Li Yan sat cross-legged in the quiet confines of the cultivation chamber, his mind reciting silent mantras and his eyes closed as if in deep meditation. At this moment, the Foundation Establishment competition had already concluded after an arduous four days of battles and relentless exhibitions of strength, technique, and strategy. In exactly five days' time, the next grand trial—the Condensation Competition—would commence. These coming five days were not merely an interlude in the hectic schedule of sect competitions; they carried a dual purpose. First, they would serve as a critical period during which the Condensation disciples, who had gathered to observe the Foundation matches, would have ample opportunity to summarize and reflect on the techniques, tactics, and insights demonstrated in those contests. Second, these days afforded a window for the injured Foundation practitioners—damaged physically from their brutal encounters on the battleground—to recover, heal, and reset their bodies and minds for the forthcoming trials.
As Li Yan recalled the events of the past four days, his thoughts drifted back over the countless clashes he had witnessed. It was impossible not to marvel at the sheer scale and intensity of each battle. He remembered well how each colossal battle platform spanned nearly fifty li in length. Although every platform was protected with a shimmering light barrier that guarded the combatants from deadly blows and would shudder with brilliant blue flashes whenever struck by powerful attacks, the fierce contests inside were nothing short of earth-shattering. The protective domes, no matter how tenacious, were repeatedly battered and forced to be repaired several times a day to keep the competition running smoothly. The scenes etched themselves into his memory: the explosive eruptions of power, the tactical retreats, and the rapid maneuvers that ensured the safety of those who dared to step into the arena.
During this competition, Li Yan's observations had been prolific. He had seen firsthand not only the raw brutality of combat but also the subtle intricacies that separated the greatest masters from merely talented cultivators. For instance, he had witnessed the dual nature of his Sixth Senior Sister—an enigmatic and strikingly beautiful cultivator known for her icy demeanor. When in battle, she unleashed a terrifyingly ferocious side that few had ever seen before. Her style was direct and unyielding; favoring a close-quarters approach that mirrored the methods of body cultivation rather than the delicate display of ranged spells. In many clashes, she would close the distance between herself and her opponent in the blink of an eye, and within just a few confrontations the enemy was rendered senseless, their consciousness snuffed out before they even realized how swiftly the tide had turned.
In contrast, there were other fighters whose methods were far more cunning. Some of the more elusive cultivators would deliberately maintain a gap of over ten li from their adversary as soon as they stepped onto the battle platform. Their strategy was based on using formidable immortal arts from afar, launching spells and techniques that required not only precision but also a deep understanding of remote combat. Among these, Gong Chenying was a name that stood out. He was known for his unique hybrid style: at times pausing to cast intricate arrays or moving fluidly to set up his formations while still keeping a safe distance. Observing him, Li Yan was struck by the contrast to his Sixth Senior Sister. In every encounter, Gong Chenying's tactics were much more calculated—a weaving of complex formations that would force his enemy unknowingly into traps woven by his ever-changing defensive arrays. In one particularly memorable match, Gong Chenying's formation-based approach was pitted against that of Chu Weil, a mid-stage expert from the Four Symbols Peak. Here, both sides "dug in" with arrays designed to counter and dismantle each other, and the ensuing bout became a breathtaking display of martial art—a dance of arrays where each formation was countered by an equally ingenious setup. Ultimately, Chu Weil managed to win that encounter by a narrow margin that resulted solely from his higher mastery of formations, for he had not even relied on additional immortal arts. It was clear in that bout that Gong Chenying had intended to let the outcome hinge solely on the power and precision of his intricate array technique.
Yet another point of interest during the competition was the match involving Zhao Min. Although she appeared at first glance to be a dainty, graceful maiden—an image that could easily deceive an untrained eye—her fighting style was as ruthless and violent as it was unexpected. Much like Gong Chenying, Zhao Min chose to close in quickly on her opponent, launching a barrage of attacks that seemed to come as swiftly and violently as a sudden storm. To anyone watching, especially those unfamiliar with her true capabilities, her refined and delicate façade was nothing more than a ruse. When she was up close, her relentless assault left no doubt as to her determination and prowess. However, if a foe managed to keep a safe distance, Zhao Min had another trick up her sleeve. In those moments she would deploy two distinct types of bizarre "bug" creatures.
