Pain became Lin Qiu's constant companion.
Not the sharp, dramatic kind that demanded attention—but a slow, grinding resistance that settled into his bones and refused to leave. Every night, after the city quieted and the lamps dimmed, he sat cross-legged on the cold floor of his rented room and followed the instructions written on that thin slip of paper.
And every night, his body rebelled.
The circulation method Shen Yuan had given him was wrong—violently wrong—by every standard Lin Qiu had ever been taught. It dismantled his familiar pathways, disrupted his already-weak Qi flow, and forced spiritual energy into patterns that felt unnatural and unsafe.
The first night, he vomited blood.
The second night, his meridians burned so badly he thought he had crippled himself.
By the third night, his cultivation level dropped.
Noticeably.
Lin Qiu stared at his hands in disbelief as his aura weakened, thinning until even mortals would have trouble sensing it.
I'm regressing, he thought.
And yet—something felt different.
Shen Yuan observed from afar.
Not hidden, but unnoticed.
From the rooftop across the street, he watched Lin Qiu endure failure after failure without seeking validation, advice, or sympathy. The boy did not complain to friends. He did not curse Shen Yuan's name. He did not even wonder aloud whether he had been deceived.
He simply adjusted.
Each night, he refined his posture.Each morning, he rose and worked anyway.Each setback was noted, not feared.
Good, Shen Yuan thought.
By the seventh night, Lin Qiu's progress—or lack of it—had become visible.
Other cultivators noticed.
"Didn't that kid have Qi Condensation?""Looks like he crippled himself.""Serves him right for trying above his station."
Lin Qiu heard them.
He said nothing.
That silence mattered.
On the tenth night, something changed.
Lin Qiu sat in meditation, breath shallow, face pale with sweat. His circulation slowed—slower than Shen Yuan had expected him to dare.
Then it stopped.
Completely.
Lin Qiu clenched his jaw, heart pounding.
If I stop now, he thought,I lose everything.
So he didn't stop.
He restarted.
This time, he guided the remaining spiritual energy through the new path—not forcefully, not desperately—but with patience bordering on stubbornness.
The pain lessened.
Just slightly.
Enough to matter.
"Foundation restructuring detected," the Heavenly Sect Creation System noted quietly.
Shen Yuan's gaze sharpened.
So Lin Qiu had crossed the real threshold.
Not strength.
Commitment.
Over the next few days, Lin Qiu's cultivation continued to appear worse.
His aura was weak. His Qi thin. Even the aptitude crystal at the market flickered faintly when he tested it out of curiosity.
Low-grade.
Worse than before.
But internally—
His meridians were no longer frayed.
They were clean.
Narrow, yes.
But intact.
On the fifteenth night, Lin Qiu woke abruptly from meditation.
He gasped—not in pain, but shock.
Something had settled.
Not power.
Stability.
His Qi did not surge.
It did not flare.
It rested.
For the first time since he had begun cultivating, nothing inside him felt like it was about to collapse.
Lin Qiu sat there, trembling.
"…So this is what it's supposed to feel like," he whispered.
Shen Yuan watched from the shadows, expression unchanged.
But inwardly, he acknowledged it.
He didn't quit.And he didn't ask.
That was rare.
The next morning, Shen Yuan appeared before Lin Qiu again—without warning, without ceremony.
Lin Qiu nearly spilled his water in shock.
"S-Senior!"
Shen Yuan raised a hand.
"Answer honestly," he said. "If I told you to stop now—forever—would you regret these past weeks?"
Lin Qiu did not answer immediately.
He looked down at his hands.
Then he said, quietly but firmly, "No."
That was the correct answer.
"Candidate qualification confirmed," the Heavenly Sect Creation System announced.
"First Disciple Acceptance available."
Shen Yuan nodded once.
"Good," he said to Lin Qiu."Then you may call me Master."
Lin Qiu's breath caught.
He dropped to his knees without hesitation.
"This disciple greets Master."
Shen Yuan did not stop him.
The first disciple of the Heavenly Sect was accepted—not for talent, not for fate, but for the ability to endure rebuilding when no one was watching.
The sect had not yet been founded.
But its standard had been set.