Inside the clinic, the air was thick with tension.

  The moment Yun Tian’s breathing steadied, the quiet murmurs of disbelief turned into shouts of realization.

  One child stumbled outside, then another. Before long, the entire village was awake, their voices rising in hushed awe. Word spread like wildfire—one of their own had been saved.

  By the time Juwon finished stabilizing his Qi, nearly the entire village had gathered outside. Some stood in stunned silence, others clutched their loved ones, eyes wide with something between hope and fear.

  Now, as he stepped forward, all eyes were on him.

  What Juwon had accomplished was something completely unheard of, even in the ancient history of cultivation. Normally, it is impossible for one to cultivate on behalf of another—once Qi is transferred, it loses its original ownership, merging with the recipient's Qi and becoming something entirely new.

  However, by applying Dragon Vein Convergence, Juwon achieved the unthinkable. The technique allowed him to form temporary Qi circuits that could retain the original Qi's identity, keeping it "alive" and untainted until it was ready to be returned. As long as Juwon could isolate Yun Tian’s Qi, preventing it from merging with his own, and stabilize new Qi pathways within his own dantian, he was able to refine another person’s Qi—a method that had never been recorded before.

  This revolutionary technique would later become known as:

  Dragon Vein Convergence: Transfiguration

  He wiped the blood from his mouth, exhaling as he leaned against the wooden doorframe of the clinic. His body ached, his meridians still throbbing from the sheer effort of what he had just done. But none of that mattered.

  Because Yun Tian had opened his eyes.

  A miracle had unfolded before their eyes, and the people of the Miao tribe knew it.

  Slowly, one by one, the villagers knelt on one knee before Juwon, their hands placed over their hearts in solemn respect. The movement was silent, synchronized—not just gratitude, but a pledge.

  Juwon, still catching his breath, blinked at them. "Uh… what’s going on?"

  Yun Ji, standing at the forefront, lowered his head. “Young Master, the Miao tribe owes you a debt that can never be repaid. You have restored what even the greatest healers could not. From this day forth, we are in your service.”

  Juwon’s brows furrowed. "Hold on, hold on—I don’t need any of that. You don’t have to serve me."

  Yan Huai let out a sharp whistle. "Oho, fearless leader. You’re stacking up followers now? Next thing we know, you’ll have your own sect."

  Luo Qing crossed his arms, smirking. "Guess we should start calling you Young Master too. Maybe even start bringing you tea in the mornings."

  Xu Weishan grunted. "Tch. Better him than you, Luo. You’d probably demand silk robes and a throne."

  Juwon groaned, rubbing his temples. "You lot are impossible."

  Juwon groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Now shut up, all of you."

  Despite his protest, the villagers remained in place. Yun Ji raised his head, his eyes unwavering. “Young Master, you may refuse the title, but you cannot refuse the hearts that have already chosen to follow you.”

  Bai Xueling observed quietly from the side, her expression unreadable.

  Finally, Juwon exhaled. "Fine. Just… stop kneeling, alright?"

  The villagers exchanged glances before slowly rising, but the reverence in their eyes remained.

  Bai Xueling, arms crossed, sighed. "Wudang has found a gem of a disciple."

  At that, Luo Qing let out a dry laugh. "A gem? You do know he’s not actually from Wudang, right?"

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  The villagers froze in confusion. "What?"

  Zhen Yu smirked, taking a sip of water. "He just arrived some time ago. Technically, he’s an outsider."

  Yan Huai grinned. "Sure, he’s a Guardian, which means he holds the same rank as a Head Elder, but their role is different."

  Yun Ji frowned. "A Guardian… one who does not belong to a sect, but protects the land and its people…"

  Juwon sighed. "You guys talk too much."

  After a long silence, Yun Ji smiled. "We will speak more after you’ve rested. But first—let us celebrate. Tonight, the Miao feast in your honor."

  The Wudang disciples perked up.

  Yan Huai’s grin widened. "Now that is something I can get behind."

  Luo Qing smirked. "As long as they have strong drinks, I won’t complain."

  Juwon, still exhausted, sighed. "I don’t think I have much of a choice, do I?"

  Yun Ji chuckled. "Not at all."

  The village square was alive with laughter and music. A massive bonfire burned bright at its center, casting flickering shadows as the villagers danced in rhythmic steps around it. The Wudang disciples, initially hesitant, had quickly abandoned their formality—Yan Huai and Luo Qing were already drinking with the Miao warriors, while Xu Weishan found himself in a fierce drinking contest against a seasoned elder all while munching away on some boiled sweet potatoes.

