"You need to tell Master Huang about these dreams," Yu Ganglie said quietly, keeping his voice low so as not to wake the other students. "They're getting worse."

Jinghui shook his head and swung his legs off the sleeping mat. "They're the same as always. Just memories."

"Memories that are eating you alive." Yu Ganglie stood as well, his shorter frame casting a shadow across Jinghui's mat. "The temple's healing techniques could help with the trauma. Master Huang has dealt with—"

"I don't want to forget," Jinghui cut him off, perhaps more harshly than necessary. He softened his tone as he saw Yu Ganglie flinch. "I need to remember. I need to remember what he did."

Yu Ganglie's expression grew troubled. They'd had this conversation before, many times over the years. "Revenge isn't the way, Jinghui. The Iron Body Temple teaches that—"

"I know what the temple teaches." Jinghui began pulling on his simple gray robes, the daily uniform that marked him as an Inner Pulse Realm student. "Compassion for all beings. Endurance through hardship. Protection of the innocent. I've memorized every sutra, every philosophy, every principle."

He paused in his dressing, looking directly at his friend. "But my brother murdered my parents. Some sins don't deserve forgiveness."

The pain in Yu Ganglie's eyes was clear, but he didn't argue further. He'd learned, over their years of friendship, that there were some wounds in Jinghui's soul that kindness couldn't touch. Instead, he simply nodded toward the door.

"We should get moving. Master Huang was pretty upset about yesterday's tardiness."

Jinghui finished dressing quickly, his movements automatic after years of temple routine. As they made their way through the stone corridors toward the training hall, he couldn't help but reflect on the irony of his situation.

The Iron Body Temple was renowned throughout the Nine Martial Provinces for producing some of the most spiritually advanced martial artists in the Mortal Martial World. Their philosophy emphasized the unity of physical and spiritual cultivation, teaching that true strength came not from dominating others but from mastering oneself. Students learned to reinforce their bodies not through harsh punishment, but through patient conditioning and careful attention to their spiritual state.

As for why Jinghui had chosen the temple, well, every other sect and clan had rejected his application….

The Dao of the Steady Blade Sect had deemed his emotional instability incompatible with their precision-based techniques. The Serpent Flow Pavilion had taken one look at his clumsy movements and suggested he consider a different career path entirely. Even the Hidden Scroll Library, which valued theoretical knowledge over practical ability, had found his application lacking.

Only the Iron Body Temple had opened its doors to him, motivated purely by compassion for a traumatized child.

And here he was, seventeen years old, still in the Inner Pulse Realm when students his age at other institutions were breaking through to Form Unification. Still struggling with basic kata while his classmates moved with the grace of natural martial artists. Still burning with a desire for revenge that ran completely counter to everything the temple stood for.

He was an imposter, and he knew it. But he didn't care.

No matter how long it took, no matter how many years he spent pretending to embrace the temple's teachings, he would eventually grow strong enough to find his brother. Cao Mingshan would have advanced far beyond him by now, the Crimson Fist Clan's blood techniques were notorious for accelerating cultivation, but Jinghui didn't need to be stronger than his brother.

He just needed to be strong enough to kill him.

The training hall was already filled with students when they arrived, the space echoing with the soft sounds of morning meditation. Master Huang stood at the front of the room, his wrinkly face serene despite the early hour. At sixty-nine, he had reached the Sect Mastery Realm, and his presence radiated the kind of calm authority that came from decades of disciplined cultivation.

"Ah, young Cao," Master Huang said as Jinghui and Yu Ganglie took their places among the other students. "So good of you to join us. I trust your sleep was... peaceful?"

There was no accusation in the master's voice, just gentle concern. Jinghui had always suspected that Master Huang knew about the nightmares, but the older man was too kind to mention them directly.

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"My apologies for the delay, Master," Jinghui said, bowing respectfully. "It won't happen again."

Master Huang's smile suggested he'd heard that promise before, but he simply nodded and turned his attention to the assembled students.

"Today we will be working on the Flowing Mountain kata," he announced. "This form is designed to create a feedback loop between your physical movements and your Martial Qi cultivation. Remember, in the Iron Body Temple, we do not force our Qi to bend to our will. Instead, we invite it to flow naturally through channels created by disciplined practice."

The students rose to their feet and spread out across the training hall, each taking a position that gave them room to move without interfering with their neighbors. Jinghui found himself in the back row, as usual, partly out of self-consciousness about his poor technique, and partly because the nightmares often left him feeling like he needed extra space around himself.

