Five years passed in the quiet solitude of the sealed peak. To the world outside, the Azure Dragon Clan's central palace had become a place of mystery. Whispers circulated among the other clans of a failed prodigy, a genius who had burned too brightly and faded, forcing the mighty clan to seal their doors in shame. The truth, however, was a secret known only to a select few.
Jian Feng was now ten years old. The childish roundness had left his face, replaced by the handsome, jade-like features of his bloodline. He was still a boy, yet he carried an aura of profound stillness that felt ancient. His life was a discipline of monastic simplicity and brutal efficiency. Mornings were spent in rigorous physical conditioning, forging his body into a perfect vessel. Afternoons were for studying the clan's endless archives on history, alchemy, and formations. Nights were for the most crucial task: the slow, arduous process of cultivation.
In five years, while other prodigies of his generation had broken through layer after layer, storming through the Qi Gathering Realm, Jian Feng remained steadfastly, almost stubbornly, in the 1st Layer.
His father, Jian Tianlong, arrived on the training grounds as the morning sun crested the jade towers. He found his son standing motionless, his breathing so slow and shallow it was almost imperceptible.
"Your control improves," the Patriarch stated, his voice echoing in the quiet courtyard. "But your progress remains… deliberate."
Jian Feng opened his eyes, the twilight jade within them clear and serene. "Father." He bowed respectfully. "Good morning."
"Show me," Jian Tianlong said, getting straight to the point. This was their routine.
Jian Feng nodded. He extended a hand, and from his dantian, a single, colorless strand of Qi emerged, wrapping around his finger. It was almost invisible, yet the space around it seemed to warp slightly, bending to its immense density. "After five years, I have accumulated one hundred and eight strands of Origin Qi."
One hundred and eight strands. To any other cultivator, it was a pitiful amount, barely enough to power a single, low-level technique. Jian Tianlong himself felt a familiar flicker of paternal anxiety. He knew the theory, but the reality of his son's snail-like pace was still jarring.
"The new Young Lord of the Raging Tiger Clan is already at the 7th layer," the Patriarch mused, testing his son. "They say he can shatter a boulder with a single punch."
Jian Feng showed no reaction to the news, his focus remaining on the wisp of Qi around his finger. "A boulder has no vital points, Father. It is a crude object that invites a crude response. Smashing it is a waste of energy."
A faint smile touched Jian Tianlong's lips. "Indeed. Then let us test your 'efficient' energy."
The Patriarch waved his hand. The air before him shimmered, and a complex barrier of light, woven from his own powerful Qi, materialized. It was a defensive formation, intricate and durable, pulsing with the power of the Dao of Water. "This is the 'Rippling Prison' formation. A cultivator at the peak of the Qi Gathering Realm would exhaust their reserves trying to dent it. Show me what your one hundred and eight strands can do."
Jian Feng did not gather power for a mighty strike. He simply nudged the single strand of Origin Qi forward. It drifted lazily towards the shimmering barrier. But as it approached, Jian Feng's perception, powered by the Star-Chart, was already mapping the enemy. He saw the formation not as a solid wall, but as a web of interconnected energy nodes, all flowing according to a specific pattern dictated by the Dao. He saw the lynchpin—a single, critical node where seventeen different threads of energy converged.
His strand of Origin Qi did not smash into the wall. It touched it gently, then, with impossible precision, it phased through the outer layer. Guided by Jian Feng's will, it navigated the complex internal pathways of the formation, bypassed the raging currents of energy, and arrived at the lynchpin.
Then, with a minuscule pulse of energy, it severed the connection.
The entire 'Rippling Prison', a barrier that could withstand a barrage of attacks, simply dissolved into motes of harmless light. The entire process was silent, effortless, and utterly terrifying in its precision.
Jian Tianlong stood speechless. He had been prepared for a display of potency, but this was something else entirely. This was deconstruction. This was an absolute understanding that rendered conventional power obsolete. His son had used a single drop to elegantly dismantle a lake.
"My foundation is not for smashing boulders, Father," Jian Feng said calmly, recalling the strand of Qi. "It is for comprehending the principles that bind them."
The Patriarch let out a long, slow breath, his pride swelling like a tide. "You have proven your point. Your cultivation of Qi is flawless." He then shifted his focus. "But the foundation of a cultivator has two pillars. Qi for the body, and Spirit for the mind. It is time you began training your Spiritual Sense."
"I have already begun," Jian Feng replied.
Jian Tianlong raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And have you been able to expand it to cover this courtyard? This peak?"
"No," Jian Feng said. "Expanding it seemed inefficient. An expanded sense is thin and easily detected. For five years, as I have gathered Qi, I have also been training my spirit. But I have not been pushing it outwards. I have been compressing it inwards."
Before his father could ask for a demonstration, Jian Feng's eyes unfocused slightly. "In the sunbeam to your left, there are three hundred and forty-two motes of dust. The seventh jade tile at your feet has a microscopic, internal fracture three inches from the western edge. And the celestial herb behind you, the Azure Cloud Leaf, will reach full maturity in seven days, four hours, and twelve minutes."
The Patriarch's blood ran cold. He instantly verified each claim. He could see the dust motes and the mature herb, but it took his own powerful Spiritual Sense, fully focused, to detect the hairline fracture deep within the solid jade tile. His son had described it without even looking.
His range was pathetic, perhaps only covering the room they were in. But its acuity, its sharpness and density, was something that even Jian Tianlong, a mighty Sovereign, could not match without extreme effort.
He was applying the same terrifying principle to his mind as he was to his Qi. Absolute quality. Uncompromising perfection.
Jian Tianlong looked at his ten-year-old son, who stood before him like an uncarved piece of primordial jade—simple on the surface, yet holding within him a potential so immense it defied all known logic. The Patriarch felt a profound sense of awe, but it was accompanied by an equally profound sense of dread. The path his son was walking did not just deviate from the norm; it sought to create a new definition of what a cultivator could be. And such a path was destined to be a lonely one, fraught with dangers beyond any he could imagine.