  Juwon, however, sat with Yun Ji at a quieter table, a copper cup filled with Horn Spirit wine in his hand. He took a slow sip, savoring the rich, smoky taste that lingered on his tongue. Hah looks at those Wudang guys drowning in wine-

  "Horn Spirit, huh?" Juwon mused, tilting the cup slightly. "I’ve read about this. Said to be brewed with sacred herbs and aged in ox horns. Some historians think it was once reserved for warriors before battle."

  Yun Ji chuckled. "Horn Spirit is an old tradition. Brewed from the sacred herbs of the mountains, aged in ox horns. A single sip is said to clear the mind and sharpen the soul."

  "Historians aren’t too far off. It sharpens the senses, steadies the heart. Our ancestors believed that a warrior should never enter battle clouded by fear. A single sip grants clarity."

  Juwon swirled the liquid thoughtfully. "It’s strong, but smooth. A drink with history."

  "Back when I was an archaeologist, I tried many times to get in contact with your people. The government never gave us a permit. They always said it was to protect cultural heritage, but I knew better. There’s something about the Miao that they didn’t want outsiders to see."

  Yun Ji chuckled, setting his cup down. "And now you are here, drinking Horn Spirit, sitting in the heart of that mystery."

  Juwon smirked, raising his cup slightly. "Fate has a sense of irony, doesn’t it?"

  Yun Ji nodded, his expression turning thoughtful. "Perhaps. Or perhaps the world moves as it should, guiding those who seek knowledge to where they are meant to be."

  Yun Ji smiled knowingly. "Or perhaps, you already carry the clarity our ancestors sought." The aroma was rich and smoky, its taste both smooth and fiery. He raised his cup, meeting Yun Ji’s gaze.

  As they spoke, a small figure approached. Yun Tian, still weak but awake, stood hesitantly beside Juwon. "Young Master… thank you." His voice was soft, but the gratitude in his eyes was unmistakable.

  Juwon smiled, reaching out to ruffle the boy’s hair lightly. "Just focus on your health for now, alright? That’ll be thanks enough."

  A soft giggle interrupted them as a few young Miao women approached, carrying a clay jug. One of them, cheeks flushed, hesitated before speaking. "Young Master, may we pour your wine?"

  Juwon chuckled, pushing his cup forward. "Of course."

  The girls giggled as they carefully refilled his drink before scampering away, whispering among themselves.

  From across the fire, Bai Xueling watched the scene unfold. Her fingers lightly touched her chest as an unfamiliar sensation settled in her heart. What was this?

  Before she could dwell on it, a drunken voice slurred beside her.

  "Forget it, Lingling," Yan Huai grinned, swaying slightly. "He’s a man that will reach heights beyond our comprehension. He’ll always be in battles we can only watch from afar. Following him… will bring suffering."

  Bai Xueling turned, brows knitting. "What do you mean I-?"

  Yan Huai exhaled, gaze fixed on Juwon. "Hah but if you really want to… you might have to leave Wudang."

  Her eyes widened slightly, gaze shifting back to Juwon.

  Before she could respond, a deep blowhorn echoed from the bonfire.

  Juwon looked up, then glancing at Yun Ji. "I reckon something’s about to happen?"

  Yun Ji smiled, taking a sip of his own drink. "Keep watching. You wouldn’t want to miss this."

  Drums began to play—slow at first, then rising in tempo. The Miao, young and old, stepped forward, forming perfect lines. Then, they danced around the campfire forming multiple inner and outer circles.

  Juwon’s breath hitched. He couldn’t believe it.

  With every step, every precise movement of their hands, the Qi in the air rippled and surged, as though responding to their call. When they moved left, Qi followed in a smooth, undulating wave, bending like the currents of a vast unseen ocean. When they raised their hands, the energy coiled and spiraled upward, intertwining in shimmering threads before dispersing like drifting embers. Hundreds—no, thousands—of Qi circuits formed and dissolved, creating a constantly shifting network that wove through the dancers like a living, breathing entity. The entire performance was more than just a dance—it was an ancient ritual, a manifestation of the land’s hidden power, an unspoken language of Qi itself.

  The Wudang disciples, unable to see the flow of Qi, simply cheered at the beauty of the performance.

  But Juwon? He could see everything.

  He shot to his feet, his heart pounding. “This… this is…”

  Yun Ji took a soft sip, his smile deepening. “So, it is true. Young Master was chosen to be blessed by this world.”

  "The Miao have a bright future"