Li Fan tightened his grip around the pouch of silver coins, feeling the worn texture of the cloth beneath his fingers.
Four silver coins.
His entire fortune.
Now that he was about to spend it, he felt… reluctant.
No, more than reluctant.
He felt pained.
Li Fan had never been rich, not in his past life and certainly not here.
He could almost hear the old Li Fan scolding him from the back of his mind.
"You want to waste our savings on a pig?"
The thought made him pause.
Then, it hit him.
Wait. Why am I buying?
The realization struck with the force of a palm technique to the chest.
He was a cultivator now.
Weak, yes—but still far above any mortal.
Even at the Qi Gathering Stage 3, he was already stronger than a dozen grown men.
Normal animals couldn't possibly threaten him.
He wasn't some mortal boy anymore.
No.
He was one of the so-called "Immortal Masters" the villagers whispered about.
He didn't need to buy meat.
He could hunt it.
Of course, he could also just take it from a mortal if his skin was thick enough.
Li Fan grip on the silver pouch loosen. A grin crept onto his face.
Why spend his precious savings when he had limbs that could break stone and techniques that could shatter wood?
He could keep his coins—and still get his EXP if possible.
The wilderness a little distance away from the sect's foothills was still part of the mortal domain.
Spirit beasts didn't wander around there. But common animals? Wild hares, boars, snakes, and birds? Those should still exist.
And those wouldn't be protected by the sect rules.
Li Fan glanced outside, the morning sun beginning to stretch its golden fingers across the treetops.
He had planned to descend the mountain and find a butcher.
Now?
He was going to find a forest clearing—and something to kill.
With his newfound confidence and a spring in his step, he tucked the pouch back under the bed and grabbed his cheap steel sword. It wasn't sharp, but it would do. If needed, he could always rely on the Stone Palm Technique.
"Time to head out," Li Fan muttered
Li Fan stepped out of his cottage and squinted at the sunlight.
The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth. Dew still clung to the grass, and the dirt path outside his home was slightly muddy from yesterday's mountain mist.
His humble cottage sat on the outermost fringe of the Qinghe Mountain Sect's grounds—far from the majestic halls and bustling training fields of the true disciples.
Here, the terrain was uneven, the vegetation more wild than cultivated. Most of the buildings around were poorly built wooden structures—modest, creaky things with faded paint and sagging roofs.
This was the Registered Disciple District.
A place for those like him—disciples who had been accepted into the sect in name but hadn't passed the three-year test. They were barely better than glorified servants.
Registered disciples received just enough to survive: a fasting pill every few days, a trickle of cultivation resources, and the right to say they belonged to Qinghe Sect. But in truth? They were still outsiders. Li Fan knew it. Everyone here knew it.
The real sect began further up the slope.
From where he stood, Li Fan could see the distant rooftops of the Outer Sect District—a small forest of neat, tiled buildings surrounded by low stone walls. The road leading up to it was better paved, the path lined with trimmed trees and even lantern posts that glowed gently at night.
He remembered walking that path a few times.
Not as a disciple, but as a cleaner.
In the early days—before he injured himself—he had been assigned menial chores. Sweeping floors, emptying chamber pots, cleaning the sparring grounds. It was during one of those sweeps that he caught his first glimpse of the outer sect disciples.
Even their robes looked different. Same gray-blue colors, yes—but the fabric was clearly better. Cleaner. Fitted.
More importantly, their faces were different.
Confidence. Pride. Strength.
They walked tall, spoke freely, and had access to better food, housing, and training grounds. They were the ones who had passed the three-year test—those who had reached Stage 5 of Qi Gathering within the deadline.
Li Fan?
He was still on the outside looking in.
Past the outer sect grounds lay the Inner Sect, though it was hidden from his view by the mountain's natural curves. Only those who reached the Foundation Establishment Realm had any hope of stepping foot there.
And at the peak of the mountain—nestled among clouds—was the very heart of Qinghe.
Li Fan looked away.
That wasn't his concern now.
His goal was much simpler.
To get stronger.
And if possible—trigger the first damn point on his EXP bar.
Tightening his grip around the hilt of his worn steel sword, Li Fan took a deep breath and began walking down the narrow, winding trail that curved around the mountain's outer edge.
He didn't know what kind of animal he'd run into first.
But whatever it was… he hoped it had meat on its bones.
As Li Fan moved along the trail, he began to see other figures emerging from their cottages or trudging down parallel paths.
These were disciples like him, the forgotten masses at the bottom of the sect's hierarchy.
Some ignored him completely. They minded their business, and Li Fan minded his.
But not all were so subtle.
A group of three stood just past the bend in the road. They wore similar faded robes, all registered disciples like him, but their eyes weren't indifferent.
One of them glanced his way. Then nudged the other.
"There he is. That's the one Chen Mu left half-dead."
Li Fan heard it.
He didn't stop walking.
"Still alive, huh?"
Li Fan kept his face blank, eyes forward. He didn't need to look to recognize the tone—half amusement, half pity.
Chen Mu, a disciple one step from officially advancing to the outer sect, had ambushed him. Yet, no one cared to help.
If it weren't for Wu Jiang.
Even now, the memory made his knuckles clench.
But Li Fan didn't stop.
He kept walking.
That was until he heard a different voice. This one wasn't mocking.
It came from a pair of older teens a few steps ahead, speaking as they leaned beside a well.
"Did you hear about Wu Jiang?" one said, his voice half-whispered, half-awed.
Li Fan slowed.
"No, what?"
"He reached Stage 5. Just yesterday. Officially entering the sect.
"What?! I saw him only last week and he was still Stage 4…"
"Progress like that, man… he's already miles ahead of us."
Li Fan didn't turn around—but this time, he didn't keep walking either.
Wu Jiang.
A name that struck closer to home than any insult.
They had entered the sect together—two hopeful boys from the same border town, eyes bright with dreams.
In the beginning, they had trained together, eaten together, grumbled about chores and cultivation assignments together.
They had been friends.
Then… acquaintances.
Then strangers.
It wasn't betrayal. It was just talent.
Wu Jian progressed while Li Fan stalled. They began to have fewer shared conversations to none. More awkward silences.
They walked two very different roads.
Still… hearing about Wu Jiang's breakthrough stirred something in him.
It wasn't jealousy.
It was hunger.
A quiet fire lit up inside Li Fan's chest.
Hearing Wu Jiang's name, hearing that he had crossed the threshold into the Outer Sect hit harder than he expected.
Li Fan clenched his fists.
He realised he wanted that too.
To be strong.
The fire in his chest swelled, and his eyes sharpened.
He remembered Wu Jiang's face the last time they spoke. Just two days ago, when Wu had quietly knocked on his door and handed him that ointment. There had been concern in his eyes, sure—but also something else.
Distance.
Wu Jiang hadn't gloated. Hadn't judged.
But he no longer looked at Li Fan as an equal.
And why would he?
Li Fan exhaled sharply.
"One step at a time.There's no need to rush," he muttered.
With renewed determination, Li Fan continued down the trail.