13. Heavens, Please Nerf the Kitchen Girl

I hold the physical assessment in the tomb.

Test 1: Lifting Strength

I find a large stone near the tomb entrance—maybe two hundred pounds, awkwardly shaped. A normal Qi Condensation cultivator in their first week would struggle to lift it. Their arms would shake, their back would strain, and they’d probably need both hands and a lot of grunting. A strong one might manage it with visible effort.

“Lift this.”

Ling’er looks at the stone. Looks at me. Then crouches, grips the rough surface with one small hand, and lifts it over her head. One hand. Without visible strain. She holds it there, steady as a statue, her expression curious rather than strained. Just like how I could, back in that clearing when I first tested this body’s limits.

“Put it down. Now that one.”

I point to a larger stone; five hundred pounds, shaped from the tunnel excavation, dragged here earlier specifically for this test. I had to use qi to move it. She approaches it, circles it once, then crouches. Her hands find grips on the uneven surface. She lifts. The stone rises to her chest. She grunts slightly—the first sign of actual effort. Then she presses it overhead, arms extending fully. Holds it for ten seconds. Sets it down carefully, making sure it doesn’t crack the stone floor.

“Ling’er. That’s five hundred pounds.”

She looks at her hands, turning them over, flexing fingers that show no redness, no strain, no damage. “It felt… heavy? But not that heavy. Like my body just… did it. Like it knew how.”

Lifting Strength Assessment: 500+ lbs (equivalent to Qi Condensation 5th Stage)

Test 2: Striking Power

I set up a large flat stone against the wall—three inches thick, solid granite, the kind of rock that’s been part of this mountain for millions of years. A normal Qi Condensation 1st Stage cultivator might crack it with a full-power punch, if they hit exactly right and didn’t break their hand in the process.

“Hit this. As hard as you can.”

She draws back a small fist, impossibly small for the power I suspect it holds, and punches. The stone explodes. Chips fly everywhere, stinging my face. A spiderweb of cracks radiates from the impact point. Her fist passes clean through, embedding itself in the softer rock behind, up to her wrist. She pulls her hand out slowly, flexes fingers. No blood. No bruises. No scratches. Just a faint golden sheen on her knuckles that fades as I watch, sinking back into her skin like it was never there. I look upward to the ceiling, as though staring at a camera that narrates the comedy my life’s become.

She’s like a bugged character in a game. The kind you pray the developers don’t realize is secretly broken. The kind that lets you crush content that should be impossible. The kind that makes the game boring for everyone else but absolutely glorious for you.

Striking Power Assessment: Can destroy 3″ granite (equivalent to Qi Condensation 7th Stage)

Test 3: Speed

I mark a distance on the floor—fifty feet, end to end, from one wall of the chamber to the other.

“Run to the wall and back. Fast as you can.”

She nods, settles into a starting stance, and runs. I’ve trained for decades—in this body’s memories, at least. I’ve seen speed. I’ve seen Qi Condensation disciples push themselves to their limits, watched Foundation Establishment cultivators blur across training yards. I know what fast looks like. This is something else.

She’s a blur. A streak of motion that crosses the distance in less than two seconds, touches the wall with one hand, and blurs back to her starting point before I can fully process what I’ve seen. When she stops, she’s not even breathing hard. Not a single extra breath.

Speed Assessment: 50 ft in 1.8 seconds (equivalent to Qi Condensation 8th Stage)

Test 4: Sparring

I draw my flying sword: Autumn Leaf, plain and reliable, the blade that’s been in my sect for generations. Its fall-colored gleam catches the faint light of the chamber. Ling’er looks at it, then at me, uncertain. Her hands clench and unclench at her sides.

“Fight me. No weapons for you yet, just your body. Don’t hold back. I need to see what you can do.”

She hesitates. “Sect Leader, I don’t want to hurt—”

“You won’t.” I keep my voice firm, confident. “I’m Foundation Establishment. You’re Qi Condensation 1st Stage. The gap is enormous. Now attack me.”

She hesitates for one more heartbeat. Then something shifts in her eyes. A focus, an intensity that wasn’t there before. The kitchen girl fades. The fighter emerges. She attacks. And she’s fast. Faster than I expected. Her first punch aims for my center; I deflect it easily with my forearm, but the force surprises me. More than it should. More than any Qi Condensation 1st has a right to generate.

She recovers instantly, spinning into a kick that I barely block. Then another punch, then another, a flurry of strikes that would overwhelm any normal Qi Condensation disciple. Each one precise. Each one aimed at something vital. I use qi to enhance my speed, matching her. Foundation Establishment against Qi Condensation. The gap should be insurmountable. For a few seconds, it is. We exchange blows. Her fists against my forearms, her kicks against my blocks. I’m holding her off, but I’m trying. This isn’t casual anymore.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Then she adapts.

Her stance shifts into something I don’t recognize. Something she’s created herself, in the heat of combat, based on instincts she shouldn’t have. Suddenly her attacks are smarter. Feints. Angles. Exploiting openings I didn’t know I had. She’s reading me, anticipating my blocks, adjusting mid-strike. I’m actually trying now. Foundation Establishment speed. Foundation Establishment strength. And she’s keeping up. Then she pauses, mid-motion, and her eyes go gold.

“Ling’er—”

She moves. I don’t even see it.

One moment she’s five feet away, fist drawn back. The next, her fist is an inch from my face, stopped just short by sheer will. The wind from the punch ruffles my hair. Her eyes are gold, vertical pupils dilated, fixed on me with an intensity that makes my Foundation Establishment heart stutter.

If she’d wanted to hit me, she would have.

I stare at her. She stares back, gold fading to brown, confusion replacing focus. Her fist lowers slowly.

“Did I… did I do something wrong?”

I sheathe my sword. My hands are steady. My face is calm. Inside, my mind is reeling.