The first type of these strange insects was used for stealthy, near-silent close-ups. They would slither up on an unsuspecting opponent and deliver a single, lethal strike with rapid precision. Li Yan noted that in the matches he had observed, Zhao Min typically released three or four such bugs at a time. Each of these insects was imbued with an aura reminiscent of an eighth- to ninth-tier Condensation cultivating energy, and their attacks were swift beyond measure. Their targets were always the most vulnerable parts of the body—the face, the tender neck, or any exposed arm—and a single bite could induce a fatal reaction. Fortunately, Zhao Min's control over them was exquisite: as soon as one of these insects managed to latch onto her opponent's skin, she would immediately halt its assault. Often, the enemy would break into a cold sweat simply by witnessing the insect's relentless grip, surrendering even before the full extent of the merciless attack could be unleashed.
The second breed of her "bugs" was altogether different. Specialized in attacking with sheer numbers, these creatures would swarm an adversary in a group assault. Their modus operandi was horrifyingly visceral—they would gnaw relentlessly at the flesh, burrowing their way deep into the body and consuming from the inside out. Even though each bug exuded only the equivalent of around five layers of Condensation energy, their sheer numbers meant that the swarm could overwhelm almost any opponent. In Li Yan's recollection, Zhao Min only needed to deploy such a swarm once during the contest, keeping a respectful distance while her control over the multitude remained less precise. The scene was almost surreal: an enemy circled from afar, terror etched on their face, as the bugs advanced en masse—a shadow of death that made even the bravest tremble in apprehension.
Both Zhao Min and Gong Chenying had managed to qualify into the top forty-nine of the competition's rankings. Meanwhile, the battles of Li Yan's Bamboo Peak were a study in diversity of martial prowess. His Second Senior Brother, Wei Chituo, had bulldozed his way through nearly every match he entered. Only in the final round did he encounter a formidable opponent from the Four Symbols Peak named Gan Shi. Both combatants were at the late Foundation stage and had attained the level of "Great Perfection." Their clash was ferocious and evenly matched, a spectacular collision of titanic forces. In the end, Gan Shi managed to employ his body as an anchor for a small but intricate formation that ensnared Wei Chituo. After enduring a grueling half-hour in the entrapment of the formation, Wei Chituo had no alternative but to concede, even though his performance was impressive enough to secure him a place in the top forty-nine.
In another bout that had captured the attention of many, Yun Chunqu encountered Li Changting right from the very start. Yun Chunqu, having met Li Changting in the very first match of the day, was defeated on the spot. Li Changting, renowned as the illustrious senior sister from the Li Peak and almost on the verge of reaching the false Golden Core realm, wielded an astonishing mastery of bug control. Her awe-inspiring skills in deploying her insect attacks left Yun Chunqu with no room for protest. Later in the day, Yun Chunqu continued to face a series of opponents from other peaks. With his cultivation level still at the middle stage of the Foundation period, he found himself unable to overcome even one more fight after another. Although he eventually managed to secure a place among the top forty-nine, his overall performance placed him toward the lower end of that triumphant group.
Conversely, Li Changting's progress in the competition was smooth, almost effortless. In every match she fought, no matter the difficulty or how fierce the enemies were, she seemed to glide through the rounds with an air of absolute mastery. Even when she encountered Gan Shi of the Four Symbols Peak—a man renowned for his specialty with formations—her answer was a heady display of bug cloud assaults. Li Changting had already unleashed vast swarms of insects in all four corners of the battleground the moment she stepped on it. Li Yan, having observed her with keen interest, could only marvel at the powerful combination of her profound divine vision and her expansive knowledge of the myriad types of bugs. There was no doubt that she was among the finest of the Li Peak grandmistresses.
