Time slipped strangely within the Lightning Valley. Perhaps it was only the stagnant red sky that refused to shift, an eternal dusk that denied any sense of hours or days. None who entered could tell how long they had wandered; the valley itself seemed to blur the measure of existence.

  In the hollow of a narrow cave, Xiao Lei sat before the black-stemmed lotus. Its ethereal petals, blue as distant stars, glowed faintly in the dim. He raised a hand, fingers lingering inches from the bloom, chest constricted with anticipation. At last his fingertip brushed one of the petals.

  A chill kissed his skin. Nothing more.

  The air that had held its breath seemed to ease. His anticipation—sharpened by danger and fatigue—collapsed in a quiet disappointment. He had half-expected lightning to flare or venom to bite, but the lotus only rested there, still and impossibly serene.

  Before he could retreat fully into thought, the pup’s voice pressed into his mind. “Circulate your qi.”

  He hesitated, then obeyed. At once the petal quickened. A thread of energy lanced into his finger—clean, sharp, impossibly pure—and spread like cool water seeping into scorched earth. His veins thrummed with that tide, steady and precise, without the chaos most breakthroughs carried.

  He pulled his hand back, startled. Yet the sensation clung, coursing through him for several breaths before thinning. His pulse steadied, his skin tingled, and already he missed it.

  “As I thought,” the pup murmured, voice edged with certainty.

  “What is it?” Xiao Lei asked, low, eyes fixed on the lotus.

  “Kid, this lotus is no ordinary treasure. No wonder that beast grew so strong—this was its root. Sit upon it, and your cultivation speed will more than double.”

  His brows tightened. Shock pricked first, then dissolved into calculation. Even with a fingertip’s touch, the qi he had drawn rivalled what others might gain from long meditation. The memory burned through him: the way the current had entered without friction, without waste—perfect, effortless.

  His heart kicked faster, though his face remained composed. In the cave’s dim light his eyes betrayed him, gleaming sharp with hunger, the calm surface cracking to show the storm beneath.

  Thirty-six channels open. The Devouring Art. And now—this lotus.

  Speed beyond reckoning. Foundation unscarred.

  The thought came like thunder whispering in his bones: what others could only dream of, he could claim.

  Xiao Lei forced his breathing to steady, burying the thrill that threatened to betray him. His gaze fixed on the pale red orb at the heart of the lotus. It throbbed faintly, as though it pulsed with a caged heartbeat.

  What is that? he asked.

  “I… am not sure,” the pup admitted, its tone edged with reluctance. For such a creature to concede ignorance was no small thing; the words landed heavy in the silence, making the unknown seem all the more dangerous.

  Xiao Lei lingered on the orb, eyes narrowing. The glow was neither flame nor crystal, but something that seemed to hover between both, unstable and alluring. Slowly, he drew out the academy’s flask—the one meant for lightning essence qi—its surface cool against his palm.

  “Oh? You mean to store it?” The pup’s voice sharpened, edged with mockery. “What if it breaks your flask? You don’t have another. The essence qi you gathered would be gone.”

  Xiao Lei’s reply came quiet, unhurried. “So what? There are plenty of participants. If it shatters, I’ll take theirs. As for the essence qi… I already wagered my life for this. What are a few drops compared to what lies here?”

  His hand inched forward, each motion deliberate, as if the air itself resisted him. The flask’s mouth touched the orb.

  At once the solid red sphere dissolved, collapsing into liquid that poured inside.

  The forty clear drops recoiled like beggars as the crimson tide surged above. A brittle creak split the silence; the flask webbed with cracks, trembling as if it might explode.

  Xiao Lei’s mind raced, a dozen solutions sparking and dying before they could form. Then an unseen ripple pulsed outward. It came from the pup, invisible yet heavy, binding the fractures with a pressure that locked them in place.

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  The flask steadied. It still shuddered with strain, brimming now with crimson liquid, the few pale drops caged beneath.

  In the hidden void of Xiao Lei’s consciousness, the pup’s breathing rasped, faint and uneven, as if the effort had cost it dearly.

  But Xiao Lei’s gaze did not soften. Indifferent, steady, he tucked the flask away without a word.

  Only then did he jump onto the lotus platform.

  The instant his body touched it, a sigh escaped him—unbidden, unguarded. The surface cradled him with a comfort that felt both intimate and immense, like sinking into a tide intent on claiming him.

  He wasted no more time. Closing his eyes, he began to draw qi. The surrounding threads of energy stirred at once, converging upon him, slipping into his meridians in streams that seemed endless.

  And as the cave hushed around him, Xiao Lei sank deeper, his breath threading into the rhythm of the lotus itself.

  While one cultivator discovered a rare boon in isolation, the rest of Lightning Valley teetered on the edge of death.