Master Huang demonstrated the opening stance of the kata: feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, arms raised in a position that somehow managed to be both defensive and welcoming. When he moved, it was like watching water flow uphill, each gesture seemed to defy the natural order while simultaneously appearing completely effortless.

"The key," Master Huang explained as he flowed through the first sequence of movements, "is to maintain awareness of both your inner state and your outer form. The Martial Qi should arise naturally from the perfect execution of each technique, not from forcing energy through your meridians."

Jinghui tried to follow along, but his movements felt clumsy and disconnected compared to the master's demonstration. Where Master Huang's kata created visible spirals of golden Martial Qi that danced around his body, Jinghui's attempts produced only faint wisps that dissipated almost immediately.

Around him, his classmates moved with varying degrees of skill. Yu Ganglie's form was solid if unremarkable, his Martial Qi flowing in steady currents that spoke of careful practice and natural balance. Others, like Zhang Lin in the front row, moved with the kind of intuitive grace that marked them as future masters.

And then there was Jinghui, struggling to maintain even the most basic postures while his Qi sputtered and died like a candle in the wind.

"Young Cao." Master Huang's voice was gentle but firm. "You're forcing again."

Jinghui froze in the middle of what was supposed to be a flowing transition, his face burning with embarrassment. Around him, the other students continued their practice, but he could feel their attention like weight on his shoulders.

"I'm sorry, Master. I'll try harder."

"Trying harder is your problem," Master Huang said, approaching with the patient stride of someone who'd had this conversation a thousand times before. "You approach the kata like it's an enemy to be defeated rather than a friend to be welcomed. Your movements carry anger, frustration, the desire to force results rather than allow them to emerge naturally."

The master paused directly in front of Jinghui, his eyes holding the kind of understanding that made Jinghui deeply uncomfortable.

"The Iron Body Temple teaches that true strength comes from perfect harmony between body, mind, and spirit," Master Huang continued. "But harmony cannot exist in the presence of unresolved hatred. Until you find peace with your past, your cultivation will always be limited by the walls you've built around your heart."

Jinghui lowered his head, staring at the stone floor. "I understand, Master. I'll try to let go of my anger."

It was a lie, and they both knew it. But Master Huang was too kind to call him out directly.

"See that you do," the master said simply. "Now, begin again. This time, focus not on the result you want to achieve, but on the movement itself. Let each gesture teach you what it wishes you to know."

Jinghui nodded and resumed the opening stance, trying to empty his mind of everything except the present moment. But even as he moved through the kata, he could feel the familiar weight of his true purpose pressing against the edges of his consciousness.

He was still trapped in the Inner Pulse Realm, still years away from the kind of power he would need. The Heartsteel Realm, where a martial artist's intent became tangible force, was still beyond his reach. The Sect Mastery Realm, where techniques gained permanence beyond the cultivator's death, was like a distant star.

But he would reach them eventually. He would master the Iron Body Temple's techniques not out of love for their philosophy, but because strength was strength, regardless of its source. And when he finally found his brother...

A piercing alarm cut through the morning air disrupting his thoughts.

Every student in the training hall froze. The sound was unlike anything in their normal daily routine: a harsh, metallic wailing that seemed to come from formations built into the temple walls themselves. Even Master Huang's serene expression cracked, showing a flicker of genuine surprise.

"By the ancestors," Yu Ganglie whispered. "Is that...?"

"A descent alarm," Master Huang confirmed, his voice suddenly sharp. "Everyone, listen carefully. We will proceed to the emergency chambers immediately. No running, no panic, but move with purpose."

The training hall erupted into controlled chaos as students began filing toward the exits. But Jinghui remained frozen, his mind struggling to process what was happening.

A descent.

In all his years at the temple, he'd only heard stories about the invasions. Every few decades, according to the older monks, otherworldly beings would arrive in their realm. Not spirits or demons, but something far worse: invaders from beyond their world who sought to possess the bodies of martial artists for their own mysterious purposes.

The temple had protocols for such events.

Formations carved into the deepest chambers that could protect students from supernatural possession. Emergency supplies that could sustain them for months if necessary. Defensive techniques specifically designed to combat entities that operated outside normal martial cultivation.

But Jinghui had never experienced one personally. None of the current students had; the last descent had occurred over twenty years ago, before any of them were born.

"Jinghui!" Yu Ganglie's voice cut through his paralysis. "Come on, we need to get to the safe rooms!"