Harvest of Derision

The morning mist hung heavy over the outer court, blurring the edges of the grand timber dining pavilion. Inside, the long tables were crowded with disciples wolfing down bowls of plain rice and spiritual broth before their morning duties. Voices overlapped in a chaotic roar of boastful laughter and clinking porcelain bowls. Lin Feng stepped through the wide cedar doors, his worn grey robes standing out sharply against the fine silks worn by the favored disciples.

He walked with slow, deliberate steps down the central aisle, his gaze fixed on the corner table where the senior bullies always gathered. Every eye in the room seemed to slide over him with casual contempt, used as they were to seeing him scurry along the walls. Lin Feng did not scurry today; he kept his spine straight and his breathing measured. The hum of qi within his dantian pulsed warmly, a silent reminder of the power waiting to be unlocked. He was here to collect, and the harvest would be bountiful.

At the corner table sat Zhao Wu, a burly senior disciple known for his violent temper and heavy fists. Zhao Wu was currently balancing a delicate porcelain cup of spiced tea between thick, calloused fingers while bragging about his recent breakthrough. Lin Feng altered his trajectory slightly, stepping directly into the path of the senior disciple's outstretched boot. With a feigned clumsiness, his shoulder clipped the edge of the low table, sending the steaming tea flying into the air.

The dark amber liquid splashed directly across the front of Zhao Wu's expensive embroidered tunic, staining the pale fabric instantly. A stunned silence fell over the immediate vicinity of the table as the disciples stopped chewing. Zhao Wu stared down at his ruined tunic, his face flushing a mottled, furious red. The porcelain cup shattered on the stone floor with a sharp crack that echoed in the quietening hall. Slowly, the senior disciple raised his gaze to lock onto Lin Feng's deceptively mild expression.

You blind, worthless piece of garbage! Zhao Wu bellowed, slamming both palms down onto the heavy wooden table so hard the bowls rattled. Lin Feng offered a polite, apologetic bow, his expression a mask of feigned humility. That only seemed to pour oil on the roaring fire of the senior disciple's rage. You think because the tournament is tomorrow you can just stumble around like a blind dog? I am going to peel the skin from your bones right here in the hall!

Around them, the other disciples erupted into jeers and mocking laughter, delighted by the impending violence. Look at the pathetic trash trembling in his boots, someone shouted from the neighboring table. He probably spent his entire month's spirit stones just to buy those rags he is wearing, another sneered. Trash like him belongs in the manure pits, not the dining hall. Lin Feng absorbed every single word, letting the malice wash over him like cool water on a scorching day.

Within the hidden depths of his core, the mysterious voice resonated with a deep, satisfying hum. The insults transformed instantly into dense, shimmering wisps of pure cultivation qi that flooded his meridians. The sheer volume of the hostile energy was staggering, threatening to burst his narrow channels from the inside out. Lin Feng bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste copper, forcing his breathing to remain steady beneath the onslaught. He bowed lower still, whispering an internal thank you to every hateful voice in the room.

You deaf, useless rat! Zhao Wu roared, standing up and drawing his heavy iron-hilted broadsword half an inch from its scabbard. Kneel and lick my boots clean right now, or I will cripple your arms before the sun reaches its zenith! The surrounding disciples pressed in closer, eager to watch the humiliation reach its climax. Lin Feng raised his head, his dark eyes flashing with a sudden, razor-sharp light that made the senior disciple pause for a fraction of a second. The trap was sprung, and his dantian was burning with unprecedented strength.

I apologize for my clumsiness, Senior Brother Zhao, Lin Feng said softly, his voice carrying clearly across the silent pavilion. Perhaps a sparring match tomorrow on the grand stage will allow me to make it up to you. With that, he turned on his heel and walked calmly toward the exit, leaving a bewildered and apoplectic Zhao Wu shouting threats at his back. The heavy door swung shut behind him, cutting off the renewed roar of the hall as Lin Feng stepped out into the bright mountain air.

Away from the noise of the pavilion, Lin Feng ducked into a secluded stone alcove behind the outer court pillars. The massive influx of redirected qi was now raging inside him like a trapped storm spirit. His veins bulged against his skin, glowing faintly beneath the patched grey fabric of his sleeves with an intense azure light. He crossed his legs and dropped directly into the lotus position on the cold stone floor, closing his eyes to fight the torrent. If he could not channel this excess energy before the morning trials began, his meridians would shatter permanently.

The sheer density of the power made his head spin, threatening to tear his consciousness apart from the inside. He visualized the core at his center, picturing it as a massive millstone grinding down the chaotic energy into manageable streams. Every insult from the dining hall echoed in his memory, replaying like thunderous drumbeats that fueled his internal circulation. He guided the glowing torrent along the ancient pathways of his body, forcing the wild qi to obey his unshakeable will. Sweat poured down his face, dripping off his chin to sizzle faintly as it touched the superheated ground.

A sharp, tearing pain ripped through his left shoulder as a particularly stubborn pocket of hostile qi resisted his control. Lin Feng gritted his teeth, swallowing a groan of agony as he drove his spiritual awareness deeper into the blockage. He remembered Mo Tian's sneering face from the plaza, remembering every promise of public mutilation and disgrace. That lingering malice acted as a secondary anchor, hardening his resolve into something resembling forged steel. With a silent mental roar, he shattered the final bottleneck in his upper meridian channel.

A shockwave of spiritual pressure rippled outward from his seated form, cracking the flagstones beneath him in a spiderweb pattern. The blinding azure glow around his skin flared brilliantly before sinking back down into the pores of his body. Lin Feng exhaled a long, steady breath that sounded like the hiss of a massive serpent. The air around him shimmered with residual heat, dispersing the drifting mountain mist for several yards in every direction. He opened his eyes, and the deep black of his pupils now held a faint, terrifying edge of crystalline blue.