“This won’t do. My state’s knackered,” Lin Yun shook his head.
Five years grinding in One Thought Clarity Tower with no breakthrough had dented his confidence. Now, the more he trained, the messier his head got—constant self-doubt piling up!
He tried pushing on, day and night, non-stop. But his state just tanked further!
That moment, Lin Yun clocked it— persistence is gold. But in this rut, forcing it would be pointless!
“Can’t keep going like this,” Lin Yun shook his head, halting practice.
“Let’s pause a few days.”
Decision made, he exited One Thought Clarity Tower.
Seven and a half years of slog with no clue—keeping at it was just torture and a time sink.
“Two years since I joined Emperor Fire Cloud, and cracking the third form in one more year? Slim chance,” Lin Yun mused.
He’d trained it himself—he knew third form’s beastly difficulty! If mastered, the power’d be unreal! But the learning curve—steep as hell.
Next, Lin Yun pushed open his door, stepped into the courtyard.
Liang Yuan’s daughter, Liang Qing, strolled in from outside.
“Brother Lin Yun!” Seeing him, she flashed a grin and waved.
“Brother Lin Yun, catching you’s rare. Last time was a year back, right?” Her smile held.
She was gobsmacked inside—Lin Yun’s shut-in grind blew her mind. Living here, she’d seen it up close!
“Been ages since I stepped out, so I’m stretching my legs. Liang Qing, why aren’t you training at Mindforce Land or somewhere?” Lin Yun asked.
“Just got back from Mindforce Land,” she replied.
“Fair enough. No one’s giving you grief here, yeah?” Lin Yun checked.
“Nope. Don’t worry, Brother Lin Yun. Peach Sis, the camp boss, looks out for me,” she said, smiling.
“Good to know. Anything comes up, tell me. Since Brother Liang entrusted you to me, I’ve got your back,” Lin Yun said firmly.
He knew Peach Sis was tough—proper strict with most camp folk. But with him? All warmth—simple reason: Emperor Fire Cloud’s disciple.
Then, Lin Yun pulled out a massive stone block.
“Phew…”
He took a deep breath, blanked his mind, and started carving.
Carving—Lin Yun’s side gig. After ages failing at swordplay, it’s his unwind, a way off the dead-end track.
As he sculpted, Liang Qing nearby gawked—his technique was weird!
She stopped, glued to the show.
Twenty minutes later, a stunning, lifelike statue stood before her.
“Blimey… this… this… it’s gorgeous—like it’s got a soul!” Liang Qing gasped, hand over mouth.
“Brother Lin Yun, your carving skills are unreal. This is pure art!”
Her look shifted—she’d pegged him as a training freak. Now, his artistic chops floored her.
“Carving’s training too,” Lin Yun smiled.
Liang Qing blinked. To her, carving was art—what’s it got to do with training?
“Brother Lin Yun, who’s this lass you carved? Your partner? She’s stunning!” she asked.
“She’s Mo Qing, my senior sister,” Lin Yun said.
“Jealous of her—getting carved by you,” Liang Qing’s eyes sparkled.
“Liang Qing, don’t slack on training. I’m heading back in,” Lin Yun said.
That urgency—to nail Shadow Sword Art’s third form—still gnawed at him, no time to chill.
He turned, went back inside, hit One Thought Clarity Tower again—back to grinding, pondering form three.
…
Time zipped—six months outside flew by.
In One Thought Clarity Tower, Lin Yun’d clocked two and a half years.
Inside, “Why?! Why can’t I crack it?!” Lin Yun roared, soaked in sweat.
Two and a half years—he knew how mad he’d gone training, wrestling with Shadow Sword Art. Still no dice.
His sword skills had climbed, sure—but third form? Elusive as ever.
His plan—master it in three years post-apprenticeship, then see Master. That string stayed taut, driving him relentless—full-tilt training! Even breaks—he kept short.
“Three-year mark’s down to six months!” Lin Yun’s sweat-streaked face paled.
Six months—massive pressure! That invisible mental weight choked him.
All he could do—train like a madman!
“Keep going!”
He drew his sword, swung again.
Simple plan now—last six months, all-out shot. In the Tower, that’s over two years still.
…
Days ticked by—sword drills, pondering—never stopped!
In One Thought Clarity Tower, that young figure swung on, relentless! Day after day.
Six months hit fast.
Inside, Lin Yun stopped, limp—slumped to the floor.
“Another two and a half years—six months outside—three years up,” Lin Yun’s pale face flickered with despair, helplessness.
He’d given everything.
“My talent’s not that freaky after all!” Lin Yun felt weak.
His journey—not talent-driven—pure graft, desperation. Decent gifts, yeah—but not top-tier prodigy stuff.
Three years for Shadow Sword Art? That’s elite freak territory—Lin Yun couldn’t cut it.
Three years gone, a sudden relief washed over him.
Beyond some gloom, that must-hit-three-years urgency and pressure—poof, gone.
Oddly, it left him lighter.
Three years passed, no dice—failed. What’s left to sweat?
