The secluded clearing by the hot stream had become a testing ground.
For over an hour, the air cracked with explosive bursts of compressed power. Yoriichi moved through the dense pine forest, no longer limited by the mortal constraints of mere flesh and blood. Every step he took was fueled by the rapidly revolving, gaseous cyclone sitting perfectly within his Dantian.
He bent his knees, his breathing falling into the steady, rhythmic cadence of Total Concentration Breathing. He channeled a fraction of his newly formed Dou Qi into his legs.
"Shadowless Sun Tread."
Whoosh.
He didn't just run; he displaced the air. He reappeared ten meters away in a breath's time, leaving behind only a faint, swirling gust of wind that rustled the pine needles. The speed was intoxicating.
It was no longer just the mechanical perfection of his muscles; it was the raw, explosive propulsion of Dou Qi amplifying his physical limits tenfold. However, even after using the movement technique just briefly, he felt like his Dou Qi had almost drained, leaving a noticeable emptiness in his lower abdomen.
He stopped in front of a massive, moss-covered boulder the size of a carriage.
He drew his right arm back. He didn't rely purely on his kinetic chain this time. He commanded the cyclone in his Dantian to surge, funneling a dense stream of milky-white energy through his widened meridians, coating his knuckles in a faint, glowing aura.
BOOM!
The Iron Fist connected. The sound was like a cannon firing.
The boulder didn't just crack; it violently detonated. Shards of stone and clouds of pulverized dust exploded outward, raining down into the hot stream. When the dust settled, Yoriichi stood calmly, lowering his completely uninjured fist.
"The efficiency of energy transfer is absolute," Yoriichi murmured, his crimson eyes analyzing his own hand. "At the Dou Disciple stage, my power leaked into the air. Now, the cyclone binds the force perfectly."
But perfection came with a heavy toll. After using the Iron Fist and channeling his Dou Qi into the cyclone in his Dantian stuttered. Its rotation slowed to a crawl, the concentration of Dou Qi now mostly, and completely, exhausted.
A sudden, sharp throb bloomed behind his eyes—a little headache from overdrawing his energy so quickly. He closed his eyes for few seconds second, his willpower managing the discomfort. He sighed quietly. "The attack power and speed have increased exponentially," he thought, rubbing his temple, "but my reserves are still incredibly low."
A sudden splash broke his concentration.
He turned his head. The Rank 1 Iron-Scaled River Python, which had been hiding at the bottom of the stream in terror since his breakthrough, had accidentally surfaced in its panic from the exploding boulder.
Yoriichi's eyes locked onto the magical beast.
He stepped forward and then appeared at the edge of the water. He crouched, his gaze piercing through the sulfurous mist, carrying the heavy, apex-predator pressure of a true Dou Zhe.
The python froze. Its primal instincts screamed. It felt the condensed energy rolling off the human—an energy that felt terrifyingly like the sun itself. The beast, possessing the basic intelligence of a Rank 1 creature, realized it couldn't outrun him, nor could its iron scales survive a punch that had just vaporized a boulder.
Slowly, the massive snake lowered its triangular head, pressing its snout flat against the muddy bank. It coiled its body tightly, trembling, effectively bowing in absolute submission.
Yoriichi watched the creature. He felt no malice from it, only pure, unfiltered fear.
"Go," Yoriichi said, his voice calm, withdrawing his oppressive aura. "And do not hunt near humans again."
The python didn't need to be told twice. The moment the pressure lifted, it uncoiled like a released spring, darting frantically down the river, silently swearing to its ancestors that it would rather starve than ever swim near this stretch of the woods again.
Yoriichi stood up, brushing the stone dust from his dark training robes. He looked up at the sky. The sun had crossed its zenith; it was mid-afternoon.
His mind shifted from combat to the rigid logistics of his new reality.
"I am a Dou Zhe now," he thought.
In the Dou Qi Continent, the Dou Zhi Qi stage was merely an initiation—a test to see if a body was fit to hold power. But breaking through to Dou Zhe changed everything. A Dou Zhe was officially recognized as a true cultivator, a legitimate asset, and a fighter for the clan.
With this rank came strict clan laws. He was required to report his breakthrough to the Patriarch. In return, the clan would grant him the foundation of all true cultivation: access to the Dou Ji Pavilion to select a Qi Method.
Right now, his cyclone was attribute-less. To forge his Sun Blade and unleash his true flames, he needed a Sun like attribute like a Flame one Qi Method to convert his milky-white energy.
He began his swift walk back to the estate, his steps light and silent.
Upon reaching his private courtyard, he found the atmosphere quiet. A small piece of parchment was pinned to the main wooden pillar of the veranda.
"Idiot brother, I have gone to the northern training grounds to instruct the younger branch disciples. There is food under the cover. Don't go back to the forge today. — Yu."
Yoriichi read the note, a faint smile touching his lips. He took the note down and walked inside.
He did not immediately head to the Clan Hall. He was a samurai at his core, and a samurai understood the profound importance of protocol and respect. He was about to present himself before Clan Leader Xiao Zhan—a Da Dou Shi powerhouse and the ruler of their family.
Arriving covered in sweat, stone dust, and the dark, foul-smelling impurities his body had expelled during his breakthrough would be an arrogant insult to the hierarchy.
He drew a fresh bath. He scrubbed away the grime, the ash of the forge, and the sticky residue of his cleansed meridians.
Opening his heavy wooden wardrobe, he bypassed his dark, soot-stained training gear. Reaching into the back, he pulled out the official attire designated for the main family members of the Xiao Clan. It was a pristine, light cyan robe.
The fabric was of high quality—woven with faint, elegant silver cloud patterns along the cuffs and collar—but it was not overly opulent. It struck the perfect balance; it wasn't the gaudy, expensive silk favored by the arrogant Jia Lie clan, nor was it poor. It represented the dignified, martial foundation of the Xiao family.
Yoriichi slipped his arms into the wide sleeves and secured the waist with a dark, woven sash. He ran a hand through his damp, dark hair, tying it back securely so that not a single strand fell out of place.
He glanced at the wooden table where his previously forged Peak Tier 1 Sword rested. For a brief second, his hand hovered over the hilt, but he withdrew it. Bringing a drawn weapon into the Grand Assembly Hall without being summoned for combat was a severe breach of clan etiquette. Today was about formal recognition, not a challenge. He left the blade behind.
Standing before the bronze mirror, he inspected his reflection. The young man's features were sharp, his posture flawlessly straight, and his dark eyes were as calm and unreadable as a deep, still lake.