Flesh Before Heaven

The day slowly passed.

He did not rush the refinement process. This body could not afford recklessness, even a single mistake could leave his meridians permanently damaged. Or even worse, death before the Black River Sect ever arrived.

He sat cross legged on the dirt floor of the shack, his posture straight, breathing shallow and controlled.

The fragment lay in his palm.

Slowly, he closed his eyes, remembering the method to cultivate the first cycle.

Flesh Tempering - First Cycle

This was not a technique meant to strengthen Qi, nor circulate energy through meridians. Instead, it guided energy directly into each part of the physical body, the flesh, the skin, the muscle, the bone, forcing the body to adapt through pain and stress.

This crude and slow method could have never been acknowledged by the Heavens.

He slowly guided the stored energy of the fragment within him.

The moment it entered his body, pain erupted. It felt as if thousands of needles pierced his skin at once, his muscles violently spasming, his tendons screaming as energy tore through them. Blood seeped from his power, staining his clothes and the floor beneath him.

He did not scream.

He had screamed enough already in his previous life.

He carefully adjusted his breathing, slowing it down, compressing the energy instead of letting it scatter. Each breath, each heartbeat, each slight and tiny movement being agonising but necessary.

Hours passed, the pain never easing.

When the fragment's energy thinned, he stopped. Forcing more would no longer benefit him. He rested briefly, chewing on a moldy dry piece of bread, sparingly drinking water.

He resumed again, and again, and again.

By noon, his body shook constantly, his hands trembling and vision blurred. The shack tainted with the smell of iron and sweat.

By dusk, his clothes were completely stained with dried blood.

Yet something within him had changed. 

His skin felt tighter, denser perhaps. His breathing was steadier, still weak, but no longer fragile.

He opened his eyes, exhaling slowly. This was enough for now.

The fragment in his palm had dulled completely, the energy within it spent. Its purpose had been fulfilled. He carefully wrapped it in cloth and hid it beneath the floorboards.

The pain still lingered, but no longer threatened to overwhelm him. This body had survived the first step, that alone was a victory.

Outside, the village grew quiet, lamps extinguishing one by one.

He stared up at the ceiling, pain pulsing through his body in waves. These were not sharp enough the threaten unconsciousness but not light enough to ignore. Each muscle in his body throbbed, every bone felt denser, as if it had been hammered and forged repeatedly throughout the day.

This pain was proof, proof of the refinement working.

He slowly clenched his fingers, a weak but steady motion. This time, his body had obeyed him willingly, no longer having to strain to move.

In his previous life, the first stage of cultivation, Body Refinement, had been nothing more than a stepping stone. It was something that was rushed through, endured only until Qi could be cultivated. He had relied on pills and springs, allowing resources to brute-force his way past the earliest of stages.

That path had led him to power, but then to his demise.

This time, he would not repeat that same mistake.

A weak foundation doomed even the most talented and powerful of cultivators. Heaven itself favored shortcuts, because shortcuts produced controllable results. Cultivators who rose too fast shattered easily when pressed.

But he would not shatter.

To him, tomorrow would decide everything.

The Black River Sect's recruitment was not simple charity. They did not seek the strongest, nor the kindest, nor the evilest. They only sought out bodies that could endure cultivation.

Talent was only half of the requirement.

The rest was Destiny.

The prodigy boy would be tested first, as always. Heaven liked spectacle. It liked having the chosen one shining brightly, making the rejection of others appear justified.

This time, that light wouldn't shine, it couldn't.

He did not intend to confront the boy directly, not yet at least. Direct conflict allowed Heaven to gaze upon him.

He would do to tests, allowing the elders see what they wished to see.

Torches burned low against the darkness.

Boots crushed gravel and dirt beneath them.

Voices spoke of names, schedules and quotas.

At the edge of the territory, the procession came to a halt.

An elder lifted his gaze toward the village bellow.

The Black River Sect had arrived....