The crisp morning air swirled around the Wind Spirit Sect, carrying with it the sweet scent of mountain wildflowers and the distant tang of the sea. High upon the Crystal Cliffs, the outer grounds of the sect bustled with activity. Young figures, clad in simple robes of pale blue, weaved through the well-worn paths, their movements crisp and purposeful. These were the outer disciples, barely sixteen years old, their faces alight with the zeal of youth and the determination to cultivate the power of the wind.

Among them, most were at the later stages of the Refining Realm, the very first step on the long and arduous path of cultivation. Here, they honed their bodies and minds, channeling the raw energy of the world into their nascent cores. Every sunrise saw them gather in the vast training grounds, the rhythmic whoosh of wind blades and the thuds of earth-shaking stomps echoing through the valley.

This morning, however, a hush fell over the training grounds as a lone figure emerged from the entrance. Heads turned, eyes widening in surprise. It was Han Ye.

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Unlike his fellow disciples, clad in their pristine robes, Han Ye's clothes were perpetually dusted with the remnants of yesterday's training. His hair, usually a mess of wind-blown black strands, hung loose around his shoulders, a testament to his disregard for appearances. Yet, there was an undeniable air of quiet confidence about him, a spark in his obsidian eyes that spoke of untapped potential.

Despite the surprise, a chorus of greetings erupted. "Good morning, Han Ye!" "Finally decided to join us, eh?" The voices held a mix of amusement and respect.

A boy with a mop of unruly brown hair and a mischievous grin detached himself from the group and approached Han Ye. "Well, well, well," he said, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. "What brings the illustrious Han Ye to grace us with his presence on this fine morning?"

This was Yu Hong, Han Ye's closest friend and confidante. Unlike Han Ye's reserved nature, Yu Hong was a whirlwind of energy, his enthusiasm for cultivation infectious.

Han Ye offered a lazy smile. "Just felt an itch in my body today," he replied, his voice a low rumble. "Thought some light training might help scratch it."

The corner of Yu Hong's mouth twitched. "Light training, huh? Knowing you, you'll probably end up leveling the training grounds by afternoon."

The onlookers chuckled, their initial surprise melting away into a comfortable camaraderie. Han Ye, for all his unorthodox ways, was a well-liked member of the outer disciples. He was one of the very few who had stepped into the Insight realm and was a candidate for becoming an inner disciple.

He was also the only friendly guy in the Insight realm of the outer sect.

As the greetings subsided, the perspective shifted, the world narrowing down to Han Ye's own. He stretched, a low crackle of energy emanating from his joints. A glint of determination flickered in his eyes. Today, unlike any other day, there was a purpose behind his steps, a reason for him to finally step foot in the training grounds after weeks of absence. But that reason, for now, remained a secret locked away within him.

As Han Ye launched into his first set of punches, the memory of the dream flickered at the edge of his consciousness. It was like a half-forgotten song, the melody haunting yet incomplete. All he could recall were flashes of violence – clashing steel, screams ripped from throats, the metallic tang of blood.

Weapons he had never seen before, people he had never known before, Enemies he had never met before. The red sky, wretched screams and death, death all around.

Woosh

Han Ye jolted awake from his thoughts. His palms were sweating.

A shiver ran down his spine despite the warmth of the morning sun. Even now, a day later, the dream left him unsettled, like a dark premonition hanging heavy in the air.

But there was something else too, a subtle shift within him. The world seemed sharper, the edges more defined. His senses, usually attuned to the flow of the wind, now picked up the faintest tremors in the ground, the rustle of leaves a whisper away. An unsettling alertness thrummed beneath his skin, a primal urge to be ready for anything.

Like everything around him was an enemy.

Pushing the disquiet aside, Han Ye focused on the task at hand. He closed his eyes, visualizing the technique Master Lin had demonstrated only a few days ago – the Rotating Wind Sphere. Taking a deep breath, he channeled his qi, picturing it as a swirling vortex within him. He imagined that he would feel a resistance at first, a hesitation as his body struggled to grasp the new flow of energy. He didn't.

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Instead, the qi flowed naturally without a hint of struggle. He even had a ridiculous thought that the qi was feeling eager to flow through his body.

'That's impossible.'

The air around him seemed to respond, warping and compressing towards his outstretched palm. It was perfect, a wobbly orb of green energy crackling erratically. It was there, a testament to his newfound control. A surge of satisfaction washed over him, momentarily eclipsing the unsettling sensations. He had done it. He had mastered an advanced technique that normally took months, even years, for outer disciples to learn.

He had done it in a day. Maybe even less than that.

