It began with a question over breakfast.
Jian munched on peanut butter toast while scrolling through short videos of cultivators swinging fake swords in parks. His phone, propped up by a soy sauce bottle, buzzed every few minutes with Sheng Tai's disapproval.
"Your mind grows dull watching these pose-dancing impostors."
"They've got 30k followers."
"So does a goat account that screams at clouds."
"…Okay, fair."
He paused on a short clip of someone claiming to "see Qi" using a third-eye filter.
Jian snorted. "These apps are all fake."
"Then make them real."
He blinked. "What?"
"Use your tool. Guide your intent. Create the means to see."
"You want me to hack enlightenment into my phone?"
"No. But you want to. And that… is enough."
⸻
Jian downloaded a filter app he'd used for ghost photos during Halloween.
He tweaked the settings. Cranked up "aura glow," added color mapping, and maxed out "biometric detection" even though he had no clue what that meant.
Then he pointed the camera at a houseplant.
Nothing happened.
He frowned.
"You must not merely look. You must perceive."
"Yeah, okay, Yoda."
"Project your breath into the lens. Let the phone extend your senses."
"…This is how cults start."
Still, he tried it.
Focused his breath. His awareness. His intent.
Then tapped record.
For one flickering second… the edge of the plant glowed.
A faint green shimmer, like dew catching light.
"There. The flow reveals itself."
He nearly dropped the phone.
⸻
He ran outside with the phone.
Downstairs, Mrs. Liu's cat sat sunbathing on the concrete steps — a fat orange loaf with judgmental eyes.
Jian aimed the camera.
The screen blinked.
The cat… glowed.
Not faintly.
Not subtly.
But in brilliant golden threads, like it was an ascended feline immortal on sabbatical.
Jian stared, slack-jawed. "He's… cultivating?"
"He is aware. That is enough."
"It's a cat."
"And yet… he has more spiritual clarity than you."
"…I can't beat a cat at cultivation, Grandpa."
"You're also losing to a rice cooker in terms of refinement speed."
The cat meowed softly and blinked.
Jian quietly backed away.
⸻
Back inside, Jian went full urban cultivator-scientist.
He tested the filter on:
• His own reflection (dim red-orange glow — "Qi unstable," Grandpa muttered)
• A spoon (no glow — "Lifeless metal")
• His alchemy notebook (faint silver hue — "Intention-infused")
• The Bluetooth earbud (sparks of residual Qi — "Wireless pathways awakened!")
The weirdest moment was when he pointed it at a half-drunk bottle of milk tea.
It flickered pink, then yellow, then blue.
"That drink has been blessed. Or cursed."
"I think it expired."
"Same thing."
⸻
Later that afternoon, Jian sat surrounded by sticky notes, trying to diagram aura colors like a biology student with conspiracy board energy.
"Is green always plant Qi?"
"Why did the cat glow gold?"
"Why do I only flicker red when I'm calm?!"
Sheng Tai floated nearby, amused.
"You are dissecting the Dao like it's a frog."
"I'm mapping it!"
"The Dao cannot be mapped. Only experienced."
"Then how do I level up?"
"Stop trying to turn enlightenment into homework."
He sighed.
But deep down… he agreed.
Maybe just looking wasn't enough.
Maybe he had to learn to feel.
⸻
That night, he tried something different.
No filter. No screen.
He sat in bed, held the phone in both hands, and breathed.
Imagined his own glow. Not seen — but sensed.
He let his mind drift toward the cat, the plant, the spoon, the steam rising from his noodles.
Let it all blur.
For a moment… he felt a pulse.
Soft, but there.
Like the world was a blanket — and he'd just tugged one thread.