Not all results were triumphant, however. Miao Wangqing's journey in the competition ended abruptly; she was eliminated in the second round after losing three consecutive matches. On the other hand, Wen Xinqiang, a Foundation cultivator whose strength was just beginning to blossom, managed to fight until the fifth round. Despite his persistent efforts, he too was ultimately eliminated. Wen Xinqiang left a very distinct impression on Li Yan—he was a man of cruelty whose understanding and utilization of toxins had reached an advanced level. He had repeatedly and silently delivered lethal blows that exploited every opportunity, though inevitably he found himself outmatched when confronted by several opponents from the late Foundation stage. Even if his cunning and strategic mind were notable, the gulf between his cultivation level and that of his adversaries proved insurmountable.
Wen Xinqiang's battle was a dramatic display of both ingenuity and ruthlessness. In his first encounter with a late Foundation cultivator, he had concealed his curse—a "Wind Blade" technique—infused with the potent "Hidden Chrysanthemum" poison. The opponent, relying on instinct and swift dodges, managed to avoid the initial gusts. However, the very space through which the Wind Blade had passed was now saturated with the faintly pungent aroma of the poison. In a single inadvertent inhalation, that enemy turned and collapsed to the ground almost instantaneously, as if their fate were sealed by a treacherous twist of fate. Witnessing this dramatic turn, several of the more experienced Foundation stage masters became alert. In subsequent matchups against him, they ensured that Wen Xinqiang never had another opportunity to reverse his fortunes. After sustaining a few more losses, his journey in the contest was abruptly halted.
Yet there was one battle in which Wen Xinqiang's prowess shone in a way that gave Li Yan's Bamboo Peak brothers and sisters a moment of refreshing vindication. This occurred during the fourth round when Wen Xinqiang was pitted against Zuo Shengyan from the Ling Chong Peak—a Daoist disciple closely associated with Wang Tian. Li Yan recalled that in an earlier encounter, when he had merely glanced at this very man, Wang Tian's divine vision had landed a severe blow on him, nearly rendering him incapacitated for several days. In that fourth-round match, Zuo Shengyan found himself forced to face two strong opponents consecutively: one a late Foundation combatant and the other the pinnacle of the mid-Foundation stage. Matters were further complicated for her by the fact that one of these two mighty challengers was none other than Chu Weixiong, a master formation specialist; the other was a well-known senior from Ling Chong Peak, with a spirit beast whose level was at least one small tier higher than hers. In what should have been an easy victory for her—given that she normally relied on the formidable strength of her Black Scorpion technique and could boast a significant advantage—Zuo Shengyan's overconfidence led her to underestimate her foe. Wen Xinqiang, ever aware of the disparities in cultivation and specialized techniques, made sure that his own evasive maneuvers were relentless. From the very moment he stepped into the battle arena, he immediately established a safe distance, forcing a constant game of dodge and counterattack. Zuo Shengyan's multiple attempts to regroup or consolidate her forces were repeatedly frustrated as Wen Xinqiang avoided any encirclements, his cool and methodical tactics steadily wearing away at her resolve. Her face drained of color, her normally pristine skin and exposed limbs betraying trembling signs of strain as if ready to give way at any moment under the pressure of his relentless assault. In this heated melee, Zuo Shengyan—despite her considerable strength as a mid-level Foundation cultivator armed with a spirit beast whose energy was equivalent to the eighth tier of the Condensation stage—found that her advantage soon evaporated. Her overconfidence, however, became her undoing. Wen Xinqiang, well-aware of the remarkable potency of the Black Scorpion's venom, waited until the critical moment when her defense had slightly faltered. As she once again allowed the Black Scorpion to discharge its venom at close range, he seized the opportunity and, in one swift, almost imperceptible motion, unleashed his signature "Two-Headed Fly" powder. This fine, almost invisible layer spread all across the ground like a thin film. To the untrained eye it might have been mistaken for ordinary stone patterns, but for those who knew, it was a lethal toxin trap. Almost immediately, the Black Scorpion—sensitive by nature as all spirit beasts are—seemed to register the disturbance in his carefully maintained territory. Moments later, even before Zuo Shengyan could retrieve any antidote, her body began to reel from the effects. The world spun violently around her as she staggered, collapsing onto the arena floor in helpless disarray. With the critical support of her Black Scorpion severely diminished by his incapacitation, there was nothing that Zuo Shengyan could do against Wen Xinqiang's strategic onslaught. After several rounds of sustained battle, he ultimately managed to subdue her completely.
