Shadowwwing
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25. Breaking Through
🕑 Added 2025-03-29 06:05:56 +0000 UTCJiang limped along the path leading to the dormitories, one arm cradled against his ribs. The bruise was fresh and would probably bloom a spectacular purple before the hour was out. Someone had gone for a body shot during his latest duel, and they’d committed to it. A dull thud pulsed along his side with every step. He’d barely landed a blow.
Again.
It wasn’t all bad, though – the aspirants challenging him weren’t just flexing anymore. They were treating the duels a little more seriously now—measured strikes, guarded footwork. One of them had even bowed properly before beginning. That had felt strange.
It didn’t mean he was even close to being able to present a challenge to them, of course, but at least he was putting up enough of a fight that they had to pay attention. Getting flattened by someone who was actually trying is still better than getting flattened by someone who didn’t even bother to guard themselves. Progress was progress.
He’d swung by the halls of healing, but either Yiaolin was in a particularly bad mood, or he’d finally exhausted her seemingly endless patience with his constant injuries. In fairness, he’d probably been by almost a dozen times by now, and she’d at least had the grace to actually check that his injuries weren’t too bad before waving him off with a scowl.
Jiang pushed through the door into the shared space of their temporary accommodation, not bothering to hide the wince as the motion made his bruises flare up. As had quickly become routine over the last couple of days, Lian was out while Wei and Shen were both sitting listlessly at the table.
Despite his best efforts, he’d inadvertently learned more than he ever wanted to about their arguments. From what he understood, Lian had thrown her lot in with one of the richer aspirants, basically acting as a servant in return for the man allowing her to tag along with his group as they completed the higher-paying tasks.
Jiang didn’t really understand the point of going to all the effort to become a cultivator only to act like a servant anyway – surely it was easier to just get work as an actual servant – but he could at least respect Lian’s willingness to do anything required to achieve her goals.
Clearly, Wei and Shen didn’t share his viewpoint.
Jiang stepped up to the table, grabbing the water jug and filling one of the chipped cups. He didn’t sit.
“Another one?” Shen asked without looking up.
Jiang took a sip. “Mm.”
Wei gave a low chuckle that didn’t sound amused. “They really don’t get tired of it, do they?”
“Apparently not.”
“Guess you’ve got your uses. Make ‘em feel tough. Like they earned something.”
Jiang didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure there was a point.
Wei shifted, straightening slightly. “You know, it’s kind of impressive. Most people would’ve snapped by now. Either snapped or snapped back. But you just keep showing up. Taking your beatings. Limping back. Going out again. Like a dog that doesn’t understand what a stick means.”
Jiang was getting the strangest feeling that Wei wasn’t actually impressed. He shrugged.
“What am I supposed to do, just roll over and take it? I’d rather go down swinging. Besides, I’m getting better. I hit one of them hard enough to crack a rib the other day.”
Wei raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? And then?”
“He won.”
That actually got a small smile from Shen, though it faded fast. “Still better than we’re doing.”
Jiang finally sat, setting the cup down with a soft clink. “At least you’re not stuck with the low-paying tasks,” he said, trying to be encouraging. “Not impossible to get a decent chuck of points like that. The rich aspirants aren’t even really doing any tasks any more, so as long as you keep trying…” he trailed off.
While he didn’t know the specifics of how many points they currently had, the reality of the situation was that they likely couldn’t gather enough points – certainly not with just the two of them. The richer aspirants didn’t just have money to throw around in exchange for points – most of them were at the fourth or fifth stage of the Qi condensation realm. That alone was enough for them to be able to take the riskier jobs that paid better; and wasn’t even taking into account the fact that they all probably received actual training.
“We’re not,” Shen said. “Not really. Still going through the motions, but it’s done. It’s over. Tomorrow is just… making it official.”
Wei snorted. “Yeah. One by one. Behind closed doors. So no one sees who got tossed out on their ass.”
“Kindness,” Shen said.
