The sun hadn't yet risen.
Wei Ran stepped quietly past the crooked front gate, careful not to wake his parents. The village still slept, wrapped in mist and silence. His footsteps made no sound on the packed earth road.
Behind a window, a curtain moved.
His mother stood there, watching.
She didn't call out.
Didn't open the door.
But her eyes followed him until he vanished past the trees.
The hill behind the village wasn't high, but the wind made it feel like a mountain. Grass swayed in waves. Birds had yet to sing.
Wei Ran sat cross-legged, the scroll from Old Zhen unrolled in front of him.
Qi Movement Technique – Step, Palm, Fist Foundational training for Rootless cultivators. Estimated time to achieve stable execution: two weeks of daily practice. Most fail within three days.
He stared at the words.
Two weeks?
His hand curled around the edge of the parchment.
He closed his eyes.
Tried to feel the Qi again.
He breathed in. Slowly.
Felt nothing.
Again. And again.
Each breath slower than the last. Each heartbeat louder.
Still… nothing.
And then the memories came.
Her laughter. Her birthday. The small smile she gave him as they dragged her away.
His fingers clenched around the parchment.
"Ugh—"
He opened his eyes with a growl. "How am I supposed to focus like this?"
The wind rustled through the grass, brushing against his shoulder like a whisper.
When you don't know the path…
Wei Ran blinked.
That voice again. The one that brought him here.
…the answer lies in silence.
He scoffed.
"It's silent. I'm alone. Still not working."
Then softer, almost ashamed to admit it:
"Maybe… it's not about the silence around me."
He pressed a hand to his chest.
"Maybe it's in here."
He closed his eyes again. But this time, he didn't try to reach the Qi.
He let go.
Of the fear. Of the pain. Of the noise inside his own mind.
He let the thoughts drift. Not disappear, but settle.
Like dust after a storm.
And in that quiet—
A flicker.
A warmth just behind his navel.
His Dantian.
Real. Present. Waiting.
The Qi around him wasn't fire or thunder—it was mist. Patient. Everywhere.
And now, finally, it responded.
He inhaled.
And the Qi stayed.
Not all of it. But enough. A thread of warmth, pulled into him. And unlike before, it didn't vanish. It refined as it entered.
A single breath.
Then another.
Slowly—his Dantian began to fill.
Just a drop.
But a true one.
Wei Ran's lips curled into the faintest smile.
The scroll said two weeks… Let's see about that.
The sun crept past the edge of the hill, casting long gold lines through the grass. The wind shifted slightly—warmer now.
Wei Ran's breathing slowed. Deeper. Calmer.
His thoughts drifted to structure.
Qi wasn't a thing to hoard. It moved in patterns. Shapes.
Even now, as it flowed into him, he could feel the edge of something forming. Not power—potential.
He opened his eyes, glancing down at the scroll again.
Qi Step.
Simple in theory. Direct Qi to the soles. Use it to shift momentum—lighten the body, increase speed.
He stood.
Pushed Qi down through his legs.
Moved.
Nothing happened.
Again.
Still nothing.
He drew more Qi this time, felt the subtle pulse. Balanced his center.
Then—
He stepped.
And something shifted.
A flicker of motion. Just enough that his foot landed half a second earlier than expected.
Barely noticeable—but it was there.
Not grace. Not power. But direction.
Progress.
His pulse quickened.
He tried again.
And again.
One hour passed.
Then two.
By the fifth attempt, the step felt easier. On the eighth, it moved him further than expected. Too far—he lost balance and fell into the grass.
The world tilted.
He lay there for a moment, blinking at the sky.
Then laughed.
Not bitter. Just… relieved.
He sat up, wiping his robes.
Qi Step. Functional, but still shaky.
Back to the scroll.
Next: Qi Fist. Channel Qi through the arm and compress it forward—release through the knuckles. The description seemed easy enough.
But techniques weren't just diagrams. They had to feel right.
He inhaled. Drew the Qi to his chest.
Guided it toward the shoulder.
Struck forward.
Qi sputtered and rebounded, snapping back into his wrist.
Pain bloomed up his arm.
He hissed through his teeth.
"Too much. Too quick."
Again—slower this time.
He pictured the Qi flowing like a tide, not a flame. Carried through the bone, then out.
His hand opened slightly. Not a punch—just a release point.
And—
Pulse.
The grass ahead trembled. Barely. But enough.
No noise. No explosion.
Just control.
He stepped back, flexing his fingers. His arm tingled, but the flow held.
Qi Fist—first form.
It wasn't powerful.
But it worked.
He sank back into a seated position, exhaustion slipping into his limbs. His Dantian felt tight—not painfully, but full. I've cultivated for two hours... but it feels like I've absorbed quarter of a day's worth. That's six hours of refined Qi already. No wonder I'm starting to feel the pressure. It's not strength. Just speed.
He could keep going. But he felt the strain.
One more breath, and he might force it.
That's the limit. For now.
He glanced at the sky. Afternoon now. A full day of training behind him.
Two techniques learned. Not mastered. But touched.
He let out a long breath, letting the last strands of Qi settle.
So this was cultivation.
Not fury.
Not speed.
But patience.
Clarity.
It was a rhythm. A discipline of spirit and breath. He wasn't stronger than anyone—not yet. But he was learning the rules. And sometimes, that was enough.
He reached into his sleeve.
Pulled out the cracked hairpin.
Let it sit in his palm a moment.
Then tucked it back beneath his robe.
"I'll need more than this to reach her," he whispered.
"But I'll get there."
He turned his gaze to the horizon, where the wind rolled across the hill like waves.