Han Sen recalled the lessons of his youth, imparted by his master, Lou Siat, upon the Baihe Plain.

  What words had his master spoken?

  “Breathe from the dantian, not the chest! Let qi sink like mercury into the Yongquan points!”

  He smiled faintly, remembering the endless repetition of those teachings, a time when boredom had been a constant companion. Yet what had once seemed tedious now proved to be a blessing.

  Han Sen needed no conscious recollection; his body remembered. He no longer required deliberate control of his qi; his own form guided its flow through the twelve gates. A rare attainment, for most could only manage four.

  As he walked, the memory stirred a longing for his master. Where was he now?

  Han Sen’s reverie was broken by General Hun Jian presenting him with a jiaozi uniform.

  “Wear this jiaozi uniform, a sign that you are an instructor under my command, Hun Jian,” the General explained. “In truth, every general must serve as an instructor to senior warriors. And each new recruit is trained by the commanders of the zhechongfu in their respective regions. Here, at the Dragon Gate, we gather those who are already trained.”

  The uniform was not heavy, not the armored garb of a soldier. Rather, it was crafted from thick goat or ox hide.

  “Look, there are my men training. Let us go there,” the General continued.

  “As you command, General,” Han Sen replied, falling into step.

  The training ground was vast, and another jiaozi was already directing the soldiers in their drills. He bellowed at two warriors sparring, forcing qi from their chests.

  “Channel energy from the dantian! Channel it! Push! You lazy ones, push!” he roared.

  Han Sen frowned. Energy from the dantian should flow freely, guided by the breath, not forced. It could not be compelled.

  The more it was forced, the less qi there was, even to the point of stagnation. Raw strength became the foundation, not inner power.

  “Attention! General Hun Jian is present!”

  “Greetings to the General!” the assembled soldiers cried out in unison.

  General Hun Jian raised a hand, silencing the throng.

  “Hear ye! Now, for your training, we have a new martial arts trainer. This is Brother Han Sen. Pay your respects to Brother Han Sen!”

  “Greetings, Brother Han Sen!” the soldiers chorused, many with palpable eagerness, recalling how Han Sen had once silenced a haughty Uyghur warrior.

  “Brother Han Sen will instruct you. You, Tek Liong, are to assist Han Sen in his teaching,” Hun Jian continued.

  The designated sparring partner, Tek Liong, frowned, a clear sign of his displeasure. But before General Hun Jian, he quickly bowed, replying, “Yes, General!”

  “What troubles you, Tek Liong?” Hun Jian inquired, noticing the furrowed brow.

  “General, does Brother Han Sen truly possess great skill?” Tek Liong dared to ask.

  “You will soon discover. Han Sen, spar with Tek Liong, let us all witness,” Hun Jian said calmly.

  Han Sen merely nodded.

  Even with a cursory glance, he perceived that Tek Liong lacked significant martial prowess.

  The designated sparring partner stood awkwardly in the training yard, his stance uncertain. Han Sen approached with a casual demeanor, showing no outward preparation. Tek Liong further furrowed his brow, feeling Han Sen’s gaze a slight mockery.

  Han Sen bowed, executing a simple shoubei li.

  Tek Liong bowed only slightly, and in his next breath, launched his attack.

  The wind of Tek Liong’s blow preceded his fist, rushing toward Han Sen.

  Han Sen shifted his body subtly. Moving in harmony with his opponent.

  His opponent pushed, and he yielded. His opponent drew back, and he pushed forward. His opponent struck, and he evaded.

  Han Sen moved as if breathing in time with a dragon. Tek Liong could not touch him.

  Tek Liong, having reached the Foundation Establishment stage, continued to grunt, strengthening his internal energy. A dark, chilling qi suffused his fist.

  Han Sen frowned. This was the characteristic energy of the Black Stone.

  What connection did Tek Liong have with Deng Tian Men?

  Tek Liong’s fist arrived with a swirling wind, scattering dry leaves across the yard. The observing soldiers gasped, their eyes wide with apprehension. Would Han Sen be overwhelmed?

  Han Sen remained calm, not unleashing his Five Winds or Five Thunders techniques. He merely regulated his breathing according to the Cloud and Wave method, moving with measured grace, bending and yielding.

  And striking.

  A solid blow landed, impacting Tek Liong’s waist.

  Tek Liong collapsed, unable to remain standing. His waist throbbed with pain.

  The training ground fell silent.

  The soldiers stared—some in awe, others in quiet realization.

  Han Sen stood over the fallen man, staff lowered, expression calm.

  Not triumphant.

  Merely certain.

  “I concede, Brother Han Sen,” Tek Liong said, his voice weak with defeat.

  Han Sen offered no reply, his gaze steady.