“Cowardice,” Wei replied. “They don’t want to admit how rigged the whole thing is. So they let you slink away quietly, like that somehow makes it better.”
Jiang leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You think you’re out?”
Wei gave him a look. “Come on. You’ve seen the rankings. You think anyone from the outer dorms is scraping together enough points without help?”
“They knew who was going to pass the moment the exams started,” Shen said quietly. “Probably before. The rest of us were here to make the numbers look good. Prove the process works.”
“Even you, with your duels and your bruises—how many points do you actually have, Jiang? Enough to qualify? Enough to scrape by?” He sneered. “For all that you act like you’re above us, the truth is that your situation isn’t any better than ours.”
Jiang didn’t answer. Not because he was offended—he wasn’t—but because it didn’t matter. If the breakthrough went as expected, the points would take care of themselves. But saying that now would only make things worse.
Wei took his silence as confirmation. “Right. Thought so.”
Jiang drained his cup of water, setting it down softly. “Well, on that cheery note,” he said dryly, getting up from his seat. “I think I’m going to do some cultivating.”
He stepped away from the table, back toward the curtain that separated his sleeping area from the rest. As he reached it, Shen spoke again.
“Good luck,” he said.
Jiang paused. “You too.”
He slipped behind the curtain and let the dull quiet of the common room fall away. The room was cool and dim, light from the setting sun cutting in through the narrow gap in the shutters. He sat down cross-legged, slow and steady, exhaling as he settled his hands on his knees.
Then he closed his eyes.
And began the process of breaking through.
— — —
Jiang settled into the stillness, his breath slow and measured. He gathered his Qi with practised ease, threading it down from his dantian and toward the base of his spine. It moved cleanly now, no longer sluggish or scattered.
It had been less than three weeks since he’d become a cultivator in truth, and already it felt… almost natural to move his Qi around. Was that how it felt for everyone when they first started cultivating? Like they were finally using a muscle that had laid dormant for years?
He guided the current through his painstakingly cleared pathways, running through each branching route through habit alone before the Qi he was controlling arrived at the long, curved channel that stretched from his lower spine up to the base of his neck.
The first meridian of nine in the Qi Condensation stage. The first step into the world of the Azure Sky Sect, the ticket that would allow him to pass the entrance exams.
The resistance was immediate.
It didn’t feel like a wall. It felt like trying to push water through earth, the Qi soaking into grit and sludge, seeping into places it wasn’t meant to go. The pressure built. He compressed the strand further, tighter, focusing it down into a sharp current and drove it forward again.
This wasn’t like clearing the pathways. That was a process he could abandon at any time, leave and come back whenever he pleased. Elder Lu had warned him that a breakthrough was different, but hadn’t explained how.
Now he knew.
The pressure that was building up had no outlet, and he instinctively knew that if he failed to dislodge the sludge blocking his meridian, the backlash would ravage his pathways. Not lethal, but it would set him back weeks.
A slow burn began in his spine, spreading outward in a dull throb. He didn’t stop. He drew in more Qi, pulled from the threads surrounding him, and fed it into the push. The current bucked, surged, pressed forward—
Something gave.
It was like someone had taken a dull knife and scraped along his spine, dislodging years of muck. It was a little painful but in a satisfying way, almost like picking at a scab. His concentration wavered, the Qi in his mental grasp destabilising for a moment and sending a jolt of actual pain flickering through him. Jiang forced himself to refocus before the moment could slip away from him. The meridian wasn’t clear yet – the chunk that had come loose was significant, but not everything.
He tightened his focus. Drew more Qi. Drove it upward again. The sludge resisted, but only briefly. The blockage buckled under the pressure, and then his Qi surged through the meridian in a steady rush, scraping the walls clean as it went. The burn in his spine intensified, then dulled, then vanished. The moment it did, something shifted.
It was subtle at first—a flicker, a crackle just beneath his skin. Then came the flood.
His whole body lit up. The Qi he’d forced through the newly cleared meridian surged outward like a tide, sweeping through every pathway he’d opened over the past weeks. His limbs locked. Breath caught in his throat. A sound built in his ears, a ringing like glass under pressure.
