After leaving Cold Abyss Valley, Yun Che did not immediately return to the menial quarters. Instead, he detoured to a secluded cliff on the rear mountain, found a wind-sheltered ice cave, and sat down cross-legged.

  Although the four-year secret-realm seclusion had ended, the questions in his heart had only grown clearer.

  Among them, the one that concerned him most was the phenomenon he encountered every time he cultivated within the stone-bead dreamscape—the scattered points of light floating in the void.

  Over the years, he had already noticed that the faint glow drifting through the milky-white expanse during his breathing exercises was not static. Whenever he circulated his power and sank into deeper cultivation, tiny light specks would separate from those luminous bodies, as if drawn by some invisible force, quietly merging into his body.

  At first, he had dismissed them as mere dream anomalies and paid them little mind. But as time passed—especially throughout these four years of secret-realm cultivation—he grew increasingly aware that these light specks were different.

  They seemed… not to be light in the ordinary sense.

  Each time a speck entered his body, he could feel an exceedingly faint yet indescribable form of “nourishment.” It was not an increase in spiritual energy, nor a strengthening of blood and flesh, but something closer to a subtle enrichment of the soul, perception, or some deeper underlying essence.

  “The reason my spiritual sense surpasses those of the same realm—why I could even evade Senior Brother Qin Shuang’s perception… could it be related to this?”

  Yun Che turned his awareness inward. Within the depths of the qi vortex in his dantian, faint, almost imperceptible points of light flickered—sharing the same aura as the void specks from his dreams.

  He attempted to guide them, but the lights were as elusive as mist or illusion. They resisted grasp, merely rotating slowly with the vortex, as though they had already fully fused with his power.

  “The stone bead, the dreamscape, the light specks…” Yun Che murmured softly.

  “It seems that my cultivation path diverged from the Mystic Frost Condensation Art from the very beginning.”

  As for the Breath-Concealing Technique, he no longer deliberately maintained it. Four years had carried him from “nearly mortal” to the third level of Qi Condensation. Though still at the bottom tier, reaching this point through bitter cultivation in a spirit-rich secret realm was, on the surface, barely passable.

  What no one knew was that nearly forty years ago—by dreamscape time—he had already stepped into the “Second Stage” and by now had tempered that realm to an unimaginably profound degree.

  And the Minor Pull Technique… Over these forty-plus years, he had not missed a single day of practice. Now, with a mere flicker of intent, it responded as naturally as an extension of his limbs. Among the entire Mystic Frost Sect, there was likely no one else who had refined such a basic technique to this level.

  While he was lost in thought, a bell rang in the distance—three short chimes. It was the signal summoning trainees to report to the Deacons’ Hall.

  Yun Che gathered his thoughts and rose, heading toward the hall.

  Passing by an ice wall, his steps paused. A thought arose unbidden. His right hand formed a subtle seal within his sleeve, and the Minor Pull Technique unfolded in silence.

  A dull crack-crack echoed from deep within the ice wall. In the span of a breath, fine fractures blossomed across the surface within a ten-zhang radius, ice shards cascading down as the entire wall shuddered faintly.

  Two passing outer disciples stopped in surprise.

  “Did the wind suddenly pick up?”

  The corner of Yun Che’s mouth curved almost imperceptibly. He withdrew the technique and moved on.

  Entering the Deacons’ Hall, he saw several deacon disciples standing on either side, with three elders of profound aura seated above. Qin Shuang stood respectfully nearby.

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  Once everyone had arrived, the white-haired elder in the center spoke slowly:

  “Four years of Cold Abyss cultivation—each of you has gained something. Those at the Qi Condensation Fifth Layer and above may remain; the rest may return to rest. In three days, the ‘Five Sects 巡境 Selection Tournament’ will begin. Each peak must send representatives. Seize this opportunity well.”

  The disciples responded in unison. Yun Che exited with the majority who were below the fifth layer.

  After a brief hesitation, he turned and headed toward the inner sect region—Frost Condensation Peak.

  Senior Brother Zhang Mingyuan’s cave dwelling lay halfway up that mountain.

  Outside the residence, a pale blue light curtain enveloped the courtyard—a simple protective restriction. Yun Che’s spiritual sense brushed over it lightly. The pattern of the formation appeared clearly in his perception—flawed everywhere, fragile as paper.

  He even had the distinct feeling that if he wished, a slight disturbance of several nodes using the Minor Pull Technique would cause the restriction to collapse on its own.

  Withdrawing his senses, Yun Che bowed outside the gate.

  “Disciple Yun Che requests an audience with Senior Brother Zhang.”