  “Now all have witnessed!” General Hun Jian declared, his voice booming across the arena. “From this moment forward, you must learn from Brother Han Sen!”

  “Yes, General!” the soldiers responded in unison, lowering their heads and opening their ears wide.

  The beaming General then left the venue.

  Han Sen stood in the center.

  He drew a slow, deliberate breath, recalling the teachings of his former master.

  “First, understand the dantian, the energy center,” he began. “There are three dantian.

  The Xia dantian, located in the lower body. This is the foundation of internal strength.

  The Zhong dantian, around the navel. This is the center of balance and harmony.

  The Shang dantian, around the heart. This is the center of awareness and spirituality.”

  The dantian is where energy, qi, gathers. The world around us is permeated with qi. Through awareness, we draw this qi into our bodies with each breath, allowing it to flow along the meridians.

  Just as qi flows within the natural world, so too does qi flow within the body.

  The cultivation of qi is the art of creating a microcosm of the universe within oneself—a Xiao Zhou Tian—where qi flows along the meridians, including the Ren Mai and Du Mai.

  Han Sen elaborated on the meridians and the flow of qi.

  It appeared this was a novel concept for the soldiers.

  “Forgive me, Jiaoxi,” a senior soldier inquired, pride evident in his voice. “Isn’t the cultivation of qi akin to strengthening our muscles? I have trained diligently to fortify my qi.”

  Han Sen regarded him with a penetrating gaze.

  “Qi is a force that flows throughout the universe. We draw qi from the world, gather it within the dantian, and then circulate it throughout the body.

  How can that be likened to the strengthening of muscles?” Han Sen countered.

  “But Jiaoxi Tek Liong has always taught us so. And the result is a stronger, healthier body, as large as this,” the soldier boasted, flexing his arm.

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  “Cultivating qi is not the same as training muscles. Muscles become strong, muscles become large, but their power is limited to the human form.

  Qi, however, is boundless. Drawing qi from the world is limitless. When a person can circulate qi, it is as if they possess the power of nature. Like water and wind eroding stone. Like the roots of a tree shattering hardened earth. Like fire and lightning consuming a forest.

  No human muscle can match the power of nature.

  No muscle can achieve this,” Han Sen concluded, extending his hand.

  At the edge of the training ground, ten zhang from where Han Sen stood, a candle flickered beside the incense burner, marking the passage of time. Han Sen’s finger pointed toward the flame, and instantly, the candle extinguished, snuffed out by the force of the qi emanating from his fingertip.

  Just as he had painstakingly practiced on the Baihe Plain, he now acted with effortless grace.

  The soldiers watched, dumbfounded, silent.

  No strength of muscle could replicate what qi could accomplish.

  A profound discussion ensued, comparisons being made, understanding slowly dawning.

  Han Sen realized with growing dismay that his students had been given a fundamentally flawed understanding of qi and martial arts. They had been taught to strengthen their muscles, not their qi.

  Even among those who claimed to be at the Qi Condensation stage, many had yet to truly sense the presence of qi within themselves. Yet they prided themselves on their large muscles and brute strength, engaging in displays of physical power against the Uyghur soldiers, ordered to train harder in the ways of the flesh. Meanwhile, the Uyghurs cultivated qi, leaving the Tang soldiers to be mocked and humiliated.

  These misguided teachings stemmed from Tek Liong.

  Where was Tek Liong?

  Han Sen scanned the surroundings. The man was nowhere to be seen.

  “Brother Han Sen,” a veteran soldier said quietly, “understand that Jiaoxi Tek Liong is a relative of an eunuch in the Imperial Palace. He holds influence within the court. Even the generals dare not be overly harsh with Tek Liong.”

  Han Sen offered a wry smile. The palace again. Nepotism again.

  Connections and vested interests held more sway than true ability.

  When faced with a challenge demanding skill and prowess, what could they possibly do?

  Now, even Tek Liong refused to appear. What then would they do?

  The soldiers hailed from disparate backgrounds. Most were simple farmers, men who had once tilled soil and tended rice paddies, their hands calloused from plow and sickle rather than sword. Some came from the jianghu—those who had received instruction in martial arts from a young age, learning refined techniques and attaining the peak of Qi Condensation before ever donning a uniform. They had begun cultivating Nei Gong long before entering the military, guided by a teacher in their youth.

  Such individuals were rare.

  It was this very fact that had allowed Han Lei, his father, to rise swiftly through the ranks, becoming a commander and ultimately a hero, due to his superior martial skill.

  Yet Han Sen knew not the extent of his father’s cultivation, nor the specifics of his father’s martial arts.

  Those with jianghu backgrounds often ascended to high-ranking positions quickly, becoming generals.

  However, not all within the jianghu possessed high cultivation. Few achieved Golden Core, let alone a higher realm.

