[POV: Meng Rong]

  There were only four days left before Yakuza Man’s spar with Dong Li.

  Frankly, I did not see the point of this request. Even if I agreed, what meaningful change could possibly occur in such a short span of time? Cultivation was not something one rushed. It required years of refinement, comprehension, and gradual accumulation. Yet Yakuza Man remained stubbornly insistent.

  “It’s important to me,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically earnest. “If you help, I believe it will make a huge difference.”

  I looked at him carefully before responding. “You mean… teaching you cultivation?”

  “Yes,” he answered without hesitation.

  I shook my head. “I don’t think I can teach you anything at all. Ultimately, I am still a disciple. The techniques I practice are passed down directly from my master. Teaching them to you would be improper. As his disciple, it is my duty to preserve his legacy and the line of predecessors before him. So no, I cannot teach you cultivation.”

  He did not retreat.

  “There’s no need for that kind of teaching,” he said quickly, as if afraid I would close the door entirely. “You misunderstand. Think of me as a wild cultivator who reached his current realm through… chance.”

  He hesitated at the last word, his gaze drifting away, and I could tell even he found the explanation flimsy. It was almost amusing how badly he tried to lie straight to my face, only to be subtly restrained by the Binding Vow. That technique truly was terrifying in its own way, influencing intent and phrasing without overt force.

  Using it had been reckless of me. It was untested, newly learned, and not something I should have employed lightly. Yet the situation had been too precarious. My younger brother’s fate, the Meteor Child, and the growing pressure from the sects had left me with little room for caution. If misfortune were to fall upon Meng Wu, especially in such a short time, I doubted my heart could endure it.

  Still, as I studied Yakuza Man more closely, I realized I might have underestimated him.

  There was something undeniably strange about him. Not just his methods or his strength, but the way he navigated danger with an almost instinctive awareness. Perhaps it would not hurt to test him. As someone who fully understood the effects of the Binding Vow, I could afford to probe without risking much.

  “A chance, you say,” I asked calmly. “How?”

  His demeanor shifted instantly. He straightened, his expression smoothing as he clearly recognized the opening the vow had created. I found myself genuinely impressed by how quickly he adapted.

  “It’s like giving a poor farmer a sword sharp enough to cut mountains,” he said. “That kind of situation.”

  I understood what he meant. A fortuitous opportunity so overwhelming that it elevated him far beyond his natural limits, without effort or foundation. Such encounters were not unheard of, but they were exceedingly rare, and more often than not, they carried hidden costs. If left unaddressed, those costs could cripple or destroy the recipient. That alone might explain why he sought guidance now.

  He continued, “And I’m not very well-versed in what cultivators consider common knowledge.”

  It was a reasonable explanation, though the phrase itself was vague. Common knowledge differed wildly between sects and schools. Cultivation was profound and layered, and even the most basic principles could not truly be called common when viewed across different traditions.

  “Common knowledge…” I murmured, thinking aloud.

  For instance, illusion theory was foundational within my lineage and the Phantasm Star Sect, to the point where we treated it as elementary. Yet the Boulder Path Sect and the Dragon Heart Sect would not share that perspective at all. The same could be said of body refinement, qi circulation, or even combat philosophy. His request, while imprecise, was not unreasonable.

  In truth, part of me simply wanted to see what lay beneath his strength. What methods he used. What kind of path he was walking.

  At last, I made my decision.

  “Fine,” I said. “I will teach you what I can. However, you must listen to everything I say.”

  “Thank you,” Yakuza Man said.

  I turned and led the way, gesturing lightly as I spoke. “Follow me. I know a place.”

  It did not take long for us to arrive at a quiet patch of forest with a lake resting at its center. The surface of the water was calm, reflecting the sky with deceptive simplicity.

  “I know this place,” Yakuza Man remarked. “I’ve been here.”

  “Yes,” I replied plainly. This was the same location where I had once brought the constable and held that confidential discussion.

  He looked around with mild curiosity. “Is there something special about it?”

  “The lake,” I said, and as the words left my mouth, I released my qi and shifted the formation embedded in the area.