When Zuo Shengyan eventually came to and fully grasped the predicament of her defeat, a burning anger took root in her heart directed squarely at Wen Xinqiang. In the heat of the moment, amid the chaotic eruptions of violence—physical and psychological—she had not only lost the battle but also her dignity. Clad in minimal garments during the clash, her body had, under the strong influence of the "Two-Headed Fly" toxin, involuntarily exposed parts that should have never been revealed. Fortunately, the vigilant battle platform elder had noticed the unfolding scene promptly and whisked her away, administering an antidote as a matter of urgency. The news of this disgrace spread rapidly, and when Wang Tian learned of it, his fury knew no bounds. His glowering stares turned repeatedly toward the Bamboo Peak group, directing his wrath at them even though later rounds did not feature any Bamboo Peak disciple matched directly. Instead, his anger was redirected toward several of the other competitors, whose unfortunate losses left them cursing their fate bitterly.
The consequence of Zuo Shengyan's disastrous bout was that she was eliminated from the competition. This, in turn, cast a dark cloud over the Bamboo Peak faction, for in the eyes of many within that group—especially among the three female practitioners—the method employed by Wen Xinqiang was seen as treacherous and low. Wen Xinqiang, visibly shaken and desperate to defend his honor, was forced to offer explanations. He claimed that he had been driven into a corner, that in his frantic state the only thought in his mind was to deploy a toxin that was both stealthy and tremendously potent. In his defense he maintained that his actions were out of sheer necessity and not cruelty. However, his explanations fell on deaf ears. Both Miao Wangqing and Gong Chenying cast him cold, unyielding stares as if unwilling to believe even a word. Even the junior female disciple, though careful not to outwardly manifest her true feelings, could not hide the unmistakable glimmer of fear in her eyes—a silent testament to her belief that this Fifth Senior Uncle was something of a twisted, dangerous soul.
In stark contrast to the intense reactions from the female practitioners, the male cultivators in the Bamboo Peak faction appeared more puzzled, their expressions a mix of astonishment and barely concealed anxiety. For instance, Lin Daqiao, another of their number, had been eliminated in the very first round of the competition after only participating in four matches. Although in the second round he had managed to secure a narrow victory against a fellow Foundation novice from the Four Symbols Peak, he had lost the other three bouts, leaving him with a heavy sense of regret and a burning realization that his skills were still far too weak. His failure was a quiet, personal lament that resonated with those who had placed their hopes on his potential.
Thus, within the Bamboo Peak group, only a handful—Wei Chituo, Yun Chunqu, and Gong Chenying—had managed to secure spots among the top forty-nine. The majority of their peers were eliminated through the relentless trials of combat, and to compound the situation, both Wen Xinqiang and Lin Daqiao had sustained injuries during their respective matches. Wen Xinqiang's misfortune came in the form of a vicious counterattack in the fifth round by a late Foundation cultivator, which left him with deep internal wounds. Although for their kind of practitioners wounds and pain were seen as temporary and surmountable through proper healing, the injuries were nonetheless a stark reminder of the price of failure. Lin Daqiao, on his part, had been poisoned—his slender frame swollen into a caricature of itself. He was forced to take an antidote for four long, agonizing days before he finally recovered. During those four days he barely spoke above a whisper, spending his nights sleepless and his days in quiet misery.
Throughout these last few days the intensity of Li Yan's observations never waned. While he was naturally drawn to the performances of his Bamboo Peak senior brothers and senior sisters in the competitions, he was even more determined to internalize every minute detail. He made mental notes of each combatant's distinctive techniques, the subtleties of the immortal arts they deployed, and the ways in which they manipulated arrays, toxins, and spirit beasts. Over the span of the four days he gathered a treasure trove of insights regarding formation tactics, toxicology, the various types of spirit beasts and their innate abilities, and how these remarkable techniques could be blended and adapted. According to Lin Daqiao, such Foundation struggles—a sort of martial contest of the Foundation stage—were almost unheard of in the affiliated immortal sects. In those smaller sects, Foundation cultivators were typically already promoted to the elder ranks and would rarely dare cross swords with one another. If they ever did, it would often be a matter of life and death. This was the mark of a grand sect's deep-rooted legacy. The lower-ranking disciples had the rare chance to witness the grand masters in full action, gathering first-hand knowledge of techniques and deep wisdom. Meanwhile, the masters used these competitive events to hone their own skills, refining them until they were not only elegant but decimatingly practical.
