Sanhartha sat by the dormitory window, the late sunlight spilling across his desk in golden bands. The courtyard beyond glowed faintly, students moving in groups, laughter blending with the rustle of leaves. He watched in silence, the warmth of the light mirrored in his eyes, though his thoughts drifted far beneath the calm surface.
The mystery of his martial soul's origin had always lingered like mist at dawn — half-seen, half-understood. But now, at last, clarity emerged. His Desire Heart Phoenix, he realized, must have been born from the union of his parents' souls: his father's Fire Bird and his mother's Desire Heart Bead. His transmigration — that strange convergence of two worlds — had acted as the silent spark that transformed them. A mutation, yes, but one blessed with harmony rather than chaos.
For the first time since arriving in this world, the question of who he was felt less like a burden and more like a compass.
He closed his eyes briefly, letting the light fade behind his lids. To know one's origin is to know one's direction.
By observing the instructors and the rhythm of the academy, Sanhartha had also come to understand the current point in time. Tang San had yet to enroll. Yu Xiaogang, the man known in later tales as the Grandmaster, already resided within these walls — silent, withdrawn, obsessed with theory. That meant Sanhartha stood a few years ahead in fate's river. It was an advantage he intended to use wisely.
The future may shift, but preparation remains eternal.
He opened his notebook — pages filled with his own cultivation insights. Every diagram, every notation was precise, born of both memory and innovation. Three Treasures Refining Visualization Technique — his personal method of harmonizing body, soul, and will. Its success had proved that his understanding of cultivation went beyond instinct; it was knowledge crystallized through experience.
Three months had passed since he entered the academy. He had spent them buried in study — reading through history, soul master treatises, and even outdated scrolls that others ignored. From the fragments, a simple but profound truth took root in his heart: every martial soul carried limitless potential, but most cultivators failed to see beyond what the rings offered.
They treated the soul ring as destiny's gift — never realizing it could be a mirror to shape new paths.
He paused, setting down his brush. "They seek power through shortcuts," he murmured. "But true evolution lies in understanding."
Sanhartha leaned back slightly, his gaze distant. The world revered might, yet it starved wisdom. Those who relied too deeply on ready-made techniques lost sight of self-forging — the art of creation. Only a few, like Tang Chen or the founders of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect, had broken through that wall to form their own skills. Even the Spirit Hall, for all its grandeur, seemed content to let such art fade into obscurity.
A faint sigh escaped him. "This world worships strength, yet neglects its essence."
The sun slipped lower, shadows lengthening across the wooden floor. Sanhartha stood and quietly left the dormitory. The evening breeze brushed against his face as he crossed the quiet courtyard, heading toward the secluded valley beyond the academy grounds. There, under the mellow glow of twilight, he summoned his martial soul.
Behind him, the Desire Heart Phoenix unfurled — wings of crimson and gold illuminating the dimness. Its flames did not roar; they pulsed in rhythm with his breath, like the steady beat of a hidden heart.
He studied the manifestation closely. The energy of the phoenix danced through his veins — warm, resolute, alive. Within its radiance, he sensed the faint connection between heaven, earth, and self. His will stirred gently, and the flames rippled as if answering a silent command.
When night descended fully, he returned to the dormitory. His meal was simple — rice, vegetables, and silence. Afterward, he sat cross-legged upon his bed, eyes half-lidded, his breathing falling into deep cadence.
Soul power circulated smoothly, each pulse merging with the flame of his martial soul. The phoenix spread its wings again within the inner void of his mind, bathing his consciousness in tranquil light. No strain, no turbulence — only harmony.
When he opened his eyes an hour later, they shone faintly, steady as the stars outside his window.
He lay down without another word. Another layer of stillness settled over him — the stillness of a mind honed and a purpose crystallized.
Tomorrow, he would take his first step toward refining body and will alike. The silent road of ascension had only just begun.