"Han Ye! No way!" A jubilant shout pierced through his concentration. Yu Hong, his ever-exuberant friend, came bounding towards him, a grin stretching ear to ear. "You actually managed the Rotating Wind Sphere! That's an advanced technique, You sly dog, you were hiding your true potential all this time!"

The news spread like wildfire. Soon, a small crowd of outer disciples had gathered around Han Ye, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and disbelief. Questions flew at him thick and fast. "How did you do it?" "Teach us, Han Ye!" "Any secret tricks?"

Han Ye, ever the stoic one, simply shrugged, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Just a little extra practice, I guess." He knew better than to reveal his strange dream. It was too outlandish, too absurd. Besides, the focus now was to enjoy this moment, to train and spar with his friends, to bask in the unexpected validation of his new abilities.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, casting long shadows across the training grounds, laughter and friendly competition filled the air. Han Ye, surrounded by his friends, the unease momentarily forgotten, felt warmth. Perhaps, the whispers of the dream were just that – whispers.

But somehow, Han Ye could feel from his soul that they were not. 

* * * * 

Refreshed from a cool dip in the nearby pond and a hearty meal at the dining hall, Han Ye deviated from the usual path back to the outer disciple housing. He steered clear of the bustling grounds, opting instead for the solitary path leading to the very edge of the Crystal Cliffs. There, perched precariously on the precipice, stood a small, yet beautifully crafted house.

The Wind Spirit Sect operated with a unique system. Unlike some sects that provided for their outer disciples, here, they were expected to earn their own resources. From tending to the spirit-infused crops of the Agricultural Division to meticulously arranging ancient texts in the Scripture Hall, a plethora of tasks existed. Each job yielded a corresponding reward in the form of spirit stones, the universal currency within the cultivation world. These spirit stones fueled their cultivation progress, allowing them to purchase pills, materials for crafting talismans, or even rare training manuals.

Han Ye's path led him to the Crafting Hall, a quaint structure that stood out from the rest of the simple, utilitarian buildings. Here, however, the air was desolate. Unlike the bustling halls where outer disciples honed their martial skills or the quiet hum of the Scripture Hall, the Crafting Hall stood cloaked in a shroud of silence. And for good reason.

This wasn't a popular choice among the outer disciples. The Crafting Hall, built by an elder at the behest of his son, had initially seen some activity. However, once the son graduated to the coveted rank of core disciple, the funding for the hall dried up. With no resources or prestige associated with it, the Crafting Hall became a forgotten corner of the sect. The only person who frequented it was Han Ye, earning him the reputation of an oddball.

He held the dubious distinction of being the sole member of the Crafting Hall. The pay was abysmal – a single measly spirit stone – barely enough to cover the cost of basic necessities. While other disciples toiled in the fields or immersed themselves in ancient texts, Han Ye spent his days cleaning, maintaining, and essentially guarding an empty hall. The whispers and curious glances followed him wherever he went, a constant reminder of his unorthodox choice.

It wasn't that Han Ye was unaffected by the glances. He knew that he was called an oddball among his peers and he felt bad about it. But he was also good friends with many, especially Yu Hong, and so he could shrug it off.

Han Ye liked the atmosphere of the crafting hall, though he didn't know why. He had fallen in love with this place when he first arrived here. 

Shrugging off his thoughts, he stretched his arms.

'Let's try something new.'

Han Ye rotated his qi as he did in the morning and a few seconds later, air rushed from all directions forming a sphere in his palm.

He concentrated, dispelling the air as soon as it completed a rotation and bringing it in again. He lowered his palm down and soon, the dust from the hall started rising and gathering like the wind.

He gathered as much as he could and then threw the sphere out from the window after which it exploded. He repeated it thrice and the hall was clean.

Of course, Han Ye had almost depleted his core of qi, but the exhilaration he felt at the power of the Rotating Wind Sphere took away his tiredness.

' Advanced techniques are at a different level.'

And this was another reason Han Ye was considered unorthodox. Most people only used their techniques when training, sparing, or fighting. This was because techniques, in general, were considered sacred and children from a young age were taught to be thankful and respectful to the creators and providers of the technique. 

Meanwhile, Han Ye used the techniques he learned for all kinds of mundane tasks. Even for silly activities that had no purpose like trying to blast himself up using the gushing breath technique, which was taught to help beginners feel wind essence.

The reason Han Ye used techniques like this was not because he disrespected the creators but because-

'It's fun.'

Sitting on a chair in the corner of the hall, Han Ye felt a great thrill in finding creative uses for his techniques.

He brainstormed some more uses of the rotating wind sphere till the sun touched the horizon. Then, as usual, Han Ye ate his lunch and sat down cross-legged to tap into his soul.

He finally began his cultivation of the day.