  It was said that true, profound cultivation came only from the heavens or the underworld. A man like General Hun Jian remained at the Foundation Establishment level, unable to progress further.

  For several days, Han Sen instructed the soldiers, delivering explanations of the true and complete principles.

  It was their first time hearing about the small heavenly cycle—the internal cycle of cultivation.

  Still distant from the great heavenly cycle, the union with the natural order.

  They were late in their training. Would there be enough time?

  And trouble arrived sooner than anticipated.

  A week later, a commotion erupted before the Dragon Gate. It occurred a day after General Guo Ziyi had departed the military compound.

  At the forefront stood Tek Liong, arms crossed, a sneer twisting his lips. Beside him loomed an Elder from Deng Tian Men. Behind them, more than two hundred Deng Tian Men disciples stood in disciplined formation, their crimson robes stirring in the wind like spilled blood.

  “Surrender Han Sen! He is an enemy of Deng Tian Men!” Tek Liong bellowed.

  “You insignificant soldiers, hiding within this place, presuming yourselves to be something of worth,” the Heartfire Elder sneered, his voice carrying across the walls like crackling flame.

  The guards postured, feigning strength with angry expressions.

  “You common rabble, what disturbance do you create before the Dragon Gate? Disperse! Disperse!” one cried bravely.

  But his courage lacked sufficient power.

  A single, distant palm strike sent him sprawling to the ground, motionless.

  The soldiers attacked with swords. Archers lined up behind, loosing their arrows.

  But the searing palm, infused with qi, incinerated the arrows mid-air. The Deng Tian Men disciples freely battered the soldiers, who relied only on brute strength, swords, spears, and armor.

  What could raw strength withstand against a martial artist wielding potent qi?

  Perhaps, if hundreds of soldiers surrounded a single martial artist, eventually the sheer number would prevail.

  But when hundreds of qi-wielding individuals attacked thousands of soldiers relying solely on muscle, the result was like a wildfire consuming dry brush.

  The soldiers, devoid of qi, could not withstand a single blow. How could they hope to defend against a palm strike from three zhang away, capable of sending a man flying and rendering him unconscious, when their spears were still leagues from touching the hem of their enemy’s robes?

  Only those soldiers possessing martial skills advanced. At the forefront stood Han Sen, accompanied by General Hun Jian, who slaughtered every Deng Tian Men disciple with furious efficiency.

  The two immediately confronted the Heartfire Elder and Tek Liong.

  “Tek Liong, you are a traitor! You deserve to die!” General Hun Jian roared.

  “Hah! What can a minor general accomplish? You dare touch a single strand of my hair, and the Imperial Court will punish you! But now, an Elder of Deng Tian Men will dispatch you and Han Sen this day!”

  Tek Liong relied on his connections within the Imperial Court, believing his brother’s proximity to Cheng Yuanzhen would save him from any predicament.

  He placed his faith in the Deng Tian Men Elder, whose cultivation reached Core Formation, possessing a formidable, cold, and sinister Black Core—an opponent unmatched by any martial artist in Chang’an.

  Hadn’t all the martial clans in Chang’an already been conquered?

  Now, it was the turn of the Dragon Gate.

  And observe—how not a single Uyghur soldier was willing to intervene in this Tang soldier’s chaos?

  Corruption and nepotism had eroded all.

  What they did not know: no one within Deng Tian Men knew the true extent of Han Sen’s cultivation. A seventeen-year-old youth—almost eighteen—what could such a fledgling achieve?

  Everywhere, it took decades to reach a level beyond Foundation Establishment. No one could fathom Han Sen’s strength.

  Until the Heartfire Elder confidently faced him, consumed by a desire to extinguish him.

  Their movements possessed equal speed and power, and both soldiers and Deng Tian Men disciples alike drew back, creating a wide expanse for the battle between the two Core Formation experts. Golden Core against Black Core.

  The Heartfire Elder unleashed a torrent of flames, scorching the earth black and filling the air with smoke.

  Lightning and fire.

  Wind and smoke.

  The battle was a spectacle unlike any witnessed by mortal men.

  Golden lightning arced from Han Sen’s staff, splitting the sky in blinding forks. Each strike tore through the Heartfire Elder’s infernal blaze, scattering embers like dying stars. The Elder countered with searing palms that ignited the air itself, waves of crimson heat rolling outward, charring stone and grass alike. The ground cracked beneath their feet. Shockwaves rolled across the courtyard, forcing onlookers to brace against walls.

  Yet the golden core burned brighter.

  Han Sen moved like a storm given form—staff whirling, lightning dancing along its length, every strike precise, every evasion graceful. He did not meet force with force; he flowed around it, yielding where needed, then striking with the fury of thunder.

  The Heartfire Elder faltered.

