The Iron Monastery's training courtyard trembled beneath the thunder of synchronized footsteps.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Each stomp sent subtle quakes through the ground, a testament to the terrifying physical might of the young monks in formation. Dozens of bald heads glistened with sweat beneath the morning sun, their golden robes fluttering like banners in a storm. Roars burst from their throats in rhythmic unison, shaking the very heavens.
"HAAAAAH!"
Senior Monk Bai Hui stood atop the stone platform at the courtyard's edge, arms folded within his long sleeves. His serene face, carved by age and discipline, betrayed a flicker of pride.
These are the future pillars of the Iron Monastery, he thought. Sculpted by years of training, trials, and righteous cultivation. My disciples… my sons in the Dharma.
But then, his gaze landed on him.
Standing a head shorter than the tallest monks yet twice as broad, Monk Yan Liangsheng looked more like a boulder that had grown arms and legs than a man. His bare arms were thicker than most tree trunks, veined and knotted with power. His every movement carried an unspoken violence, a rawness unrefined by internal cultivation.
A beast in monk's robes.
Senior Monk Bai Hui sighed through his nose. "Amitabha…"
Yan Liangsheng was a prodigy, yes—but an incomplete one. He had mastered the monastery's most grueling body cultivation techniques before others even opened their meridians. His strikes cracked stone. His palms sent shockwaves through the air.
And yet… his qi stagnated. His internal energy remained shallow, unresponsive. No matter how much he meditated, refined, or obeyed scripture, the balance eluded him. He was a monk in name only—raw talent bound by chains of worldly impulse.
A figure approached from the shadows of the temple archway. Senior Brother Dun, his senior in age but not in station, bowed before standing beside Bai Hui.
"The White Lotus Sect arrives by sundown," he said calmly. "Are we prepared to receive them, Brother Bai?"
Senior Monk Bai Hui's face tensed. "Preparations are complete. Except for one… complication."
"Liangsheng?"
"The Wall of Punishment has cracked from his fists. The Staff of Discipline split in half. He won't yield. Won't meditate. He can't even control his Yang qi in the presence of women!" Bai Hui's brows furrowed. "I fear this path is not meant for him."
Brother Dun's expression darkened. "It shames me to say, but… one more disgrace, and the boy must go."
"I've already spoken to Grandmaster Lu." Bai Hui's voice became as cold as iron. "He agrees."
The two watched in silence as Yan Liangsheng trained among the others, a singular mountain among hills.
"If only he weren't so… cursed."
THOOM!
Yan Liangsheng's foot dug into the stone tiles as he twisted his waist and drove his open palm forward. The air cracked. A pressure wave rippled through the courtyard, strong enough to force the monk in front of him to sidestep with a grunt.
Yan grinned. "Guess I'm gettin' better, huh?"
He had no interest in impressing anyone. The feel of muscle coiling and releasing, the throb of blood through hardened sinew—that was his meditation. Martial forms gave his mind focus when sitting still only brought torment.
"Brother Yan!" someone called with a mischievous tone.
He turned to see Monk Pan Tu swaggering over, grinning from ear to ear. "Heard the Yin nuns from the White Lotus are comin'. You gonna try sneakin' one back to the abode again?"
A few nearby monks snickered.
Yan Liangsheng didn't even pause in his movements. "How about I sneak your mother back in instead?"
The courtyard went silent for half a second.
"You son of a—!" Pan Tu's smile vanished. He dropped into a battle stance, qi beginning to hum around his limbs. Blue light gathered around his fists—barely visible, but there.
Yan squinted at it. He knew Pan Tu could hurt him. He might even get crippled.
But retreat?
Never.
With a low growl, Yan Liangsheng dropped into the Bow Stance, his left foot forward, his fists drawn back like coiled thunder.
A crowd began to form. Some looked amused, others anxious.
Pan Tu took the Warrior Stance, weight centered, palms glowing faintly with spiritual energy.
They both waited, breath held.
CRACK!
An invisible force slammed into the courtyard like a tidal wave of glass. Everyone staggered back—except Pan Tu, who was launched off his feet and crashed to the ground, limbs flailing like a ragdoll.
