Chapter 3: The Silver Sanctuary
Ye Jun didn't stop running until the air grew warm again and the scent of Su Yan's medicinal frost had faded into the background of the forest. His lungs burned, not from exertion, but from the raw power that had surged through him. He found a small, hidden cave behind a curtain of hanging moss—a place he had once used to hide from the rain when the senior disciples chased him out of the barracks.
He collapsed against the damp stone wall, clutching the cauldron to his chest. His right arm, the one he had used to touch Su Yan, was still tingling with a strange, numbing heat.
"What have I done?" he whispered to the silence of the cave.
He was a nobody. In the Azure Mist Sect, touching an Elder was a crime; healing one with a power that shouldn't exist was a death sentence. If Su Yan decided he was a threat—or worse, a treasure to be dissected—his life was over.
But the cauldron didn't care about sect politics. It began to vibrate against his ribs, a low, rhythmic thrum that pulled at his consciousness.
"The Moon has been sighted... The Second Chamber is ready."
Ye Jun closed his eyes, and instead of the darkness of the cave, he was pulled back into the vast, ethereal void of the cauldron.
The first chamber, the Field of Beginnings, had grown. The black soil now had a small patch of vibrant green where he had planted the Star-Silk seed. But his attention was drawn upward. Beside the golden pagoda, a second structure had materialized. It was a pavilion made of shimmering, translucent silver that looked like it had been carved from moonlight.
As Ye Jun stepped onto the silver tiles of the pavilion, the air grew incredibly dense. It wasn't the suffocating cold of Su Yan's rebound, but a refreshing, crisp energy that made his meridians hum.
In the center of the pavilion stood a stone basin filled with a liquid that glowed like molten silver. Beside it was a scroll made of silk that seemed to be woven from starlight.
"The Moon-Palace of Yin," the ancient voice echoed. "A space where time flows differently. Here, the mind may sharpen while the body rests. One hour in the world is ten hours beneath the silver eaves."
Ye Jun's heart leaped. A time-dilation space! This was the legendary "cheat" of the ancient masters. In a world where he was years behind his peers, this was his only hope of catching up.
He picked up the silk scroll. As he unfurled it, words began to burn into his mind, written in a script that felt older than the mountains.
[The Ninefold Sovereign Scripture: Chapter One — The Foundation of Chaos]
The scroll didn't teach him how to swing a sword or throw a punch. It taught him how to breathe. It described the Chaos Circulation, a method of moving Qi that used the golden spark in his heart as a furnace to refine the very air he breathed into "Liquid Gold" spiritual energy.
"If I stay here," Ye Jun realized, "I can cultivate for a whole night while Han Feng thinks I'm rotting in the trench."
He sat cross-legged in the center of the pavilion. He began to follow the breathing patterns of the scripture. At first, it was agonizing. The golden spark in his chest roared to life, sending waves of heat through his body that felt like molten lead. But as the "Liquid Gold" began to flow, he felt the impurities—the lingering toxins from the graveyard and the scars of a thousand beatings—being pushed out through his pores in the form of a black, foul-smelling mist.
Hours passed in the silver sanctuary. Ye Jun lost himself in the rhythm of the Chaos Spark. He felt his Qi move from Level 1 of the Qi Condensation realm to Level 2... then Level 3. His muscles thickened, his bones grew as dense as iron, and the golden spark in his heart expanded, turning from a grain of sand into a small, glowing marble.
When he finally opened his eyes and stepped out of the cauldron's space, the cave was bathed in the gray light of dawn.
He felt... transformed. He looked at his hands; the charcoal stains were gone, replaced by skin that had a faint, healthy luster. His eyes were sharper, his hearing more acute. He had spent nearly twenty hours in the silver pavilion, but only two hours had passed in the outside world.
He stood up and stretched, his joints popping like dry wood. He felt a hunger like never before, but also a terrifying sense of clarity.
I am Level 3 Qi Condensation now, he thought. In one night, I've done what takes most disciples three years.
He stepped out of the cave, the morning mist clinging to his rags. He needed food, and he needed to see if the sect was in an uproar over Su Yan. But as he crested the hill leading back to the servant quarters, he saw a group of disciples standing around a smoldering pile of ash.
It was his bed. His few belongings—a tattered book of his father's recipes and a wooden comb—were being burned.
"I told you he wouldn't show up," a familiar, sneering voice said.
Han Feng was there, surrounded by his sycophants. He was holding a small, silver locket—the only thing Ye Jun had left of his mother.
"A trash rat like him probably died in the trench," Han Feng said, dangling the locket over the flames. "A shame. This might have been worth a few coppers."
"Put it down, Han Feng."
The voice was quiet, but it cut through the morning air like a whetted blade.
The group turned, their eyes widening in shock. They saw a boy standing in the mist. He was covered in rags, and he looked like he had crawled out of a grave, but his eyes... they weren't the eyes of a beaten dog anymore. They were the eyes of a predator.
"Ye Jun?" Han Feng blinked, a look of genuine confusion crossing his face. "How are you... you should be a corpse."
"The graveyard didn't want me," Ye Jun said, taking a step forward. With every step, a faint, golden pressure began to radiate from his body, causing the pebbles on the path to vibrate. "And neither does this sect. But before I leave, I'll take back what's mine."
Han Feng's confusion turned to a dark, ugly rage. "You dare speak my name without a title? You think because you survived a fall, you've gained wings? I'll break your other hand and feed it to you!"
Han Feng drew his silver sword, the blade humming with blue Qi. He lunged forward, a move designed to maim, not kill. To the onlookers, he was a blur of speed.
But to Ye Jun, Han Feng looked like he was moving through water.
Ye Jun didn't draw a weapon. He didn't have one. Instead, he channeled the golden heat of the Chaos Spark into his palm. As the sword reached his chest, he didn't dodge. He reached out and caught the blade with his bare hand.
CLANG.
The sound of metal hitting metal echoed across the clearing. The disciples gasped. Han Feng's sword—a high-grade iron weapon—was stopped dead in Ye Jun's palm.
"Your sword is cold, Han Feng," Ye Jun whispered, his eyes glowing with a faint, amber light. "Let me show you what real heat feels like."
A surge of golden fire erupted from Ye Jun's hand. The silver sword turned cherry-red in an instant, the heat traveling up the blade so fast that Han Feng let out a scream of agony, his hand blistering as he dropped the weapon.
Ye Jun stepped forward, his fist sinking deep into Han Feng's stomach.
The Core Disciple was launched backward, crashing into the smoldering pile of Ye Jun's belongings. The "genius" of the Sword Hall lay in the ash, gasping for air, his pristine robes ruined.
Ye Jun reached into the embers and picked up the silver locket. It was untouched by the flames. He tucked it into his robe and looked at the terrified underlings.
"Tell the Alchemy Hall I'm coming for my promotion exam," Ye Jun said, his voice cold. "The trash is finished being burned."
As he walked away, a white figure watched from the shadows of the Frozen Bamboo Grove. Su Yan stood perfectly still, her pale blue eyes fixed on the boy's retreating back. Her meridians were warm, her soul was stable, and for the first time in her life, she felt a curiosity that outweighed her pride.
"The Primal Chaos..." she whispered to the wind. "So the legend was true."