Li Yan closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift over all that he had seen over the past several days. In his mind, he began the process of extracting and synthesizing all the methods and techniques he could possibly adopt. Time was of the essence for him: his practical combat experience was virtually non-existent, yet there remained so much knowledge he needed to absorb and internalize that his thoughts ran diversely in every direction. But amid his fervent reflection a sudden flash of white light caught his eye at his waist—a symbol on his token began to glow. Li Yan frowned. At that moment of subtle disturbance, he was in no mood to be distracted; after all, there were only five days left before the next competition. However, the mysterious glow in his token could not be ignored. He reluctantly allowed his divine sense to penetrate the token, and in the following moment his expression froze.
The message was from Li Wu Yi. In it, Li Wu Yi informed him that he had arranged an intensive, five-day, "lancet-style" training session for him. The training was to be conducted by a rotating roster of senior brothers and sisters—each one taking a turn to feed him secret techniques and counters. Li Wu Yi's arrangement was something extraordinarily precious. Li Yan understood, as any cultivator would, that such individualized guidance was reserved only for those who were either in the highest favor of their master or belonged to the most trusted inner circle. Rarely, if ever, were seven different seniors arranged to instruct one disciple so systematically. Li Yan knew in his heart that if the other disciples of the Bamboo Peak were to catch wind of this privileged treatment, they would be not merely envious but seething with jealousy.
The five days that lay ahead, though seemingly fleeting, would pass in the blink of an eye. Yet for Li Yan, every moment would stretch out as if he were enduring a lifetime. Each session with the senior instructors was meticulously arranged. Initially, when he was allowed to simply unleash his full strength in attack, his seniors would observe without holding back—even offering frank evaluations afterward. Later, as the training advanced, some of his instructors, who were of equal cultivation level, would press him into sparring. It was in these moments that Li Yan's life would become a veritable trial by fire—a crucible of pain and learning. After all, when one was pressed against opponents who were Foundation cultivators well beyond his current level in terms of both vision and mastery of immortal arts, it was nearly impossible to avoid suffering serious blows.
It was hard for Li Yan at that moment to fathom that even his once gentle and courteous Master Senior Brother, whom he had always admired for his humility and grace, could deliver such a vicious, almost ruthless counterattack when providing guidance. In that moment, when Li Wu Yi's face appeared in his mind, Li Yan could not shake the feeling that he was confronting a hypocrite—a man cloaked in serene manners who was capable of astonishing cruelty when the situation demanded. His Fourth Senior Sister, who had long been known as a delicate and refined presence, had completely shed that image in the training sessions; the techniques she deployed against him, although not meant for outright mortal combat, nonetheless left him battered and bruised from the inside out. His Third Senior Brother's ghostly, ominous assault unsettled him so profoundly that Li Yan felt his very spirit shattered. Meanwhile, his Second Senior Brother's "storm-like" barrage of attacks left him confused and disoriented, his face bruised and bloodied beyond immediate recognition. And then there was the Seventh Senior Sister's array techniques—so elaborate and ever-changing that they conjured vivid, almost hallucinatory images in his mind, as if she could somehow peer straight into the depths of his heart. Even Lin Daqiao, despite his own shortcomings, managed in his brief demonstration to illustrate to Li Yan the distinct differences between the early Foundation stage and the Condensation period. The merger of immortal arts with toxic techniques in Lin Daqiao's approach had struck Li Yan so forcefully that he found himself unable to tell his head from his tail.