  Far from his quiet cavern, in a narrow gorge half hidden by jagged cliffs, a different scene unfolded. The air there reeked of scorched stone and charred flesh, the ground littered with broken swords and discarded robes. Dozens of young cultivators had gathered, not in open rivalry as they usually would, but huddled together in uneasy silence. The valley resembled a war camp rather than a trial ground—injured bodies sprawled on the earth, groaning, while the few still able to move clustered in guarded knots.

  A youth in yellow robes broke the silence, his face pale, voice tight. “I don’t think this has ever happened before. A core formation beast… the sect must not have known. Otherwise they would have made arrangements.”

  The words carried more desperation than certainty.

  A girl in soft pink, her sleeve torn and stained with blood, answered quickly, as if to steady the group. “Brother Ting is right. But speculation will not help. What matters now is understanding why the beast went berserk. It struck the instant it saw us. Even those here before us said the same—that it attacked without provocation.”

  Another spoke then, a young woman cloaked in deep blue, her tone low but edged with unease. “That is what troubles me. To such a creature, we are ants—scarcely worth notice. For it to lash out so violently… something must have driven it. Even now, it rages across the valley. If not for the aid of the royal academy’s disciples, none of us would still be breathing.”

  All eyes turned—nervous, measuring—toward the figure seated apart.

  Zhen Du.

  He sat slightly to the right of the huddled group, robes dusted with cuts, posture carved from discipline. His presence drew a hush, not by force, but by the weight of reputation alone. Every one of them knew his name—the prodigy whom Headmistress Xyu Mui had bet to claim the sky-grade lightning qi.

  Ting, the youth in yellow, swallowed and stepped forward, bowing carefully. “Brother Zhen… thank you for saving us.”

  Zhen Du’s gaze remained fixed on the royal academy disciples, bandaging wounds and channelling qi in a disciplined circle. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat, precise, carrying no warmth but unassailable authority. “I was obliged to save my own people. You happened to be nearby.”

  The words struck like iron. Even heirs of powerful sects recognized the truth: circumstance, not arrogance, had spared them. A faint tightening of grips, shallow breaths caught mid-exhale, and a ripple of acknowledgment passed through the group. In calmer times, they might have bristled—but now, with lives balanced on the whims of a core formation beast, they could only nod.

  The silence stretched a heartbeat too long before a measured, deliberate voice cut it. “Brother Zhen,” Shi Mai said, stepping forward over uneven ground, her tone careful yet clear.

  Zhen Du’s eyes shifted briefly, scanning her, calm and appraising. “Is everyone alright?”

  “Yes,” she replied, relief softening her features. “Thanks to you, Big Brother Zhen, none of us were lost… though a few are missing. They probably weren’t here when the beast struck.”

  Zhen Du inclined his head, the faintest curve at his lips. “Quite fortunate.”

  The girl in deep blue hesitated, then said, “Brother Zhen… we can’t stay hidden. If we don’t gather enough essence qi, forget the sky-grade. We won’t even be able to summon Earth-grade lightning qi.”

  A collective glance swept the group. Their mission, their ambition, now chained to survival. Muscles tensed, fingers flexed over hilts—they had no choice but to comply.

  Zhen Du exhaled quietly, a sound carrying the weight of inevitability. “I know. You don’t need to remind me.”

  He rose, deliberate in every motion. The room’s attention locked on him. “Friends,” his voice rang over groans and murmurs, crisp and commanding, “we face a dire situation. We came to secure our futures, but now our present is at stake. Two options: stay hidden, live ten more days in fear, and escape with our lives—or risk everything to seize the future we desire.”

  Even the injured stirred. Muscles strained, hearts slackened with pain now beating anew, eyes brightened with dangerous hope. Few would ever face such a chance again.

  “As I thought,” Zhen Du continued. “I request representatives from all groups step forward. We must decide how to proceed.”

  Ten moved, forming a loose circle around him. Zhen Du remained the focal point—a calm, unyielding axis amid chaos.

  “We can hunt as one,” he said. “Should the beast attack, I will deploy the treasures entrusted to me by the academy.”

  A ripple of disbelief ran through the group. Some had seen one artifact in action; to learn he possessed more tipped astonishment toward awe.

  “My academy treats its students as family,” he added, voice steady. “They recognized the valley’s abnormality and granted these treasures—not for personal use, but for the safety of its students.”

  Envy flickered—brief, sharp, silent. Fingers tightened, glances darted. None could claim such foresight in their own sects.

  “I will use them only as a last resort,” he said, sweeping his gaze across the group. “And whatever we hunt, my team takes thirty percent—until each secures enough for Earth-grade lightning qi.”

  “What?” voices rose, heated and shocked.

  “Zhen Du, don’t go too far!” A sharp objection cut through the murmurs.

  He turned on her, eyes narrowing briefly, lips curling with controlled exasperation. “Sister Chao,” he said, unflinching, measured, “if you do not agree… get lost.”

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  Destiny Reckoning. It’s set in the same universe, and you definitely don’t want to miss it, because the stories will eventually crossover.