Then the world expanded.
It wasn’t as all-consuming as igniting his dantian had been – he somehow knew that he wouldn’t sense anything like that for a long time -
but the sensation was similar. Fainter, yes, but unmistakable. He felt the air, the Qi embedded within it, the faint threads of shadow-aspected energy brushing along his skin. He could taste the dirt in the corners of the floor and feel the rhythm of breathing from his roommates on the other side of the curtain on his skin. And over it all, woven through the silence, he could feel the way his own Qi moved inside him. How it pooled, how it pulsed.
And there, as always, was the raven.
Jiang didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t need to. It was close, not far from the door—closer than usual. It had crept up on him again, and yet… this time he had sensed it. Not seen. Not heard. Sensed.
And what he sensed wasn’t… right.
There were no organs. No heartbeat. No breath. It had a shape but not a body. Its presence pressed faintly on the edge of his perception, like a shadow cast in reverse—lightless, weightless, empty. Worse still was the tether.
A single thread of Qi, tightly wound and shadow-aspected, extended from the raven’s body and vanished into the distance. It wasn’t just nearby. It was anchored. Connected to something. Something far away.
And suddenly, Jiang understood.
It wasn’t a raven. Not really. Not a normal one. It was the same one, every time, always the same. Not a creature. A construct. A projection. Maybe even a fragment of something else. Maybe of someone else.
His mouth felt dry.
This thing had been watching him since the beginning. Since he first touched the feather. Since he first ignited his dantian. It hadn’t spoken, hadn’t intervened—but it hadn’t left either. It had chosen to remain. To observe.
He didn’t feel fear. Not exactly. But there was weight to the realisation. Whatever the raven was, it didn’t belong to the world he knew. It was more profound than that. Older, maybe. Stronger, certainly.
He opened his eyes slowly.
The room came back into focus, shadows lengthened by the fading light beyond the shutters. The ache in his ribs had dulled to background noise. His spine still tingled faintly.
The raven stood where he knew it would be, just within the doorway, half-shadowed. Its head tilted slightly as he looked at it, black eyes locked on his.
Jiang studied it for a long moment.
Then he nodded once.
“Well,” he said, voice quiet. “Hope you’re enjoying yourself.”
As ever, the raven didn’t respond. That was okay; he didn’t need it to. Not yet.
He kept watching it. “I don’t know what you are,” he continued. “Don’t know if you’re some kind of spirit beast, or construct, or something else entirely. Don’t really care. But if you’re going to keep watching, I hope you’re paying attention.”
The tether pulsed once, barely noticeable. As though in acknowledgment.
Jiang didn’t look away. “Because I don’t plan on staying weak.”
The raven held still. He could feel its gaze, unblinking. Measuring.
He didn’t blink either.
Eventually, it shifted its wings once, just slightly. Unlike before, the raven – or whatever was watching from behind its eyes – didn’t bother pretending to be normal. It didn’t spread its wings and leave through the window. No, instead it stepped into the shadows in the corner of the room and vanished.
Jiang exhaled slowly, allowing himself to acknowledge the pounding of his heart. He might have known that it wasn’t a regular bird for a while now, but he’d assumed it was some kind of nascent spirit beast, not the puppet of something so far beyond him. His previous thoughts on the… being behind raven were still valid – it hadn’t done him any harm, even though it’d had the opportunity to.
But he wasn’t blind to the fact that the raven was now the second powerful being that had taken an unusual interest in him. He didn’t know how it stacked up to Elder Lu in terms of power, but either way, they were so far above him that he shouldn’t have even registered for them at all.
He leaned back, letting his weight settle against the wall. His limbs still felt tight, filled with energy that hadn’t yet settled, but the breakthrough was done. His Qi moved easily through his body now, stronger and more stable than before.
The second stage of the Qi Condensation realm was still far too little power for him to take control of his situation – but it was a step in the right direction.
And Jiang had no intentions of stopping here.