Throughout those grueling five days, while the majority of his peers slumped in defeat or struggled to maintain their composure after each session, Li Yan remained steadfast in his determination. Day after day, as one senior would finish his set and another would step up, Li Yan would remain, at times stiff in posture from the barrage of techniques inflicted upon him; at other times, he would be left with bruises around his nose and battered limbs. He took every blow, every punishing lesson with a stoic resolve, all in the desperate hope that each painful moment would eventually forge his strength anew.
What astonished his instructors even more was not merely the fact that Li Yan's body seemed to adapt and strengthen after every agonizing session, but rather his mysterious ability to self-heal—regardless of the severity of the toxins or injuries inflicted upon him. When he was struck by the most potent poisons, his own symptoms began to self-subside gradually, and within a set period, he would slowly return to normal. Although this process was slow and sometimes barely noticeable, it was unmistakable evidence that Li Yan's body was developing a resistance. Moreover, when the very same virulent toxins were deployed against him in subsequent sessions, their effectiveness was markedly diminished. In other words, his body's immunity was steadily growing stronger with each trial.
Motivated by an urgent need to overcome all these setbacks, Li Yan resolved each session to push himself to the absolute limit. Only by giving everything he had could he hope to keep pace with the masters. It was through these relentless battles—each one testing both his endurance and wit—that the instructors began to notice a fascinating phenomenon. They observed that Li Yan's latent cultivation strength, though yet concealed, was steadily revealing itself. By the end of these sessions, it was clear that Li Yan had already reached the later stages of the seventh level of the Condensation period. In a world where hidden strength was not uncommon, this realization both surprised and impressed his instructors. They marveled that despite his apparent underwhelming display, his deep well of refined magical power had already reached the level typically associated with those at the early stages of the ninth level of Condensation. It was obvious to everyone present that his raw power was not an artifice of hidden potential—it was a genuine, concentrated force born of painstaking training and innate ability.
Yet even as they marveled at his mysterious vigor, his fellow cultivators found themselves at a loss to truly discern the source of Li Yan's secret strength. Some speculated that it might have something to do with the infamous "fractured poison body" rumor that had circulated in hushed tones throughout the sect. Others were convinced that his deep-level magical power was the result of sheer, unadulterated refinement over years of rigorous practice. Whatever the case, they could only shake their heads in amazement—and perhaps in envy—as they contemplated how such a hidden latent power could be so brilliantly concealed until now.
Thus, in that quiet, dimly lit cultivation chamber where Li Yan sat in solitary meditation, his mind a labyrinth of memories from the past four days of heroic contest and bitter setbacks, he also resolved to seize every morsel of knowledge that had been imparted to him. Every facial expression, every flicker of a senior's hand as they unleashed complex techniques in the training ground was recorded in his mind's eye. He resolved to dissect every aspect—from array formations and toxicology to the subtle interplay of spirit beasts and the unique talents they might bring—and to integrate these lessons into his own arsenal.
Li Yan knew that the next five days would be an unyielding crucible. His practical combat experience was still at a nascent stage, and there was so much he had yet to learn. His thoughts raced with questions that seemed insurmountable—a thousand threads of the unknown stretching out in every direction. And then, amid all this swirling mental activity, that unexpected flash from his token brought him back to the present moment.
The divine signal had been sent by Li Wu Yi, notifying him of the exceptionally rare opportunity for five days of rigorous training—a training cycle where different senior disciples would take turns to "feed him methods" and instruct him in secret techniques he had never before been privy to. For Li Yan, this arrangement was a priceless gift. In most sects, a disciple might only receive such guided instruction when his master was in an exceptionally favorable mood or if he belonged to the inner circle. The notion of having his training supervised by seven different seniors on a rotational basis was virtually unheard of, and Li Yan felt both humbled and determined to embrace every lesson.
As the hours of training began to slip away—each day passing in what felt like an interminable stretch of suffering and gradual progress—Li Yan felt a curious mixture of physical pain, mental exhaustion, and a slow-burning hope for improvement. His instructors, each with their own distinct fighting style, were unyielding in their demands. Sometimes, his senior brothers would unleash their full power on him, demonstrating their attacks methodically and then critiquing his every move. Later, as his own strength began to gradually match the pressure of his seniors, they would force him into close-quarters sparring sessions where every counterattack was a battle against not just one opponent, but against his own weaknesses.
