Curse of the Supreme Blood

Li sat cross-legged in his small room, staring at the wooden sword that rested against the wall. The events of the previous day replayed in his mind like a tormenting echo—Bai Chen's sneer, the crowd's laughter, and the sharp pain of humiliation.

Frustration churned in his chest, a fiery mix of anger and determination. He clenched his fists, his small frame trembling with resolve. "Two years," he muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll make it happen. No matter what it takes."

Li glanced at the corner of his room where a faint wisp of Qi lingered, visible only to his trained eyes. He had spent most of the night cultivating, his mind too restless for sleep. Now, his body ached not just from the fight but also from the relentless hours he had poured into his training.

The sound of footsteps outside his quarters drew his attention. A familiar figure entered—the ever-cheerful Zhang Wei, his ever loving and attentive senior brother. His broad smile and easy expression were a big difference to Li's terrible mood.

"Li!" Zhang Wei greeted, his voice warm. "I heard about your spar with Bai Chen."

Li looked away, embarrassment creeping into his expression. "I lost," he said flatly.

Zhang Wei chuckled and sat down across from him. "Of course you did. Bai Chen's been in the sect for years, and you've been here for, what, a few weeks? No shame in losing to someone like him. You also forget that he is much older than you. He's thirteen to your six"

"I don't want to lose again," Li replied, his voice firm. "Not to him. Not to anyone."

Zhang Wei studied him for a moment, then nodded. "That's the spirit. If you're serious about this, we can work on your swordsmanship together."

Li's eyes lit up. "You'll help me?"

"Of course," Zhang Wei said with a grin. "But it won't be easy. I'll push you hard, and you'll have to give it everything you've got."

"I'll do whatever it takes," Li promised.

The next morning, Li met Zhang Wei at the training field. The sun had barely risen, with the atmosphere being hazy. Zhang Wei stood in the center of the field, holding two wooden swords.

"First lesson," Zhang Wei began, tossing one of the swords to Li. "Balance. Without balance, all the strength and speed in the world won't matter."

Li caught the sword and immediately assumed a defensive stance. Zhang Wei nodded approvingly. "Good. Now, let's test your footing."

He lunged at Li without warning. Startled, Li tried to block, but the force of Zhang Wei's strike sent him stumbling backward.

"Too stiff," Zhang Wei said. "You're bracing for impact, but you're not grounded. Watch my feet."

Zhang Wei demonstrated a series of fluid movements, his feet gliding effortlessly across the ground. "See? Balance is about adaptability. You need to flow like water. Try again."

Li adjusted his stance, planting his feet more firmly. Zhang Wei attacked again, and this time, Li managed to hold his ground, though the force still rattled him.

"Better," Zhang Wei said, stepping back. "Now, we build on that. Let's go through the basic stances."

For hours, they practiced, Zhang Wei correcting Li's posture and movements with patient precision. Despite the grueling pace, Li absorbed every instruction like a sponge.

By midday, sweat dripped from his brow, and his arms ached from the constant repetition. But when Zhang Wei called for a break, Li shook his head. "Let's keep going."

Zhang Wei raised an eyebrow. "You've got determination, I'll give you that. But overtraining can be as bad as not training at all. Rest is part of the process."

Reluctantly, Li sat down, gulping water from a flask Zhang Wei handed him.

When Li wasn't training with Zhang Wei, he immersed himself in cultivation. Back in his quarters, he sat cross-legged, his breathing steady as he chanted the Qi-controlling technique he had memorized.

The room seemed to hum with energy as streams of Qi flowed toward him, drawn by his focused intent. The sensation was intoxicating—a warm, tingling current that filled his body with renewed strength. Then he felt one of his meridians losing all obstructions and powerful current of energy than in the other streams of light flowed steadily through the open meridian.

"Yes, I can feel it," Li murmured to himself. "The Qi is getting thicker."

Despite the progress, he knew it wasn't enough. Cultivation alone wouldn't close the gap between him and Bai Chen. He needed to strengthen his body and refine his martial skills.

At the crack of dawn, Li began a rigorous routine of physical exercises that involved running laps around the sect grounds, lifting heavy stones, and practicing hand-to-hand combat techniques he had picked up from observing other disciples.

One morning, as he practiced striking a wooden dummy with his fists, Zhang Wei approached, carrying a bundle of cloth.

"What's that?" Li asked, wiping sweat from his brow.

"A gift," Zhang Wei said, unwrapping the bundle to reveal a weighted training vest. "Wear this during your exercises. It'll build your strength and endurance."

Li slipped on the vest, surprised by its weight. Every movement became more challenging, but he welcomed the difficulty.

"You're serious about this," Zhang Wei said, watching him with approval.

"I have to be," Li replied, his voice resolute.

One afternoon, Zhang Wei introduced a new element to their training, sparring.

"Enough with the stances and forms," Zhang Wei said, tossing a wooden sword to Li. "Let's see how you handle a real fight."

Li gripped the sword tightly, his eyes narrowing in focus. Zhang Wei took a defensive stance, his movements relaxed yet purposeful.

"Remember," Zhang Wei said, "balance and adaptability. Don't just react—anticipate."

The first few exchanges were rough. Zhang Wei's strikes came fast and unpredictable, and Li struggled to keep up. But with each clash, he began to read Zhang Wei's movements, predicting his next attack.

"Good!" Zhang Wei said as Li successfully parried a strike. "You're learning."

Li lunged, aiming for an opening in Zhang Wei's defense. The older disciple sidestepped effortlessly, tapping Li's wrist with the flat of his blade.

"Don't overcommit," Zhang Wei advised. "A skilled opponent will use your momentum against you."

Li nodded, adjusting his approach. The sparring sessions became a daily routine, each one leaving Li exhausted but exhilarated.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Li sat on the training field, his body aching from the day's exertion. Zhang Wei joined him, handing him a piece of bread.

"You've got potential," Zhang Wei said, breaking the silence. "But potential means nothing without perseverance."

Li took a bite of the bread, nodding. "I know. That's why I'm not giving up."

Zhang Wei chuckled. "Good. But remember, it's not just about strength or skill. It's about strategy. Bai Chen is strong, but he's predictable. If you learn to outthink him, you'll have an advantage."

Li considered this, a spark of hope igniting in his chest. "Thank you, Senior Brother Zhang Wei. For everything."

Zhang Wei ruffled Li's hair, smiling. "Don't thank me yet. We've got a long road ahead."

As Li returned to his quarters that night, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. The memory of Bai Chen's sneer no longer filled him with frustration but with motivation. He had a promise to keep—a promise to himself and to everyone who doubted him.