The senior let out a long breath, studying Yantian with a faint smile.
"Alright, let's not waste time—you want to know the truth behind this technique, right?"
Yantian nodded, clutching the old scroll tighter.
The senior's eyes softened, the old authority in his voice replaced by something almost casual.
"Everyone says the emperor invented this path. But that's not the whole story. He got it from someone else. Some master no one ever really knew. Later on, sure, he reached a point where he could make his own techniques, but he got… well, a bit full of himself."
He shook his head with a quiet chuckle.
"He tried to peek ahead—wanted to see the next realm before he was ready. That's when he realized the scroll was incomplete.
It only covered six chapters. The rest? The original master kept them close."
He paused, a shadow flickering across his face. "Still, the emperor worked hard.
He mastered what he could, even managed to create a copy of the seventh chapter, though it wasn't quite the real thing."
His gaze dropped, voice growing distant. All around, the peonies wilted, petals darkening—then, just as suddenly, they flourished again.
"Ah… what's the use in dwelling on the past? Just an old ghost with too many memories."
He handed the scroll over, nodding for Yantian to sit.
"Go on, open it. Take your time. I'll help you get started on the star path before you go."
Yantian set the scroll down, settling cross-legged as the senior joined him.
He moved to unseal it, but before he could even speak the technique's name, a sudden seal clamped his mouth shut.
His eyes widened in panic—he shot the senior a look for help. The old man just burst out laughing, doubling over until his shoulders shook.
After a moment, the senior waved his hand and released the seal. "Sorry! Old habits die hard, I guess. You should've seen your face."
He wiped a tear from his eye, still grinning.
"Seriously, though—my apologies. I sometimes forget other people don't expect these little tricks."
Yantian felt his cheeks flush. "It's… fine. No harm done."
"Not many would take that so well. You're a good kid,"
the senior said with a genuine smile, settling beside him.
"Now, let's put all the stiff greetings behind us. Just talk to me—how much do you actually know about the star path?"
Yantian took a breath. "Only what's in the records, really. Says the emperor created it during the era of silent graves. People believe it's the first martial path."
The senior nodded, and with a small flick of his fingers, he manifested two cups out of spiritual qi.
Each cup filled itself, and a single blue leaf floated inside. He passed one to Yantian.
"That's about right, as far as the world remembers it. The emperor spent years meditating, trying to give people a way to fight those monsters out there. And for a while, it worked… until he realized there was a catch."
He glanced at Yantian over his teacup.
"Only people with the right kind of body could use the path. Turns out, he was the only one at the time. So he started looking for something everyone could use."
Yantian's eyes lit up. "The inner qi path! That's when he made it, right?"
"Exactly," the senior said, a note of pride in his voice.
"When he finished it, he taught it to his parents and the human emperor. Within a hundred years, martial masters started popping up everywhere—took back whole cities. The world changed."
He sighed, swirling his tea.
"But you know, some people can't let go of an idea. The emperor kept working on the star path, even after everything. Disappeared chasing after it, scroll and all. But somehow, what you have now—that record—survived. Just… missing that seventh chapter."
He tapped the scroll gently.
"There are six chapters here. He called the full set the Thirteen Celestial Principles. Each one's a key to understanding the way of the stars."
He leaned in a little, voice dropping.
"Without these, even someone with your star physique couldn't start the martial path. You get shut out by the other systems, too—that's why you haven't been able to fully ascend your dantian."
He pointed to the scroll, offering a small, encouraging smile.
"Open it. The first principle's right here: the Principle of Origin. It's all about beginnings—the birth of body, soul, and star essence."
He met Yantian's eyes, his tone suddenly serious. "Now, just follow me. Close your eyes and repeat:
'Before flame, there was rhythm. Before rhythm, there was origin.'"
As Yantian echoed the words, he felt his qi stir, the ancient method activating within.
He took a slow breath, and for the first time, his qi began to respond—flowing toward the seven key points of his body.
"The breathing method says to absorb the qi, and on every third breath, turn it counterclockwise,"
the senior instructed.
"Guide the qi into your apertures. Start with the hu apertures. Each one sits in an organ, so be careful—bursting an organ leads to nasty side effects. Top to bottom: lungs for wind, stomach for earth, kidneys for water, liver for wood. Same steps for all three paths, really."
Yantian nodded, settling deeper into meditation. He could feel his core cooling, his body adjusting as his hu apertures opened one by one.
Once they were refined and cooled, he moved to the nei points—spleen for gold, heart for fire, brain for metal.
He remembered what the old man had once told him: that all his apertures were open. But that wasn't quite right.
The star physique made him compatible with the star path, able to draw in stellar qi directly, but it didn't mean the path was easy.
Every aperture, hu or nei, had to be awakened through effort—no skipping steps, even for him.
Right now, he was still in the limbo realm—a space between being a mortal and a true martial practitioner.