  The tranquil scenery peeled away like a veil. The air grew clearer, the qi denser and purer. Before us appeared a far more breathtaking sight: birds chirping from unseen branches, a crystalline lake fed by a narrow waterfall, and mist drifting gently through the air, creating a rhythm both soothing and profound.

  I explained calmly, “This is a small hidden realm I created as practice. Something to pass the time while waiting for my master. I originally thought it might also be useful to my brother. I have already completed the obfuscation spell, so this place is well concealed. The scenery should help clear your mind and calm your heart, and the qi here is noticeably thicker, which will benefit your cultivation.”

  I turned to face him. “So, shall we start?”

  His eyes widened in unconcealed awe, and for a brief moment, he looked genuinely stunned. Then he composed himself and gave an awkward, almost shy smile.

  “Before we start,” he said, “please think of me as a newbie disciple who really has no idea about cultivation. There’s only so much I can learn from reading, after all.”

  I found that difficult to believe. Whether it was a lack of confidence or a gap in his foundations, I could not tell. Given everything I had seen him do, I doubted it was the latter, but I decided to proceed carefully.

  “Very well,” I said. “Then I will start from the beginning.”

  I took a breath and began. “Cultivation is the art of nurturing. In this world, there are countless things one can nurture: plants, bloodlines, resentment, hatred, even obsession. The list is endless. For cultivators like us, however, the meaning becomes more specific.”

  I continued steadily, “Qi cultivation is the art of nurturing the self. It is the process of understanding the dao, shedding one’s mortal limitations, and achieving immortality through harmony, eventually becoming a heavenly being. This is especially true for orthodox cultivators, who also call themselves practitioners of the righteous path. In more modern terms, this is known as Immortal Cultivation.”

  I went on, explaining how this broad path could be divided into orthodox, unorthodox, and demonic branches, along with various outliers and intersecting paths that defied simple categorization. I spoke of intent, temperament, and how one’s chosen method often reflected one’s inner nature.

  Time passed without interruption. Yakuza Man listened attentively, never cutting in, occasionally taking out a notebook to jot something down. His seriousness surprised me. Seeing that he was genuinely paying attention and not merely humoring me, I continued, elaborating further than I initially intended.

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  Eventually, however, boredom and mild irritation crept in. Speaking uninterrupted for so long tested even my patience, especially with someone as enigmatic as him, someone who stirred both frustration and curiosity in equal measure.

  At last, I stopped and looked at him. “Did you understand all of that?”

  “Yes,” he answered immediately, his tone bright and confident. Then he tilted his head slightly and asked, “What’s next?”

  “Tell me about your cultivation method, so that I can make an accurate judgment on how to teach you more,” I demanded in a straightforward manner.

  Perhaps it was too direct, but Yakuza Man did not seem perturbed in the slightest. He answered calmly, “I don’t have any.”

  I was left momentarily speechless. My first instinct was to assume he was lying, yet that made no sense under the Binding Vow. The confusion unsettled me. Part of the reason I had agreed to this arrangement was precisely to understand his cultivation, and yet I had learned nothing from his duel with Huang Yong, which was what led me down this path in the first place.

  “Explain,” I pressed.

  He replied with that same irritating metaphor. “I told you before, didn’t I? I’m like a very poor farmer who received a very sharp sword that can cut mountains. The sword, in my case, is my power.”

  So the reason he was strong was simply because he was strong. That explanation was infuriatingly circular. I knew he was being deliberately vague, yet I could not pinpoint how he managed to dance around the truth so cleanly while still being bound by the vow. In the end, I chose not to pursue it further, lest I expose my own frustration.

  “Take off your clothes,” I said.

  He blinked. “How much?”

  “Leave your undergarments on.”

  He complied without complaint, stripping down and neatly folding his clothes atop a nearby stone. He also removed that strange eyewear of his and set it aside. I examined him carefully. His physique suggested extensive martial training. While such methods were not cultivation techniques, they were still capable of tempering the body to an impressive degree. Yet I could not identify any clear markers from schools or methods I was familiar with, and I had seen many.

