The morning mist draped over the rocky training valley like a shroud, its damp fingers curling around jagged stones and dying trees. Though the first rays of sunlight crept lazily over the eastern cliffs, they did little to lift the chill in the air. At the farthest edge of the valley, beneath a wind-worn cliff, Tang Yun stood alone barefoot, shirtless, unmoving.
To the casual observer, he appeared to be a boy pretending at cultivation. His figure was lean, almost sickly, with no visible aura of power emanating from his body. But what others couldn't see was the storm beneath the still surface.
His eyes were half-closed, breathing shallow, calm. Beside him, a small brazier burned with a slow, muted flame, releasing a thin plume of smoke scented with bitter herbs snake-root, dried venom moss, and crushed bitter-grass. A mixture toxic to most cultivators. For Tang Yun, it was fuel.
He whispered, voice steady despite the pain already gnawing at his limbs. "Poison Qi."
In his clan, Poison Qi was not merely a type of internal energy it was a legacy. Unlike normal qi, which harmonized with the body to enhance strength and speed, Poison Qi was volatile. It devoured impurities, eroded weakness, and lashed out at the unworthy. Cultivating it was like training a beast with fangs aimed inward. Only those with absolute control survived.
Tang Yun had died with that control once before. Now, he would master it again.
He took a deep breath, then pressed a thin obsidian needle into his left forearm. The point had been coated in snake-root essence a mild paralytic that, if used properly, dulled pain and opened the bloodstream to external energy flow. It burned as it entered, his muscles twitching.
He grit his teeth, resisting the instinct to jerk away.
The moment the numbing spread, he initiated the first flow.
From deep within his dantian the core of all cultivation a trickle of qi emerged. Still faint, still young, it obeyed his will. He was only at the Early Qi Awakening Realm, the very first step on the path of power. It was the point where qi first awakens within the body, but it does not yet travel through the full meridian network.
But Tang Yun had no need to rush. In his past life, he had ascended far beyond this realm. What mattered now wasn't speed it was stability.
He visualized a river of venom flowing through a single glass pipe: slow, pressurized, potent. Poison Qi was about precision, not force. It didn't scream it waited. And when the moment came, it killed silently.
His qi touched the needle's channel. His blood reacted.
Pain flared. Muscles locked.
His lips parted with a sharp breath, but he didn't scream.
The integration began.
Tang Yun's eyes opened slowly, his limbs still trembling. The herbs had burned down to ash, but the stench still clung to the air. He could feel it now faint, acrid heat pulsing through his veins. Not pain. Not even discomfort.
Power.
Poison Qi had accepted his vessel. A first, tiny victory.
Movement stirred beyond the valley's entrance.
Two outer sect disciples approached, laughing with careless mirth. Their robes were loose, heads uncovered. Their voices carried.
"I swear, I saw him talking to a rat yesterday. Probably his only disciple," one sneered.
The other snorted. "If he didn't have that family name, they'd have tossed him into the waste pits already."
Tang Yun didn't react. Not outwardly.
But inside, a cold amusement took root.
He stood, retrieving a small, worn pouch from his robe. Within was a powder nearly invisible, shimmering faintly in the light.
Dustless Thorn Powder.
A signature poison. Inhaled, it slowly blocked a person's ability to circulate qi, paralyzing their meridians without pain or scent. Banned in friendly duels. Modified in his hands.
He dusted his palms and waited.
"Come closer," he called. "Let's enjoy the morning together."
The taller disciple squinted. "Hah? The little snake wants to play?"
"Maybe he's finally accepted that he's garbage," the other said, laughing.
Tang Yun smiled. "I've accepted something, yes."
He dusted his hands. The wind carried the powder.
"I've accepted that I don't need to catch up. I'll leave you all behind."
The taller disciple rubbed his arm. "Huh… my qi feels… stuck."
The other frowned. "What the why can't I circulate mine?"
Panic spread across their faces.
"You what did you ?!"
Tang Yun stepped forward, his voice calm.
"I didn't poison you. You did, by breathing near me."
They collapsed, limbs twitching as their meridians seized. Fear overtook their expressions.
"Don't worry," he said. "I'm not interested in corpses."
He tossed each of them a small green pill. "Take this. You'll recover in a day."
They stared up at him, shocked.
Tang Yun leaned down. "Tell your master I've begun to train. And that I'm not in the mood for games."
He turned and walked away.
Back beneath the cliff, he sat once more, drawing out an old, faded scroll from a hidden crevice in the rock wall. The ink was smudged, the edges torn. A discarded manual from the clan archives.
But its contents were gold.
"The snake that lies still is not dead. It waits. And when it strikes, it chooses the softest place and the deepest wound."
That was the essence of his cultivation path. Not brute force, not flashy techniques, but lethal precision.
Poison was not for the impatient. It was not for those who wanted to be seen. It was for those willing to hide, to endure shame, and to strike when no one saw it coming.
Tang Yun would not climb through fame or alliances. He would slither beneath their feet, coiling silently, until the time came.
And when it did?
The snake would strike.
[Tags]: Reincarnation, Martial Arts, Poison, Scheming Protagonist, Cultivation, Weak to Strong, Anti-Hero, Cold Protagonist, Clan Wars, Hidden Identity, Revenge