  One final, devastating blow landed.

  The Elder’s head shattered upon impact.

  There was no blood.

  Only dust.

  His body dissolved into ash.

  Like the monsters that had haunted the Tang Dynasty for so long.

  “The Deng Tian Men Elder is a monster! He is a monster!”

  “Han Sen, son of the hero Han Lei, today becomes a hero by slaying a monster!”

  “Deng Tian Men is a nest of monsters!”

  Han Sen stood firm, calming the qi swirling around him. Upon the ground lay not the body of the Deng Tian Men Elder. Only a wooden wristband remained, identical to those worn by Huang He and the Heart Earth Elder.

  The Deng Tian Men disciples, including Tek Liong, immediately used lightness techniques, fleeing the scene.

  “Pursue the Deng Tian Men disciples! They are the spawn of monsters!” General Hun Jian cried.

  Today, the Tang soldiers possessing qi-based martial arts began to emerge from their barracks. They must cleanse the capital of monsters.

  Where was General Guo Ziyi?

  At that moment, Guo Ziyi had been sidelined and stripped of his command due to the jealousy of the powerful eunuch Cheng Yuanzhen.

  Those within the Dragon Gate were oblivious to the grave danger approaching from the West.

  The Tubo Kingdom’s army—over one hundred thousand strong on horseback—had entered Tang lands. Now, a mere one hundred and twenty-five li remained before reaching Chang’an.

  The vast host wrought devastation in their wake, overwhelming every regiment in their path. No defense could hold.

  Within the Imperial Palace, news of the enemy’s advance sent tremors through all.

  Emperor Daizong slumped, weakened by illness and dread.

  “Prepare provisions,” the Emperor commanded, voice thin. “We must prepare to flee!”

  Yet nothing could be prepared within the palace.

  That day, the Shence Guard—now filled with disciples of Deng Tian Men—erupted in a furious rampage.

  Other soldiers of the Shence Guard were helpless against the Elder’s fury, falling before his might.

  The Deng Tian Men Elder raged for two reasons.

  First, he learned that the Heartfire Elder had perished that very day. The killer remained unknown.

  Second, he heard of the Tubo army’s proximity to Chang’an. Within two days, they could breach the capital.

  Before this palace was plundered by the Tubo invaders, would it not be better if they plundered it first?

  Thus, he and all the Deng Tian Men disciples unleashed their fury—attacking and looting all that could be taken.

  Jewels were stuffed into sacks. Fine silks were packed into chests. Gold was amassed in heaps.

  The Shence Guard were powerless, unable to withstand Core Formation.

  Cheng Yuanzhen trembled with rage, discovering that the sect which had pledged loyalty to him had become palace robbers.

  Cheng Yuanzhen was the one who brought the robbers into the palace.

  Cheng Yuanzhen was the one who concealed the news of the Tubo invasion.

  He trembled with anger. He trembled with fear.

  The Deng Tian Men disciples did not merely rob; they indulged their lustful desires with the palace concubines and the most beautiful serving maids in the realm.

  That day was a day of terror.

  Palace maids were slaughtered in corridors. Women were stripped and violated by hordes in the very chambers where they once served with grace. Screams echoed through gilded halls, drowned by the laughter of the monstrous. Blood-stained silk screens and marble floors. A place once deemed sacred became a hell of broken bodies and shattered dignity.

  The Dragon had fallen.

  The Dragon lay defeated.

  Emperor Daizong was spirited away by loyal soldiers and ministers, carrying scant provisions, boarding carriages, and fleeing Chang’an toward Shanzhou, in the Shan prefecture, halfway between Chang’an and Luoyang.

  The Emperor no longer trusted eunuch Cheng Yuanzhen and appointed eunuch Yu Chao’en and a special contingent of Shence Guard soldiers to protect him and his family.

  The entire palace descended into chaos.

  After the Emperor departed, the Deng Tian Men also vanished.

  But they were surprised by the appearance of soldiers who slaughtered all followers of Deng Tian Men without trial.

  Moreover, news of the Deng Tian Men’s palace robbery reached the ears of General Hun Jian.

  The cup overflowed!

  A sect ruled by monsters, which also robbed the palace!

  Han Sen was specifically tasked with confronting the Elders and leaders of Deng Tian Men.

  But they did not appear.

  The youth was merely ordered to wait until the criminals were found.

  General Hun Jian placed his hope solely on Han Sen.

  But the following day, they received even graver news.

  All soldiers were recalled. Placed on alert.

  The Tubo army was nearing Chang’an.

  The end drew near.

  The city—once the heart of the realm—now stood wounded, betrayed from within, and soon to be trampled by horsemen from the west.

  The dragon waited in silence.

  The phoenix flew south.

  And the storm broke.