-ups ended, she started sit-ups—a thousand, this time hugging the same rock to her chest. Then came the lifts: a thousand reps of hoisting ten-kilo stones overhead until her shoulders felt like fiery knives. Her body slowly hardened over months. Every bit of progress was carved out of pain, exhaustion, and tears she'd never let Master see.
The worst was always last—running a hundred kilometers across dangerous mountain paths. The route twisted along cliffs, through tangled brush, and over narrow ledges where a single wrong step could end her life. Fang ran barefoot. Her lungs burned. Her legs threatened to fail, but she finished every day, sometimes trailing back to the training ground just as night fell, a heap of sweat, dirt, and grit.
She powered through—spite, rage, stubborn will, and a gnawing hunger for the power Master said she'd one day hold.
At sunset, Fang barely dragged herself to the hut. Her whole body trembled, blood trickling from fresh cuts—branches scratched her up bad during the run.
Master waited for her, same as always.
He offered no words, just helped her into the giant wooden tub out back. The "spirit bath," honestly, was one of the few comforts she had these days. Water, glowing soft blue, brimmed with rare herbs, crushed spirit stones, and Master's refined qi. As she sunk in, the warmth felt alive—gentle hands soothing her battered limbs.
Healing energy rushed through her. Torn muscle stitched together. Bruises faded. Even tiny fractures in her bones melted away. What really mattered, though, was the bath expanding and clearing her meridians—the invisible channels spiritual qi would flow through one day. Each soak left her a bit tougher, a little more ready for the storm of yin and yang qi that waited.
She breathed out slow, eyes half-closing as pain disappeared for a moment. Master sat on a nearby stool, idly stirring the water with a bamboo stick, his face calm, maybe slightly amused.
"You've come a long way, little Fang," he said, almost joking. "Six months ago, you couldn't get halfway around the run before spitting blood. Now you finish the whole thing. Not bad for a skinny ex-slave."
She glared at him, tired but silent. His teasing was sort of comforting now, always the same.
After a quiet pause—the only sound was water sloshing—Master's voice turned sharp, teaching.
"Pay attention. Your body's nearly ready. A few more weeks, and we start actual qi absorption. Before that, you need to understand the first step in cultivation."
He dipped his fingers in the spirit bath, sending ripples that made the water glow brighter for a moment.
"Cultivation starts in the mind and breath. Close your eyes. Feel the air. Qi is everywhere—floating with the wind, resting in the dirt, even dancing in the moonlight. Beginners usually try to force it, but that's pointless. You invite it, not grab at it."
Fang listened, focusing on the rhythm of his words.
"Breathe in slow… hold it… breathe out. Imagine strands of qi slipping into your lungs, then following into your meridians. Yang qi feels hot, aggressive—as if fire runs through your veins. Yin qi feels cool, gentle—like water easing your bones. Thanks to your spirit roots, both types will come naturally, but you have to guide them or they'll tear you apart."
He paused, letting the lesson settle.
"The first realm is Qi Gathering. When you draw in and store even the smallest bit of spiritual energy in your dantian—that spot just under your navel—you officially step onto the cultivator's path. That's also when your roots really wake up. Real changes start then. Your strength, speed, senses—everything ramps up."
Master stood, robes swaying in the evening breeze.
"Rest now. Stones get heavier tomorrow. And Fang—" He looked at her, a rare seriousness showing under his usual smirk, "when it's time to absorb qi, don't flinch from the pain. Pain's the price for becoming more than what the world wants you to be."
She blinked, staring into the glowing water that mirrored her determined look. This hellish training had broken her, beaten her down, but every time she rebuilt herself stronger.
She wasn't just surviving anymore.
She was getting ready to rise.