With every finding he made, Yang Qing would pause to test it through the execution of the various spells and techniques within the Brilliant Ray Fist Art. His training ground was only a dozen steps away from where Bolin and the rest were ditating.
Despite the close proximity, Yang Qing wasn’t worried about disturbing them. In fact, it motivated him all the more to train there. Given the sensitive state they were in—one that needed guarding against all manner of disruptions—training so close while ensuring he didn’t affect them was the perfect thod to refine his control over his abilities.
His punch could shatter a dozen mountains and leave a mountain-sized crater in his wake. But could he use that sa strength to shatter a single leaf without disturbing anything else?
The greatest mark of an expert wasn’t soone who could simply exert imnse power, but soone with the finest control over it to the point that even a casual movent could erupt with their full force—or they could unleash that sa force and leave no trace of it, even to soone standing right beside them.
Hiding the extraordinary in the mundane, and the mundane in the extraordinary.
The finer one’s control over their abilities was, the more varied and powerful they beca. This was what made true assassins so dangerous. They could unleash sothing as thin and unassuming as a single strand of hair, yet that strand could carry the entirety of their strength. When it struck, despite the power it contained, its impact would feel no greater than a calm, gentle breeze.
That was what made them fearso. Their danger was born from refining and endlessly refining their control over every ability they possessed. And that refinent was born from practice.. Repetition.. Reflection.. Repetition. Analyzing, integrating, and repeating again. Putting lessons into practice, reviewing the results, integrating what was learned, and then practicing it again over and over until it becos ingrained. Testing it against the world, returning to reflection, retraining, and repeating without end.
It was a continuous grind of experience, reflection, testing, and repetition—the very sa process Yang Qing had been trained to follow at the Institute. He executed the moves of the Brilliant Ray Fist Art, then paused to analyze his movents, replaying each change he felt as he perford them and comparing it to the expected results he hoped to achieve from the insights he had fed into the art.
He repeated the process again and again—pausing, reflecting, adjusting, testing. Whenever new ideas arose from reflection or flaws revealed themselves, he would execute the art once more with the changes applied. Sotis he moved quickly, other tis slowly, but regardless of speed, he poured his full strength into every motion.
Yet not a single gust of wind was created from the force.
Nothing in his environnt was disturbed. The soil and grass lay untouched, the air unshaken, even the dew clinging to the leaves refused to fall. If any drops slipped loose, it was not because of Yang Qing.
His body blurred into golden light, moving so fast that even a first-stage Palace Realm expert would struggle to catch him with their eyes or spiritual sense. Yet despite the speed and the force behind his every strike, the surroundings remained unscathed. Grass and shrubs swayed only to the soft breeze, and leaves rustled with a soothing, gentle calm. The grove’s beauty stayed serene, as though unaware that destruction itself was passing through it.
Only when Yang Qing paused did his figure reappear, as if stepping out of nothingness. On his ninety-eighth pause, his skin glowed with a vigorous flush, waves of heat rising like steam from a simring cauldron. The heat clung tightly to him, bound within a hair’s breadth of his body; any further, and the surrounding air would have turned into a blazing inferno. It was no exaggeration to say the heat radiating from him at that mont could have reduced everything within five hundred ters to ash—including Bolin, Haishi, and Wenling.
The training and his movents had just been that intense. It was to the point that even a faint outline of glimring sweat had ford at the lining of his hair where it t his forehead, sothing scarcely imaginable on the body of a palace realm expert.
His muscles were roaring, and his essence, spirit, and qi were radiating the vitality of a blazing furnace—which, in truth, was exactly what was happening inside his body. The powers of his Grand Dao, his insights, his experience, his soul, essence, and qi were continuously being fused together, refined, and purified, with the impurities filtered out and the needed parts distilled into one essence.
This process was driven by his relentless cycle: execution, reflection, adjustnt, and execution again—repetition after repetition, reflection upon reflection, all while unleashing his full force and containing it to cause as little disturbance as possible.
Doing all of this at once placed trendous strain on his body, soul, and spirit. Yet with every cycle of training he completed, and with the warmth of his qi steadily rising, Yang Qing’s heart raced wildly with exhilaration as he keenly felt the transformations and changes taking place in his body, soul, and spirit.
If he were asked whether he was surprised to have reached the fourth stage of the Palace Realm this quickly, given that it had only taken him a little over two years to move from the first stage to the fourth, his answer would be no. No, he wasn’t surprised at all that he had reached this stage in the ti it had taken.
It wasn’t him being proud or anything, but given all he had experienced and everything he possessed, it would be a cri not to have reached the fourth stage by now.
He had his natural talent, which leaned toward the monstrously genius. He had his peerless jade physique, which was a rarity among rarities, whose deeper secrets he had inadvertently uncovered when he nearly died. That brush with death had granted him an even more intimate understanding of his body, which in no small part was one of the reasons for his shortened breakthrough ti fra.
Not only that, when it ca to training and refining his control over his abilities, his yin-yang peerless jade nature bones made the process smoother, as it inherently excelled in achieving balance. Then there was his purple-grade art—Purple-grade arts were purple-grade arts for a reason: the insights they granted, the transformations they brought, were imasurable.
There was also his self-created art which had recently evolved into a middle-tier blue-grade art. Its evolution had brought him countless harvests as its creator.
There was also the Dao discourse he had with two—not just one, but two—extrely seasoned and talented domain experts, whose very forte lay in deciphering the mysteries of cultivation arts and techniques. And not only that, those experts were mbers of a sect with an ancient legacy, one rumored to have ties to a long-lost holy land.
And on top of all this, there were the life experiences he had gathered and the realizations that had tempered his heart and mind during that ti. With all of that together, how could he not have reached the fourth stage of the Palace Realm in just two years?
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