  After a moment of silence, Zhang Mingyuan’s slightly impatient voice sounded from within.

  “Enter.”

  The light curtain parted. Yun Che stepped inside to see Zhang Mingyuan seated at a stone table, holding a jade slip, not even lifting his head.

  “What is it?”

  “Reporting to Senior Brother,” Yun Che said with lowered head. “This disciple has completed the four-year Cold Abyss training and has come to report.”

  Zhang Mingyuan finally looked up, his gaze sweeping over Yun Che before pausing slightly.

  “Qi Condensation Third Layer?”

  “Yes. Through day-and-night cultivation in the secret realm, this disciple was fortunate enough to break through.”

  A trace of surprise flashed in Zhang Mingyuan’s eyes before settling back into habitual indifference. He did remember this registered disciple—the one who had “jumped off a cliff to enter the sect.” Back then, his aptitude had been mixed at best. Had it not been for a momentary whim, he would never have accepted him.

  In fact, once he reached the first layer, Zhang Mingyuan had even considered using soul-searching techniques to see if he possessed some hidden fortune. But four years had passed, and the thought had long faded. Now, to have reached the third layer—still low, but that perseverance…

  After a brief calculation, he dismissed the idea. The cost of soul-searching was too high; damaging his own cultivation for this was not worth it.

  “Very well.” Zhang Mingyuan waved his hand.

  “Since you’ve reached the third layer, you may be considered formally under my tutelage. From now on, move to the outer servant dwellings of Frost Condensation Peak. You’ll be responsible for tending several plots of Cold Mist Grass. In three days, accompany me to observe the sect tournament—see the world a bit.”

  He paused, glancing at Yun Che.

  “Since you’re at the third layer, have you practiced the Minor Pull Technique?”

  “I have, but I’m not yet proficient,” Yun Che replied.

  “That’s only natural.” Zhang Mingyuan snorted lightly.

  “Such foundational techniques rely entirely on time and repetition. Back then, it took me over eight months to reach effortless control—already outstanding among my peers.”

  With a casual gesture, he lifted his hand. A teacup rose from the table, floating steadily into his grasp without spilling a drop.

  “When the Minor Pull Technique is mastered, combined with sufficient spiritual power, one can begin rudimentary object control. Once you break through to the fourth layer, you may cultivate the Artifact-Driving Art. Only then do you truly step into the realm of techniques.”

  Then his tone shifted.

  “However, with the tournament approaching, your cultivation is too low to compete. But as my disciple, you can’t show up looking shabby and invite ridicule.”

  He reached into his robe, pulled out an ice-blue token, and tossed it to Yun Che.

  “Take this to the Artifact Pavilion and pick a flying sword with a decent appearance. Don’t worry about power—choose one that looks good. Hang it at your waist for show.”

  He spoke as if it were only natural.

  “When I first entered the sect, your grandmaster told me the same. I chose the Flowing Light Sword—silver sheath, jade inlays. Wearing it gained me quite a bit of face.”

  Yun Che caught the token, his expression turning subtly complicated. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure what to say.

  Zhang Mingyuan frowned.

  “What? You think this is pointless? Let me tell you—sect tournaments test more than cultivation. They test presence and bearing! Without something to your name, people will know at a glance you’re poor and insignificant. Who would bother befriending you? Listen to me—pick something imposing. The tassel and sheath should be bright and eye-catching!”

  Yun Che fell silent for a moment, then lowered his head.

  “This disciple… understands. I will choose one that looks ‘impressive.’”

  “That’s better.” Zhang Mingyuan nodded in satisfaction, picking up the jade slip again.

  “Go. Be here at dawn in three days.”

  Yun Che bowed and withdrew.

  Leaving Frost Condensation Peak, he gripped the cold token in his hand, his expression complex.

  Glancing down at his worn gray servant’s robe, then thinking of the “silver-sheathed, jade-inlaid” flying sword Zhang Mingyuan described, Yun Che suddenly felt that this seemingly aloof senior brother might, in certain aspects… be unexpectedly simple-minded.

  Shaking his head with a soft chuckle, he turned toward the Artifact Pavilion.

  Snow and wind swept across the mountain path as the young figure gradually faded into the distance. The token at his waist swayed gently, reflecting the snowy light with a faint, almost absurd blue glow.

  And in his palm, the stone bead warmed ever so slightly—as if it, too, were silently laughing.

  If Yun Che’s path has diverged from the orthodox cultivation system of the Mystic Frost Sect from the very beginning, will he one day become an outlier… or a new standard altogether?

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