Chapter Six: The First Step of Cultivation

Xia Yan arrived at the quiet chamber. The door was closed, so he knocked gently. Inside, an elderly man with white hair sat in meditation, his face serene and kindly, yet wholly absorbed in cultivating his mind and spirit, paying no heed to the knocking outside.

The door was unlocked; Xia Yan could have pushed it open easily, but he refrained. He had not come to provoke, but to seek a teacher. Clearly, this venerable master was engaged in his daily practice, and barging in uninvited would only bring displeasure.

Xia Yan was not impatient. He calmed himself and waited, perhaps this was a test of sorts.

Thus, from eight in the morning, Xia Yan waited until eleven.

"Come in, young man," the white-haired elder finally opened the door and invited Xia Yan inside.

Xia Yan smiled and entered. Though the elder said nothing, he was surprised—this was his granddaughter’s first time bringing someone to him. Among the thousand branches of martial arts, while some had previously come to seek apprenticeship, it was always he who sought them, never the other way around.

His granddaughter was notoriously cold; when had anyone ever seen her walk alongside a young man, let alone bring him here herself?

"Young man, what brings you to me?" the elder asked, gazing at Xia Yan.

"I wish to learn the techniques of ancient martial arts and take you as my master," Xia Yan replied directly.

"If I am not mistaken, you are a gifted one," the elder said calmly. "An old man like me could not withstand even a casual punch from you. What meaning is there in taking me as your teacher?"

Xia Yan was taken aback and only slowly understood—the venerable master was not a gifted one, but an ordinary person. Yet, he was not overly surprised, for Lan Xin had always spoken highly of the elder’s martial techniques, surpassing her own by far.

Seeing Xia Yan silent, the elder continued, "Many have sought to apprentice here, most of them gifted. Yet when they learned I was but a regular old man, they sneered and left in contempt. After all, how could a gifted one take an ordinary man as his master?"

Gifted ones were often arrogant, looking down on ordinary people; apprenticeship was out of the question. To them, such a thing was an insult.

"Venerable elder, I believe the path of ancient martial arts has nothing to do with innate abilities," Xia Yan shook his head. "Though I am gifted, your words cannot sway my resolve."

"In our branch, we value character, not talent," the elder smiled. "If you truly wish to become my disciple, I will test your character."

Xia Yan said nothing, but his gaze was resolute. No matter how arduous the road ahead, he would walk it. This was his only chance, and he would seize it.

"Character is measured in two ways. First, whether one possesses a righteous heart; those with malicious or crooked intent will never be accepted by our branch. Second, perseverance and determination—these are the foundations of martial cultivation. Without them, one cannot enter our school," the elder explained.

"I am willing to accept the test," Xia Yan replied immediately.

"Three years. I require you to train for three years according to my instructions. The process is not difficult: daily street sweeping, patrolling, aiding the people, cultivating your mind. If you persist for three years, I will consider accepting you. But it is only consideration," the elder said sternly.

His meaning was clear: Xia Yan must endure this test for three uninterrupted years, and even then, acceptance was not guaranteed. For most people, this was nearly impossible, and Xia Yan did not have that kind of time.

Not even a year, for after a year, Xia Yan must face Ai You, the former chief of the institution, in a life-and-death duel. Delaying a year would mean death.

"But I..." Xia Yan tried to explain.

"If you cannot, then please leave. I will not hear any excuses," the elder interrupted.

Xia Yan’s face grew grim. If not for the impending duel with Ai You, three years of training here would be acceptable. But he had to depart for the demon clan in a year; there simply was not enough time.

"Forgive me, venerable elder," Xia Yan said with a bitter smile. "Then I must take my leave."

From the elder’s demeanor, it was clear he would not be persuaded; begging would be pointless. Moreover, Lan Xin had warned him not to pester relentlessly when he came.

Just then, the elder paused, his neural device receiving a communication. He quickly opened it, and upon seeing the sender, his smile turned wry.

His granddaughter, who rarely spoke or contacted anyone, had unexpectedly reached out.

He answered, and her familiar voice sounded from the other end, though her words astonished him.

After ending the call, the elder cast a peculiar gaze at Xia Yan, as if sizing up a prospective grandson-in-law. Xia Yan felt a chill run down his spine.

"Young man, my granddaughter tells me you have difficulties and must fulfill an obligation within a year," the elder said. "Very well, since it is her request, I can consider reducing the length of the trial."

"Thank you, venerable elder," Xia Yan said with heartfelt gratitude. Though Miss Lan Xin always appeared indifferent, she was willing to help.

