Xue Qinghe followed behind the disguised Mo Luochen, though his steps were cautious and his fingers stayed clenched tightly around a slender jade ornant at his waist — his soul guide.
It was no ordinary trinket. Within it lay a powerful defensive tool, capable of blocking a full strike from even a Titled Douluo, and if triggered, could teleport him far away. It was sothing the Emperor himself had quietly given him — not out of deep love, but because no emperor could afford to risk his heir dying too easily.
So as he followed this mysterious "Master Mo" through the lantern-lit streets and into a quiet private courtyard, Xue Qinghe kept a tight grip on it. His mind spun with suspicion and fear.
What if this is a trap? So assassin from my brothers, or even from Spirit Hall?
But he couldn't suppress that ember of desperate ambition — the chance to rise, to prove himself, to show that he was not worthless.
When they finally stopped in the quiet walled garden under an old tree, Master Mo turned, his expression patient.
"I can sense your wariness, Your Highness," he said calmly, hands folded behind his back. "That is wise. A ruler who trusts too easily rarely lives long. But know that I have no interest in Tian Dou politics. I am simply an old cultivator who cannot stand to see a young tiger crippled before he ever learns to roar."
Xue Qinghe's throat worked. He didn't speak.
"Allow to be direct," Master Mo continued. "I have a special cultivation thod, along with certain elixirs and spirit arts, that could strengthen your Swan martial spirit far beyond what you ever imagined. Perhaps even awaken sothing more profound within it. If you are willing… I could guide you."
Silence fell.
Xue Qinghe's eyes darted to the side, his hand tightening on his soul guide — ready to trigger it and vanish at the first sign of danger. But no killing intent radiated from Master Mo. There was only a calm, waiting patience, as though he truly didn't care whether Xue Qinghe accepted or refused.
Slowly, Xue Qinghe realized it was he who could not afford to walk away.
He sank to one knee, lowering his head.
"…Then I… ask you for guidance, Teacher," he said, his voice cracking on the last word.
Master Mo — Mo Luochen behind the guise — watched the prince kneeling before him, a glimr of triumph hidden in his gaze.
One step complete, he thought. Now… let us mold this wasted prince into a puppet emperor, whose strings we alone will pull.
A faint, approving smile touched his lips as he finally reached out, resting a hand lightly on Xue Qinghe's bowed shoulder.
"Rise, my disciple. Your real journey begins now."
As the evening deepened, Mo Luochen—still disguised as "Master Mo"—watched Xue Qinghe with a calm, almost indifferent air.
"Tomorrow," he finally said, his voice carrying an edge of quiet steel, "co to the small stone courtyard outside the east city gate. There your true training will begin."
Xue Qinghe's eyes flickered with a mix of dread and faint, hungry hope. He bowed low again.
"Yes, Teacher."
Without another word, Mo Luochen turned and left, his dark robe brushing the lantern-lit ground, soon swallowed by the night.
***
The next day
Xue Qinghe arrived at the appointed courtyard at dawn, wearing light training robes, clearly expecting sothing like sword drills or maybe spirit technique refinent.
Instead… he found a place that looked like a bizarre mix between an ancient courtyard and sothing out of a foreign dream.
Strange racks and fras of polished steel stood everywhere—weighted sleds, thick chains, giant ropes, rugged climbing walls studded with jagged black stones. In one corner, enormous flat stones lay stacked, each easily half a ton. Another contraption looked suspiciously like a bench press, though stylized with black-gold spirit lines etched along the supports.
What… is all this?
He didn't get to ask.
Mo Luochen was waiting for him, arms folded behind his back, a faintly cruel smirk on his lips.
"Surprised?" he asked lazily. "This is your new world, Xue Qinghe. For now forget martial spirit cultivation. If you consud the elixir as you are now, your frail body would only absorb maybe 40% of its power—the rest would burn away inside you and leave you crippled."
He began to pace around him slowly.
"Do you know how the great clans forge their so-called 'young geniuses'? They break them first. Push them beyond mortal limits, again and again. Sharpen the body into a blade, grind down fear into steel, until their foundation is so solid that even swallowing a poison fla can only make them stronger."
He stopped directly in front of Xue Qinghe, eyes gleaming.
"So that is what I will do with you."
Xue Qinghe swallowed hard. His throat was dry.
He had co expecting rigorous cultivation. He hadn't imagined hell.
The first hour alone left his arms trembling. Mo Luochen had him pulling a chain-weighted sled back and forth across the courtyard until his legs nearly gave out. Then carrying thick stone slabs—first on his shoulders, then overhead. When he dropped one, nearly crushing himself, Luochen only raised an eyebrow and made him start over.
By midday, Xue Qinghe's fine prince's robes were drenched through, clinging to skin now flushed red with burst capillaries. His breath ca in ragged gasps, muscles spasming with every motion.
But Luochen didn't stop. He guided him through a series of explosive jumps against resistance bands, forced him to hang by raw grip strength from iron bars until his hands bled, then had him hold low squats with weighted packs on his back.
And Xue Qinghe—pushed by a desperation deeper than even he understood—kept getting up. Again. And again.
From a shaded balcony, Renxue, Felicia, and Zhu Zhuqing watched.
Felicia laughed low. "If he doesn't die, he'll be carved into sothing interesting."
Zhu Zhuqing looked intrigued but then asked, "But why is he doing it? Why push him so hard?"
"It's simple," Qian Renxue replied calmly. "That prince actually has astonishing potential. His martial spirit is a Holy Light Swan — a powerful top-grade spirit. But because his mother was a re commoner without any spirit power, his own body was born too weak to carry his spirit's true might. It crippled his cultivation from the start."
*******
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