  As for his qi, I frowned inwardly. I could not sense any constant spiritual pressure from him at all. In combat, he clearly released it, but outside of that, there was nothing, as if it were completely dormant.

  Yakuza Man suddenly crossed his arms over his chest and abdomen. “Uhm… I feel cold…”

  Really? Cold? That was a poor excuse for someone of his realm…

  “What are you doing? I’m not done yet.” My words were merciless, but necessary.

  His gaze slid away from mine. “I’m shy.”

  I stared at him in silence, unsure whether to be annoyed or baffled. When I took a second, more thorough look, I was forced to admit that he was… well-proportioned. I already knew he was handsome, but his physique carried a balanced, masculine solidity that was difficult to ignore.

  I raised my hand instinctively, then stopped myself. What was I thinking? I was here to assess his cultivation, not indulge in pointless distractions. I cleared my thoughts and focused on what mattered.

  “Do you know what your spiritual roots are?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Is there a way to check?”

  “Come here.”

  He walked toward me.

  “Stop,” I said.

  He halted and asked, “Is this distance fine?”

  “No.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  I had thought I had long since severed my attachment to mortal desires, especially those of the flesh. And yet, for reasons I did not care to examine too closely, I felt heat rise to my face. His choice of undergarments was unfamiliar to me, made of thin, dark fabric rather than the traditional garments most men wore. It was… distracting.

  I looked up abruptly, fixing my gaze on the trees as if they were suddenly fascinating. From the corner of my vision, I saw him tilt his head in confusion.

  “Did I do something wrong?” he asked. Then, after a pause, “Your ears are red.”

  That was the moment I realized just how badly I had lost my composure, and how much I hated myself for it.

  “Oho~! Is our Rong Rong embarrassed?” Yakuza Man remarked in a teasing tone.

  What kind of disrespectful address was that? I immediately turned toward him, only to snap my gaze away again when he took a step closer, his hands resting casually on his waist. My composure shattered.

  “Stop!” I yelled, far more awkwardly than I liked.

  “You can look now,” Yakuza Man said lightly, as if he were enjoying every second of this.

  Was he still teasing me? Before I could steady myself, he added, “I took it all off.”

  I froze on the spot.

  “I lied,” he followed up, far too quickly.

  I closed my eyes at once and circulated the calming method my master had taught me, letting my qi settle as it flowed through familiar paths. When I opened them again, Yakuza Man was wearing those strange white garments below his waist. I believed they were called trousers.

  “Looks better?” he asked nonchalantly.

  “Y-Yes,” I stuttered before I could stop myself.

  What in heaven’s name was wrong with me today? I clearly needed more discipline. Perhaps later I should meditate beneath the waterfall and properly repent for this lapse.

  “Come here,” I said, forcing authority into my voice.

  He approached without hesitation now, no trace of shyness remaining. When he stopped just a single step away, I frowned and decided to regain some ground by turning his own behavior against him.

  “You should be embarrassed that you made a young lady like me feel so flustered,” I said coolly.

  Yakuza Man grinned. “When the embarrassment is shared, it doesn’t feel embarrassing at all.”

  I chose to ignore that entirely. “Sit down.”

  He complied, lowering himself into a lotus position facing me. The angle was… inconvenient, to say the least, and I wondered briefly if he truly lacked tact or was simply pretending.

  “Turn around,” I instructed.

  He did so without complaint. I placed one palm against his back and carefully circulated my qi into his meridians, guiding it with precision.

  “Do you feel that?” I asked.

  “It tickles,” he replied.

  “That is a part of me,” I said evenly. “I am now inside you.”

  “Wording, please?” he said at once.

  I frowned. “What is wrong with my words? It is a fact. A person’s qi is a part of them, a special organ that exists alongside the soul.”

  “Ah, you meant it seriously,” he said, as if relieved.

  I did not fully understand his reaction, but I set it aside and focused. As I searched for his spiritual roots, my concentration faltered. There was something wrong. A dense fog lay within him, obscuring not only his roots but even the outline of his soul itself.