"I understand your time is short, but I cannot reduce it any further," the elder said. "You will train here for half a year. Afterward, I will evaluate your performance and decide whether to accept you. I know that even a year is desperately tight for you, and taking half a year away may mean certain death. But rules are rules; I cannot make further exceptions. That is my requirement. If you do not agree, simply leave."

Half a year was harsh for Xia Yan, but he did not hesitate. "Venerable elder, I accept."

"Good. But remember, after half a year, I will only consider it. If either aspect of your character fails, I will refuse you," the elder said.

"I understand, venerable elder."

"Very well." The elder finally smiled. "My name is Lan Qing. From today, address me as Elder Lan Qing."

"Elder Lan Qing," Xia Yan said reverently.

That day, in this somewhat remote suburb, neighbors gathered to chat about daily matters.

"Auntie Li, buying groceries?"

"Yes, Brother Wang."

"Have you heard? There’s a young man here who sweeps the streets every morning from six to noon, for seven or eight days now."

"He must be a street cleaner!"

"He doesn’t look like one, and the cleaners don’t follow this schedule. Our district is far from the main city; cleaners don’t come every day."

"Right, he’s definitely not a street cleaner. Each time he sweeps, he’s meticulous, never missing a detail."

"I’ve noticed, too. There’s not a speck of dust—he cleans every spot dozens of times."

"He’s probably not old enough for a job, maybe sixteen."

As they discussed, they saw in the distance a young man sweeping the street, working from six in the morning till noon, never shirking, every stroke earnest, leaving every inch spotless.

Near the main city of Baihui.

"A purse snatcher! Someone’s robbing!" A young woman in the city had her handbag snatched by a thief, and in anger she cried out for help.

"Chase him!" Many nearby rushed after the thief, but he was familiar with the area, circling a few times until he lost his pursuers.

"Heh, a bunch of country bumpkins," the thief muttered as he entered an empty alley, pulling out the purse and counting the money. The haul was decent, and he was satisfied.

"The thief is here! Come quickly!" A young man spotted him and shouted. The pursuers gathered, trapping him in the alley.

"Let’s grab him and hand him to the police."

"That’s right, catch him and let the police deal with him. He’s got hands and feet, yet resorts to robbery. Shameful."

People surrounded him.

"Anyone who tries to stop me gets stabbed," the thief growled, brandishing a spring knife at the crowd.

Many faces paled, and no one dared approach, fearing a stabbing. Some opened their neural devices to contact the police; they could only wait for the authorities.

They were all ordinary people, and facing a gleaming knife, none dared risk their lives. If the thief had a gun and lost control, someone could pay with their life.

Unable to confront him by force, they tried persuasion.

"Young man, give the purse back to the girl. She’s pitiful."

"Yes, let’s just let this go. Return the purse."

"Everyone makes mistakes; we won’t blame you."

"Return it? Get lost! Anyone who blocks me gets stabbed!" the thief shouted fiercely, preparing to charge out.

Many faces turned ashen. At that moment, a black-haired youth stepped forward from the crowd toward the thief in the alley.

A gasp rippled through the onlookers.

"Young man, what are you doing?"

"Come back! Don’t act rashly!"

"Is this kid crazy? Stop him! The other guy has a knife!"

"Stop him!"

"Quick, call the police! If someone gets hurt, what then?"

Despite the cries, the youth walked on, seemingly oblivious, drawing ever nearer to the thief.

"Get lost! Let me go!" the thief shouted, "Back off! Didn’t you hear me? Step back!"

When the youth ignored him, the thief gritted his teeth and stabbed at him with the spring knife.

Suddenly, a burst of flame enveloped the knife, burning fiercely and melting the shoddy blade completely.

The thief was stunned, trembling in terror, collapsing to the ground, nearly wetting himself. "An agent—a gifted one!"

Ordinary people rarely encountered agents, especially those with abilities. In a city of millions, fewer than two hundred could develop powers, and combat-capable gifted ones were even rarer.

The crowd watched as the youth subdued the thief, gathering around and discussing animatedly.

"He’s an agent, and his ability is fire!"

"Impressive. But gifted ones rarely come to the city, and it’s not even holiday time."

"I need to take a good look. I’ve barely seen gifted ones in my life!"

"Yes, he’s so young yet so powerful—a single flame melted the knife."

The youth said nothing, merely smiled. When the police arrived, he turned and left, not wishing to leave his name, for this was part of his daily training.

Night fell.

After dinner, Xia Yan began his meditation, cultivating his mind and spirit—a peculiar set of techniques. Each night, until deep into the night, he sat cross-legged, nurturing his spirit.

Day after day passed, time flowing swiftly.