The mountain wind passed over the towering cloud steps of Qinglian Sect and rolled up the hem of Yuan Chen's clothes. He held the wooden sword in his hand tightly and practiced basic sword moves repeatedly in the corner of the martial arts arena. Sweat soaked through the coarse linen clothes, but the spiritual power flowing in the Dantian became more and more concentrated - this was his seventh attempt to break through the third level of Qi training after obtaining the mysterious technique.
"Look, isn't that a wild boy from a mountain village?" A sharp sneer came from behind. Three inner disciples in brocade robes stood with arms folded. Zhao Yan, the leader, played with a jade flute, his eyes full of contempt, "I heard that before your father died, he hugged a broken stone and shouted 'protect the treasure'?"
The veins in Yuan Chen's hand holding the sword popped out, and the tragic scene of the mountain village being washed with blood flashed before his eyes. In the light of the sky that night, his father stuffed the blood-stained jade pendant into his arms and told him to live. At this moment, the spiritual power in the Dantian was agitated, and the wooden sword suddenly burst out with a green light, striking directly at the bluestone at Zhao Yan's feet.