He recalled the striking contrast between the various instructors. His gentle and courteous Master Senior Brother, whose calm demeanor and respectful manner had once inspired his adoration, now delivered his techniques with a viciousness that bordered on cruelty. Li Yan could not help but feel betrayed by such contradictions: that the very person he revered for his benevolence would, by necessity, adopt methods so harsh that each session left him battered both in body and spirit. His Fourth Senior Sister, once known for her graceful and refined composure, revealed an altogether different side when she took hold of her instructions. In those sessions, she unleashed a string of techniques that beat him mercilessly, leaving him forced to confront the grim reality that even a cultivator who excelled more in theory than in open combat was ultimately still a cultivator—and would show no mercy in training.
Then there was his Third Senior Brother, whose attacks were so imbued with a ghostly, pervasive darkness that each strike seemed to drain not only his physical strength but also his will to resist. His assault was like the chill of a winter wind that could freeze one's very soul, leaving Li Yan feeling as though his spirit itself was being torn asunder. His Second Senior Brother, on the other hand, hammered him with relentless, storm-like strikes that confused his senses and left him with a battered, bruised visage—a painful mosaic of swollen lips and broken features. And not to be forgotten, his Seventh Senior Sister's lessons in formations became like a maddening labyrinth of images in his mind, as if she could see through the veil of his inner thoughts and strike at weaknesses he had long assumed were well hidden.
Even Lin Daqiao, despite his earlier failures in the competition, managed in a brief moment of demonstration to illustrate the critical difference between the early Foundation stage and the Condensation period. By employing a seamless blend of immortal arts and toxic techniques, he managed to drive home to Li Yan that the art of combat was not merely a matter of brute strength, but of precise, calculated execution. Such profound insights left Li Yan overwhelmed with both admiration and a fierce desire to up his own game.
For the next five days, Li Yan's world would be defined by nothing but intense training, pain, and the slow, incremental progress of his hidden inner power. His body ached with each receiving blow, his skin bore the marks of countless clashing techniques, and his mind teetered continuously between exhaustion and determination. Yet despite the torment, there was also a quiet exhilaration—a sense that every moment of pain was forging him into a stronger, more capable cultivator. Every drop of sweat, every bruise, every moment of near-collapse was the raw material from which he would construct his future strength.
As the days passed, it became clear to his seniors and to the other Bamboo Peak disciples that Li Yan possessed an astonishing capacity for resilience. Not only did he withstand the most potent toxins without immediate, life-threatening collapse, but his body also seemed to gradually adapt. Even when exposed to toxins that would have debilitated others for long periods, the adverse symptoms began to subside over time—a self-healing process that occurred naturally from within, without the need for an antidote. Remarkably, when similar toxins were used on him in subsequent training bouts, their effects were noticeably diminished. It was as if Li Yan's body was actively developing immunity, his internal defenses strengthening with every attack.
Observing these developments, his senior instructors exchanged knowing glances. They recognized that Li Yan's innate talent was not only apparent in his hidden reserves of magical power but also in his uncanny ability to naturally enhance his immunity against toxins—an attribute that many in the fiercely competitive realm of cultivation held in high regard. Although they could not precisely pinpoint the secret behind his resilience, some murmured that it might be connected to a mysterious "broken poison body" phenomenon that had whispered its way through sect legends. Whatever the truth was, it was indisputable that his internal power—the depth of his condensed magical energy—had grown to levels comparable to the early stages of the ninth layer of Condensation. This was no minor achievement, and it would cause others to see him in a completely new light.
Yet even as they marveled at his seemingly inexplicable potential, none could ever truly unravel the mystery of Li Yan's hidden strength. Speculation was rife among the senior cultivators and peers alike. Some surmised that perhaps there was a profound, even primordial reason behind his ability to heal so naturally—a secret which might even be rooted in the esoteric practices of obscure, ancient detoxification techniques. Others quietly wondered whether his prodigious magical power was simply the result of an unparalleled effort in concentration and training, a power honed through years of disciplined practice. Whatever the answer might be, it left many both astonished and somewhat envious, for his potential was clearly not derived solely from the visible aspects of his training, but from an inner force that remained largely mysterious even as its effects became more pronounced.
