The dust settling from the alliance resolution did not bring Qingxu Temple much celebratory atmosphere. The reinforcements' arrival brought supplies but also more complex circumstances and invisible surveillance. The sect still shrouded in the shadow of grief and ruins, reconstruction work advancing slowly and difficultly.
Tang Xiaoqi took most of the decent healing pills allocated to him by the alliance and quietly mixed them into Second Brother Luo Feng's daily medicine, only keeping the minimum share for himself. He still guarded the medical hut every day, continuously channeling those wisps of precious life-origin essence to Second Brother, though this made his own recovery extremely slow and his face always bearing a sickly pallor.
But physical weakness was far less intense than the burning desire in his heart.
Whenever night deepened, he leaned against the cold wall, holding Master's cold vermillion wine gourd in his arms, various emotions forcibly suppressed during the day would surge forth like a tide.
It was Master True Person Xuan Lin transforming into stars - that finally looking back, gaze full of longing and entrustment. That gaze seemed to ask: Xiaoqi, can you guard this place well?
It was his father Xu Zhan under demonic energy control - the bloody tears shed during that brief moment of clarity and that hoarse, urgent voice transmission: "Destroy the Soul Control Jade... only then can you save me..." Father was still deep within Shadow Serpent Pavilion, enduring endless pain and imprisonment, waiting for him to rescue.
It was Second Brother Luo Feng detonating all dharma artifacts - that resolute yet wild smile, and now lying on the straw mat with faint vitality and completely ruined cultivation, a miserable sight.
It was Zhao Tiezhu pushing him toward escape, using his body to block bone spears, falling into the abyss with that desperate push and final roar.
It was the scene of countless fellow disciples falling in blood pools at the mountain gate square. It was Junior Sister Zhang's momentarily blank gaze after bone spikes pierced through her. It was familiar figures constantly being carried out during debris clearing, covered with white cloth.
And those alliance elders' gazes that appeared fair on the surface but actually hid barbs and greed. Those rumors like poisonous thorns stabbing into his back...
All of this, everything, ultimately converged into two words - powerlessness!
He hated! Hated Shadow Serpent Pavilion's cruelty and brutality, hated the demon head's insidious cunning, hated those so-called "allies" who took advantage of the fire and harbored ill intentions!
But what he hated more was his own weakness!
If he had sufficient strength, perhaps he could have seen through the trap in Black Wind Mountain Range, saved Second Brother, and not let Zhao Tiezhu fall from the cliff.
If he had sufficient strength, perhaps he could have fought shoulder to shoulder with Master in the mountain gate battle, instead of watching helplessly as Master dissipated into starlight.
If he had sufficient strength, perhaps he could have awakened his father on the spot, instead of only being able to watch as he was forcibly taken back by the demon.
If he had sufficient strength, why would he need to rely on clever words before the alliance to win breathing room, and why would he need to worry about harboring treasure being a crime, unable to protect his own opportunities?
Power! He needed power! Strong enough to crush all schemes and tricks, strong enough to guard everyone he cherished, strong enough to trample Shadow Serpent Pavilion, destroy the Soul Control Jade, and utterly annihilate that demon!
This desire for strength burned like the fiercest flame in his chest, even temporarily overwhelming physical weakness and meridians' empty ache.
He was no longer satisfied with just guarding the medical hut. After ensuring Second Brother's condition was temporarily stable, he began desperately throwing himself into cultivation.
He did not choose those profound and inscrutable techniques requiring massive spiritual energy support, but started from the most basic.
Early morning, before dawn, he rose and came to a relatively secluded spot beneath a cliff that hadn't been fully cleared. Here battle scars still remained - scorched earth, shattered mountain rocks, the air seemingly still permeated with faint blood stench and demonic energy.
He first practiced the most basic Qingxu Temple body tempering fist technique. Movements slow and earnest, every posture striving for perfection, feeling muscles stretch and qi and blood flow. Though movements still pulled at unhealed injuries, bringing waves of pain, he didn't even furrow his brow, only gritting his teeth, repeating again and again.
After body tempering came qi gathering. He sat cross-legged, five hearts facing heaven, attempting to guide the thin spiritual energy of heaven and earth into his body. His meridians had become fragile and blocked from backlash and overexertion. Every inflow of spiritual energy was like rubbing sandpaper on delicate pipes, bringing excruciating pain. But he ignored it all, forcibly enduring, with his own tenacious will driving that feeble current, laboriously running the celestial cycle through his parched meridians, trying to slowly widen and nourish those damaged passages.
He no longer touched that jade pendant, nor forcibly summoned the Red Flame Sword Intent and Purification Origin. He knew before his own foundation was stabilized, over-relying on external power would only deepen hidden troubles. What he needed was solid, step by step building a firm foundation for himself.
He transformed his longing for Master into every forceful cry during the fist technique. He transformed his worry for his father into the tenacity resisting severe pain during qi gathering. He transformed his hatred for demonic cultivators into reckless madness during the celestial cycle. He poured all emotions, all pressure into this seemingly tedious cultivation with slow progress.
Sweat soaked his ragged clothes, then turning cold in the morning breeze. His pale face flushed with unnatural redness from pain and exertion, his lips bearing blood marks from biting. But the light in his eyes grew brighter and brighter - that was an almost obsessive determination.
Senior Brother Mu Qingfeng visited him several times, watching his almost self-abusive cultivation method, about to speak but stopping, finally only silently leaving some ordinary medicines for strengthening foundation and nurturing origin.
Third Sister Liu Yun during one patrol from afar saw his figure drenched in sweat beneath the cliff. In her icy eyes seemed to flash a trace of faint recognition, then she turned and left, continuing her own silence and cultivation.
No one disturbed him. Everyone could feel the extreme suppression in this youth's heart and the ultimate desire for power that finally erupted. This desire came from loss, from responsibility, from hatred, and from... love.
He knew the road ahead was long, the demon was powerful, Shadow Serpent Pavilion's forces deeply entrenched. But he had no choice, could only push himself to the limit, on this land soaked with blood and tears, using the most clumsy, most painful method, bit by bit, toward that unreachable peak of power, climbing with difficulty.