  My tension spiked.

  This was not the Binding Vow. I was certain of that. The fog had been there before, deep and ancient, hiding itself perfectly. My heart sank slightly. Had I made a mistake? The Binding Vow worked by weighing the soul, but this felt like something else entirely.

  “Yakuza Man,” I said carefully, “are you aware there is a fog within you?”

  “What? What fog?” he asked, genuinely confused.

  “Never mind,” I said quickly. “Forget I said anything.”

  Whatever that fog was, it was likely tied to the fortuitous encounter he claimed to have received. Whether it was a blessing or a latent calamity, I could not tell. Still, something else troubled me far more.

  “Yakuza Man,” I said slowly, “where did your heart go? It’s missing.”

  He turned to look at me, bafflement written all over his face. “How is that possible? I would be dead without a heart. Of course I have one. I can hear it beating inside me. What got into you?”

  I took a breath before answering. “That is exactly the problem. I believe the ‘beating’ you hear is not your heart at all.”

  He stiffened slightly.

  “I believe it is an evil spirit sealed within you.”

  In the beginning, I was unsure, but everything fell into place the moment I felt it more clearly. The fog was not random at all. It was a seal, layered and profound, suppressing something vast and malevolent beyond my comprehension

  Before I could withdraw my qi, a sudden chill crawled up my spine, the kind that screamed danger before the mind could form words.

  My qi inside him was abruptly dragged forward, pulled as if by an irresistible tide. I had no time to react. My vision blurred, my senses inverted, and when I blinked again, the world around me was no longer the hidden realm.

  I stood at the surface of an endless lake of blood, its surface sluggish and thick, exuding a suffocating stench of death. Above, the sky was dominated by an ominous celestial body locked in eclipse, casting a dim, crimson-tinted light that swallowed everything beneath it. The air itself felt heavy, pressing down on my soul.

  What seized my attention most, however, was not the landscape.

  At the center of this hellish domain stood a mountain of bones, stacked carelessly yet deliberately, as though shaped into a throne. Upon it sat an existence that made my breath catch.

  He looked exactly like Yakuza Man.

  Yet he was unmistakably not him.

  The figure before me radiated an overwhelming, oppressive presence. His crimson robes were trimmed with writhing black flames that moved as though alive, licking the air with silent malice. His face was calm, eerily so, but his eyes were dull and empty, devoid of warmth, emotion, or humanity.

  I could not move. Not my body, not my qi, not even my thoughts. In that instant, I understood with terrifying clarity that I had underestimated this existence by an immeasurable margin.

  His gaze lowered to me.

  A cold chill ran straight through my soul.

  “Disappointing,” he said.

  The word struck me harder than any physical blow. I did not even understand what he meant, yet my heart clenched painfully. Before I could gather myself, his voice sounded again, flat and merciless.

  “So weak.”

  Anger flared instinctively, even as fear crushed it down. Compared to my master, of course I was weak, but my talent was acknowledged even among peers. I had walked my path with diligence and resolve—

  “Trashy talent,” the evil spirit interrupted, his tone utterly dismissive.

  My thoughts shattered.

  “Maybe I should just kill you now,” he continued calmly, “for daring to peek at things you shouldn’t.”

  He raised a hand toward me, fingers slowly curling inward. The air constricted around my body, invisible pressure crushing me from all sides. Dark flames slithered across my skin, burning without heat yet inflicting unbearable agony directly upon my soul.

  It hurt.

  It hurt so much that I could not even scream.

  Just as my consciousness began to fracture, the pressure suddenly stopped. The flames recoiled, and the evil spirit clicked his tongue in irritation, as though mildly inconvenienced.

  “You are lucky, woman,” he said.

  In that moment, I felt it. The Binding Vow on my wrist flared with power, its presence anchoring me just enough to prevent my complete erasure. That single connection was the only reason I was still alive.

  My strength failed me entirely after that.

  The bloody lake, the eclipse, the throne of bones, and the emotionless gaze all dissolved into darkness as my consciousness slipped away.