Days bled into weeks, weeks into months, and before Jiang knew it, seasons had cycled twice. Two full years of the same rhythm: work, study, cultivate, sleep—when his body demanded it.

The monotony of outer sect life might have broken a lesser spirit, making then push most of their Qi to make the work easier, but for Jiang Cheng, each passing day was another small step on his path. His body, though still young, had grown leaner and stronger from the constant physical labor. His hands, once somewhat soft, now bore calluses, visible proof of his persistence.

That, and the unwanted result of not working. A beating.

During the daylight hours, he performed his duties with quiet efficiency. Chopping wood until his arms trembled. Carrying water up the steep mountain paths. Sweeping courtyards. Weeding herb gardens. Whatever task the sect assigned, he completed without complaint, finishing earlier than his peers, and sometimes, faster than his seniors, people that had more time to step in the world of cultivation.

Sure, they might not have the perception that Cheng had, allowing him to step much faster in the world of cultivation, but the years of menial work, made their bodies much stronger. Though if Qi was involved, a five year old could potentially send a adult man flying back with a tap. Such was the Power of Qi. The difference of Cultivation realms was the great equalizer.

While other disciples used their scant free time to rest or socialize, Jiang slipped away to the Tower of Records, his hunger for knowledge undiminished.

In those stolen hours, Jiang devoured knowledge indiscriminately.

Having exhausted the basic cultivation manuals that might help with his Qi compression problem, having read through the obvious ones, he expanded his reading to other subjects, in a effort for more useful knowledge, as the first floor was less than organized, the disciples that used it, leaving books not in their original places, time, making the place an unorganized mess.

He read histories of ancient cultivator clans, small scrolls on the nature of spiritual herbs, and even mundane topics like agriculture and animal butchering, one of his favorite topics, as it had detailed breakdowns and drawings of animals, being more like a picture book, easing his boredom at not finding books about Qi circulation and such.

One rainy afternoon, he found himself absorbed in "The Seventeen Realms of Qi Condensation." a thin volume that mapped out the journey he had begun. For the first time, he understood the full scope of his current cultivation stage.

"Seventeen distinct levels." he mumbled to himself, tracing the characters with his finger. "Five marking the early stage, ten for the mid-stage, fifteen for the high-stage, and the final two representing the peak of Qi Condensation."

The text explained what he had already suspected. That most cultivators struggled to reach even the tenth level, with the final two levels typically reserved for true geniuses or those with exceptional resources. Many outer disciples, limited by their circumstances, Talent and the difficulty of missions, plateaued around the fifth level, never advancing beyond early-stage.

Jiang closed the book with renewed determination. He would not be among those who stagnated.

Nights became his sanctuary. In his small cabin, away from prying eyes, he cultivated with single-minded focus. The visualization technique he had developed—treating his dantian as a muscle that could contract—had proven effective, if slow. Though he suspected it was due to not having a proper cultivation manual, as those were missing from the first floor, likely a bit intentional.

After all, the sect wanted to keep the outer sect disciples as worker hands. Not cultivators in the truest sence. And most importantly, what point was to have a thousand Qi condensation members, when ten Foundation establishment Cultivators could wipe the floor with them, barely getting tired?

Each night, he would cycle his Qi, compress it slightly further, then hold that compression as long as he could before exhaustion took him.

Sometimes he would fall in a deeper sleep, still in the lotus position, waking hours later with stiff joints and a clear mind. Other times, when his body demanded proper rest, he would reluctantly end his session and collapse onto his thin sleeping mat.

"The third stage." he murmured one night, sensing the quality of his Qi. The energy in his dantian had noticeably transformed over the past two years. What had once been a loose, scattered pool was now a less scattered pool. It was much denser than his starting point. Not the dramatic transformation he had hoped for, but progress nonetheless.

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The seasons changed around him. Summer heat gave way to autumn chill, then winter's bite, followed by spring's renewal. Twice this cycle completed as Jiang maintained his routine with unwavering discipline.

He observed other outer disciples come and go. Some advanced to the inner sect through the same thing he hoped. Breaking in the Foundation establishment realm.

Others left entirely after their required twenty year period, returning to ordinary lives in the mortal world, Albeit much stronger than normal people, likely to be employed as guards for rich merchants and such. few simply disappeared, dead from overworking, old age, their fates unknown and largely uncared for.

For jiang, seeing old man Kang, a senior Outer disciple, old of age, still grasping to the chance of breaking through, died in the middle of cleaning the steps, his old and frail body tumbling down the many, many stone steps, leaving a mess to clean behind. It served as motivation. It made him remember just why he was pushing.