Yan Liangsheng gritted his teeth as his insides boiled. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
Senior Monk Bai Hui stood on the platform, his aura still shimmering.
"Enough foolishness!" His voice was neither loud nor soft—but it pressed down like a thousand mountains. "Both of you, wash up. Prepare to receive our guests."
His eyes locked onto Yan Liangsheng. "You—come with me."
They walked in silence for minutes. The birds didn't sing. The wind didn't blow.
Bai Hui led him to a shaded glade outside the monastery walls. A place used for difficult conversations.
He raised one finger.
"One more mistake," he said flatly, "and you are out."
Yan Liangsheng swallowed.
"I've spoken with Grandmaster Monk Lu. The decision has been made. This is your final chance."
If he were expelled, his future would vanish. No orthodox sect would take a disgraced monk. His reputation would rot, and without internal cultivation, he'd be little more than a brawler in silk.
Still, he bowed low, clutching his fists in the formal martial salute.
"I understand. I will try my best, Senior Monk Bai Hui."
Bai Hui didn't answer. He simply turned and vanished into the woods, robes flowing behind him like a shadow disappearing with the wind.
By evening, the gates of the Iron Monastery opened wide.
Lanterns blazed. Banners flew. Senior monks stood in lines, greeting the visitors from the White Lotus Sect with chants and smiles.
Yan Liangsheng stayed far away from the procession.
He wasn't interested in formalities. He helped Old Lady Ling unload vegetables from her cart, laughing with kids who tugged at his robes and begged him to show his "Bear Palm" move again.
He didn't belong with those serene, celibate statues of men.
He belonged here.
But fate is cruel to those who seek comfort.
As the ceremonial feast began and the visitors were led toward the dining hall, he joined the crowd—reluctantly. He kept to the back, hiding behind taller monks and avoiding direct eye contact.
Yet curiosity tugged at him.
Just a glance wouldn't hurt…
He peeked.
The White Lotus Sect's young disciples walked in grace and silence, their silver robes shimmering like water. They were beautiful. Their qi flowed with a cooling Yin that made the very air feel lighter. Their bodies, soft yet firm, gave off an ethereal sensuality sharpened by rigorous cultivation.
Yin qi… he thought, swallowing hard.
He could smell it.
His body tensed. His Yang stirred dangerously. Something ancient and instinctual throbbed within him—an awareness of the true essence of Yin and Yang, not just the martial concept.
Calm down… calm down…
His eyes darted around. No one else seemed affected. The others only sensed the superficial differences. But he felt something far deeper.
As if the entire universe were vibrating on two frequencies—and only he could hear both.
The Feast
The dining hall was loud with laughter, clinking bowls, and lively debate. Roasted spirit beasts and glowing herbal wines were passed around.
Yan Liangsheng grabbed a single plate, threw a few herbs and a chunk of spirit chicken on it, and fled like a thief.
He needed space. Air.
He found a large boulder under the moonlight, away from the chatter. He perched on it like a crow, devouring his meal in silence.
The moon bathed him in pale silver light.
He sighed.
Not hollow… but not whole.
He didn't understand it. This aching inside. Like something had been missing from him since birth. It wasn't loneliness. It wasn't lust. It was incompleteness—a constant reminder that his soul was a puzzle with a missing piece.
His cultivation suffered for it.
No matter how many hours he trained, no matter how perfect his martial form—his internal qi never deepened. His dantian remained shallow.
He was a blade without a handle. Sharp, strong… but ultimately useless.
He looked up at the stars and whispered a prayer he didn't really believe in.
"Amitabha…"
Crunch.
A twig snapped.
He turned.
And froze.
There she stood.
A girl—no, a woman. Her curves barely hidden beneath the flowing white lotus robes. Long hair, snow-white. Eyes that gleamed like mischief wrapped in innocence.
She smirked.
"I've heard some interesting things about you, Yan Liangsheng…"
Her voice was light. Smooth. Teasing.
"Would you… like to play with this big sister?"
His eyes widened.
The moonlight, already bright, seemed to burn his senses. The Yin qi leaking from her body struck him like a hammer wrapped in silk. His Yang exploded in response, nearly uncontrollable.
His heart thudded.
His body trembled.
His soul—awakened.
And in that instant, everything changed.