In that cultivation chamber, with the silence punctuated only by the occasional hum of mystical energy and Li Yan's own measured breathing, he resolved to seize this rare opportunity. Every lesson during these next five days would be a stepping stone toward a deeper mastery of his art—a step that would bridge the gap between his current, seemingly fragile state and the formidable force that lay hidden within. His heart and mind were equally burdened with the realization that his journey would not be easy, but the prospect of emerging stronger from the crucible of intense training filled him with a determined, if cautious, hope.
Thus, as the five days of intensive training loomed on the horizon and as the memories of fierce Foundation battles gently receded into the recesses of his mind, Li Yan prepared himself mentally and physically to face the trials ahead. In that hushed, sacred space of the cultivation chamber, he promised himself that nothing—no matter how fierce the attack, or how elaborate the technique—would deter him from tapping into the secret reserves of the power that lay dormant within him. Each challenge would only be further proof that his resolve was unbreakable.
He knew that every seasoned master had once been in his position, struggling to gather the scattered fragments of new knowledge and experience. And in the coming days, under the tutelage of his revered seniors, he would have the chance to refine every technique, absorb every nuance, and ultimately craft for himself an identity in the annals of his sect's history. As he exhaled deeply and opened his eyes, Li Yan silently vowed: come what may, he would emerge from these five days not only healed but transformed—steeled by the trials of combat and enriched by the countless lessons that only pain and perseverance could offer.
Every moment of these five days would be imbued with significance. In the arduous, unrelenting routine of being battered, evaluated, and pushed to his limits, Li Yan would eventually come to understand that real strength lay not in the immediate victory of a single battle, but in the slow accumulation of knowledge, endurance, and wisdom. And so, as the distant echo of the next competition drew nearer, he sustained himself with slow-cooked determination and the promise of a future when he could stand among the greats without fear.
In that silent sanctuary of swirling mystical energies—a place where the only sounds were the gentle echo of ancient chants and the quiet straining of sinews—Li Yan's spirit was quietly growing, expanding beyond the limitations of his present state. Each bruise, each scar, every small step in his training was part of a grand tapestry, one that would ultimately reveal the full measure of his hidden potential and thrust him onto a path of greatness.
As the soft light of dusk seeped into the cultivation chamber, wrapping Li Yan in its gentle glow, he allowed himself a moment of reflection. Memories of the ferocity of combat, the strategic brilliance of his seniors, the unyielding speed of magical attacks, and even the delicate interplay of poison and immunity—all these images swirled together to form the raw, unfiltered truth of the world he was determined to master. With each passing heartbeat, he understood that while the Foundation stage was a trial open to the myriad of cultivators in his sect, it also served as a crucible where only those with true inner strength would survive and prosper. And now, with the coming of the Condensation Competition looming like an insurmountable wall, it was the final opportunity for every disciple to prove that they possessed not only skill but also the heart to endure the relentless storm of fierce martial conflict.
For Li Yan, every lesson, every painful reminder of his own limits was a precious gem to be polished and turned into a stepping stone toward his future greatness. The days ahead promised challenges and frustrations that would test every fiber of his being, yet he welcomed them with a quiet, unwavering determination that belied the turmoil inside him. As he gathered his resolve and prepared to face the crucible of training that would span the next five days, he embraced the profound certainty that every struggle, every drop of sweat, every moment of pain would eventually converge to reveal the shining truth of his path—one that led inexorably to a destiny of strength, wisdom, and, ultimately, transcendent power.
Thus, in the silent depth of his cultivation chamber, Li Yan sat with eyes closed and heart resolute, already envisioning the metamorphosis that was to come—a transformation so profound that the future battles would scarcely recognize the man he was before. And in that sacred quietness, with time both an adversary and a hopeful ally, Li Yan set his mind to work, determined to be ready for whatever storm the next five days, and indeed the coming Condensation Competition, would deliver.