Not to be revered as a strong cultivator. to be accepted into the inner sect. All he wanted, was to live. And understand himself, and these weird thoughts. perhaps someday, when he was strong enough, he could truly grasp what he was.

Because despite being a teen by now, in the ripe age of thirteen, he knew that these random thoughts were not ordinary.

During his second winter at the third stage, Jiang found himself assigned to kitchen duty—a welcome change from the outdoor labor during the coldest months, as the Satiaton pills had taken a backlog, due to reasons he was not privy to, meaning he would taste actual food now, a welcome change.

As he chopped vegetables for the day's meal, the knife flying with precision born from cultivation, as it improved everything, he overheard two inner disciples talking nearby, ones in charge, and making sure nobody was slacking, or hiding food in their clothes.

"...reaching the fourth stage before sixteen is considered promising." one was saying.

"I heard Young Master Zhang just broke through to the second stage, and he's barely thirty."

"A true genius." the other agreed. "They say Elder Shangxi has taken a personal interest in his training."

Jiang kept his head down, his knife never pausing in its rhythm, but his mind raced.

He was thirteen now—no longer the youngest outer disciple, but still young enough that reaching the fourth stage might draw notice. Of course, to no one powerful, but there was bound to be interest, once he reached the mid of the Qi condensation.

At such a stage, not only the second floor of the tower was open for him, but he could finally take on proper sect missions, promising cultivation points, and materials.

It was a big change. You would think progress would slow down, but if you got lucky on a few missions, using points to buy pills, would skyrocket one's progress.

That night, he pushed himself harder than ever before. Four hours of continuous cultivation left him drenched in sweat despite the winter chill, as he tried to heat up his dantian.

It was then, that he gritted his teeth, remembering a passage he read about.

"Those with Elemental aptitudes, can Use their primordial Qi to compress their Qi. attune it. Remember. Fire burns earth. Earth stops air. Air splits water. and water smothers fire."

the book talked about the basic elements. How one of the fire affinity could set their Qi aflame in their dantian, to compress it byy heat. how air could press down.

Unfortunately, he was none of that. He was average. But that meant that he would just push more. find more ways.

Just as he was about to concede to exhaustion, he felt something shift. The sphere of energy in his dantian suddenly contracted further, as if crossing an invisible threshold. The sensation was both painful and exhilarating—like a muscle finally yielding to sustained pressure.

"Fourth stage." he murmured, taking a deep breath in, and opening his eyes.

The achievement left him simultaneously drained and energized. He could feel the difference immediately. His Qi was denser, more potent, responding to his will with new precision.

Spring came again, marking the start of his third year of cultivation in the first realm. The sect's annual assessment was approaching. A time when disciples at all levels demonstrated their progress. For outer disciples, it was a rare opportunity to attract attention from the elders.

Jiang Cheng continued his routine, but with a new focus. Having reached the fourth stage, he began to incorporate simple martial techniques into his practice. The books he had once passed over now drew his interest. He practiced basic punch forms, channeling small amounts of Qi through his body.

He spent no amount of time training in fighting. it felt like a nice change of pace, when the monotony of cultivation and reading came on too hard.

By mid-spring, he had not advanced to the fifth stage. but he was to step in it by the end of the year, some months after the assessment. Not like it mattered. As he had learned by eavesdropping during work, a single stage improvement was enough to please the elder, as the sect had no expectations of the outer members.

Summer arrived once more, bringing with it the crushing heat and increased workload that had become familiar. Now in the cusp of fourteen, Jiang was no longer among the youngest disciples. Soon enough, he might even be called a senior by the youngest ones, as around the fifth year, you were promoted to a senior outer sect member no matter what, leaving you with a bit more time on your hands.

In the Tower of Records, he discovered a forgotten scroll describing advanced breathing techniques for Qi refinement. The methods were complex, requiring precise control over one's breath while maintaining specific Qi circulation patterns.

Clearly, this was a precursor to a cultivation technique, one forgotten to be placed on the second floor. A lucky find.

Incorporating it in his meditation times, he could tell the speed of his gathering was faster by quite a bit. Makes you think just how much better the inner disciples had it, as they were taught a cultivation technique the second they were accepted in there.

Perhaps by now, he would have been in the seventh stage.

And some days later, after his find, he sat, and slept on his bed. Tomorrow, the sect assessment would be held. And he was not going to be reprimanded.