He stood there for a moment longer, chest rising and falling, his body still absorbing the aftershocks of the inner energy swirling within him like a newly awakened storm that didn't yet know whether it wanted to rage or rest. Before him, the masked man lay defeated—not dead, not unconscious, just motionless in that peculiar, silent way that made one question whether the opponent had chosen to lie down out of loss or apathy. But Jin Xuanji knew better than to assume it was the former. That masked man had not uttered a word during their battle, not even a grunt or breath, and somehow that silence had weighed more than any threat.
Leader Huang clapped from the shadows, his voice lazy but laced with a kind of curious pride. "That was more entertaining than last week's duel, and that one involved a guy who tried to fight using soup bowls. You, at least, have style."
Jin Xuanji didn't reply, mostly because he was still in disbelief that he hadn't died. The surge of power from the foul-smelling pill had elevated him to something beyond his usual fragile self, allowing his body to withstand the tremendous force required to perform the exaggerated techniques of the [Blossom Cloud Palm]. His hands still tingled from the last move, the [Heavenly 20 Palm Strikes], and he could almost hear Elder Han's old voice in his head laughing, saying, "Now that one's just for flair, but if it works, then take credit."
Jin Wei stood to the side, having been completely silent during the fight, but now his mouth finally opened just slightly. Not to cheer, not to talk, but simply to breathe again. He had held his breath the entire time.
Leader Huang stepped forward, a smirk still painted across his aged face. "Come now, my young flowerless warrior. I believe a victory deserves more than a clap. It deserves a truth."
Jin Xuanji looked at him, still catching his breath. "Truth?"
"Yes," Huang said as he flicked his sleeves dramatically, the way a theater actor might reveal the final act. "You see, this humble bar you've so graciously terrorized is not just a bar."
Jin Wei shifted his stance, as if preparing for this moment.
Jin Xuanji blinked. "Wait... don't tell me. This is a front for a dumpling syndicate?"
Leader Huang laughed. "I do admire your creativity. But no, this is not a dumpling empire—though that does sound profitable. This establishment, which you thought was merely a place of drink and dim lighting, is in fact the Holy Demon Rum Sect."
There was a pause.
Jin Xuanji blinked again. "The what?"
"The Holy Demon Rum Sect," Leader Huang repeated, slower this time, as if he were explaining the concept of shoes to a chicken. "A proud, if questionably named, sect under the broader family of the Demon Cult."
Jin Xuanji opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again. "You're telling me this place—where people pass out from drinking too much fermented mushroom wine—is a sect?"
"Oh yes. And a powerful one at that."
"And you're just telling me this now?!"
"Well, I didn't think you would take it seriously if I led with that. People tend to react badly when the words 'demon' and 'sect' are in the same sentence."
Jin Xuanji turned to his brother. "Did you know about this?"
Jin Wei raised his hands awkwardly. "I mean... yeah? They told all the workers on day one. I just thought you were too busy glaring at your bowl of rice to hear it."
Jin Xuanji let out an exasperated sigh. "Great. I fought in a basement for a sect I didn't even know existed."
Leader Huang laughed again. "And now, young Jin, for your reward."
He pulled from his robes a small, glittering bottle sealed with golden wax. Inside sat a pill the color of autumn leaves and the shape of an angry walnut.
"The Floweresa Pill. As promised."
Jin Xuanji stepped forward and took it with reverence. But just as he did, Leader Huang added one more thing.
"Oh, and by the way, since I will be... engaged in certain matters—a war, if we are being specific—you shall be acting sect leader of the Holy Demon Rum Sect until I return."
There was another silence.
Jin Xuanji blinked for a third time. "Come again?"
"You're strong. Or, at least, stronger than most here. And you have style. We need someone who can entertain and destroy at the same time. Also, you're not too bright, which makes you harder to manipulate, ironically. That makes you perfect."
"That sounds... like the opposite of perfect."
Leader Huang nodded with a smile. "Indeed."
***
Jin Xuanji stayed in the basement. The air was thick, humid, and reeked of moss, dried sweat, and the faint metallic tinge of spiritual formations carved into the stone. He sat crisscrossed, the Floweresa Pill in his palm, staring at it as if waiting for it to apologize for what it was about to do to his body.
Beside him, the two masked guards stood like statues, neither speaking nor moving. One might have been dozing behind the mask, for all Jin Xuanji knew, but he dared not assume. Their silence was almost holy.
He sighed and muttered, "Well, here goes nothing," and swallowed the pill.
It was like swallowing betrayal. The taste was what he imagined rotten leather soaked in vinegar and regret would taste like, and for a moment, he was certain he had made a terrible, life-altering mistake. But then the warmth came.
A tidal surge of qi exploded from his center, flooding his meridians like boiling wine poured into icy veins. His spine straightened involuntarily, his fingertips tingled, and his dantian, once an empty shell, began to throb like the heart of something ancient and long forgotten. He gritted his teeth, digging his nails into his knees to stay grounded as the spiritual energy invaded every corner of his body, awakening long-dormant potential.
Time warped around him. The seconds stretched into minutes, the minutes into hours. He meditated with intense focus, drawing in qi, guiding it, shaping it as Elder Han had taught him so many times before. He recalled every lesson, every sarcastic scolding, every slap to the back of the head that Elder Han had delivered when he wasn't focusing.
And then, without meaning to, a memory flickered to life...
***
A faint memory....
He sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, arms resting on his knees, palms open. Opposite him, on a raised platform padded with red silk, sat Elder Han—the man who would change the course of his life. Elder Han's long, silver beard trailed to his chest, and his hair, though graying, flowed like soft threads of moonlight. His robe was a tapestry of blue and gold, one that made him look more like a wandering scholar than a cultivator of great power.
"Eat it," Elder Han said calmly, placing a small, brown pill into Xuanji's shaking hand. The pill smelled like a mix of rotting herbs, stale sweat, and something far worse that Jin Xuanji couldn't even describe.
"Elder Han... it smells like pig shit... but if it was left in the sun for three years," Xuanji mumbled, staring at the orb with a grimace.
"Correct. That's how you know it's powerful," Elder Han replied without skipping a beat, sipping his tea as if he hadn't just handed a child a bio-weapon disguised as a miracle.
Jin Xuanji winced. He held his breath and swallowed the Floweresa Pill in one gulp.
It was immediate. His face contorted as if he'd eaten fire and vinegar at the same time. A horrible taste like bitter ash, fermented rat fur, and moldy tofu exploded in his mouth. He gagged, clutched his stomach, and rolled on the floor like a dying worm.
"You said it would help me cultivate, not kill me!" he shouted.
"All miracles come with a price, my boy," Elder Han chuckled. "Now sit still and meditate. Focus your mind. Let the energy flow."
Even though Jin Xuanji felt like his intestines were melting, he followed Elder Han's instructions. He sat upright, legs folded once more, breath steadying despite the chaos in his gut. Then something shifted.
A warmth blossomed in his belly, rising like a tide through his limbs. The energy was raw and unfiltered, like an untamed beast coursing through his veins. He could feel his dantian—once a quiet void—start to stir. Light pricked the inside of his mind, and for the first time, he saw the swirling mist of Spirit Qi.
Elder Han placed his fingers gently on Xuanji's back and began to guide the flow of energy. "Follow the meridians, don't force it. Let it move like a river, not a flood."
Hours passed. The storm outside had faded, but inside the wooden hall, Jin Xuanji was breaking through the barrier of his fate. Sweat poured down his face, his back drenched, and his teeth clenched tightly. But he endured.
When he opened his eyes again, his vision was sharper. His body lighter. His breath deeper.
"I... I can feel it... it's like I have a fire inside me," he whispered.
"Yes. It is weak for now, but it is there. Your dantian has awakened," Elder Han nodded. "But you are still fragile. A twig with a spark. You need techniques designed for your... fragile constitution."
Jin Xuanji blinked. "Like what?"
Elder Han turned toward a stack of parchment. He took one, then another, and another, and began furiously writing. His brush danced like a madman's sword, eyes gleaming. Jin Xuanji watched, confused and a little terrified.
"Here! This one is called [Heavenly 20 Palm Strikes]. It involves twenty palms in rapid succession, light on the body but harsh on the opponent. You'll need good rhythm, though."
"Twenty? That sounds exhausting."
"Then try [Cloud Piercing Finger]. You focus your energy into a single jab. Extremely painful if done right. Also potentially hilarious to watch."
He continued naming techniques: [Moon-Walking Lotus Step], [Stomach Destroying Wind Kick], [Eighteen Cloudy Slaps of Regret], and even [Seven Dragonfly Swats Style]. Each more ridiculous than the last. But each one made specifically with Jin Xuanji's body and limitations in mind.
"These are... weird," Jin Xuanji said.
"Exactly! But tailored for you. You're not the boulder type; you're the rope that ties the boulder's legs together. You must move fast, strike smart, and not break your bones doing it."
It was the beginning of his path.
For weeks after, Jin Xuanji trained with Elder Han from dawn to dusk. He fumbled. He failed. He got kicked in the face by his own foot somehow. But little by little, his body adjusted, his Qi grew steadier, and the techniques became part of him.
And through all the mockery and hardship, Elder Han was always there, sipping his tea with that maddeningly calm smile, whispering advice that felt more like fortune-cookie riddles than martial guidance.
But for Jin Xuanji, who had nothing, that old man had given him everything: power, purpose, and the will to defy fate.
And now, deep in the basement of the Holy Demon Rum Sect, with two masked men watching in silence and his brother pouring wine somewhere above, Jin Xuanji remembered all of it.
'before I regressed, I did not know how to properly cultivate but now I know anything from my previous life. Because of you Elder Han.' Jin Xuanji thought.
'Why... Just why did you kill me? You were supposed to be proud that I broke the law where mortals are weak and immortals are strong.'