The cave was silent except for the faint dripping of water and the slow rhythm of her breathing.
Yuyan sat cross-legged, the crimson book open before her, its soft glow painting her face in living shades of red.
The flicker of its light reflected in her eyes, making them shimmer like twin embers in the dark.
For hours she had read — tracing each glowing line, letting the words burn themselves into her mind. The book did not simply teach; it whispered. Each line pulsed faintly, alive, as though her ancestors themselves spoke through the ink.
The language within was ancient, older than her clan's recorded history. Yet the moment her fingers brushed the page, she understood. The words flowed directly into her thoughts, into her blood.
She now realized what her parents had once told her but what she had never understood — that cultivation was not just about spirit. It was body, blood, and breath — the three roots of the Xuèyàn flame.
Her ancestors had forged their legacy not by conquering the heavens, but by enduring them.
Their cultivation was born of survival — the will to burn even in the coldest darkness.
Before she could ignite her flame, her body had to be cleansed.
Her blood refined.
Her heart awakened.
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, her breath fogging faintly in the cool cave air. When she opened them again, her gaze had steadied.
"The flame cannot dwell in a vessel untempered," she murmured, recalling the book's first line.
Body Purification
She gathered what little she had — bitter herbs that clung to the mouth of the cave, coarse mountain salt scraped from the stone, and a pinch of ash from the remains of her fire. Each ingredient she handled with care, remembering how her mother once taught her the names and uses of wild roots.
She crushed them together with a smooth rock, the scent sharp and earthy, then poured them into the spring that trickled nearby. The water clouded slowly, a faint reddish hue spreading through it like diluted blood.
Without hesitation, Yuyan stepped in.
Cold at first — so cold it bit into her skin like knives. But as she sat down, the chill faded, replaced by spreading warmth that seeped deep into her bones. Then came heat. Fierce. Cleansing.
Her veins pulsed. Her skin prickled.
Sweat rolled down her body, blackened with impurities, carrying the remnants of exhaustion and fear that had rooted themselves inside her. She could feel her weakness leaving her — her trembling hands growing still, her breath sharpening.
When she finally stepped out, her legs trembled, but her body felt lighter, her senses keener. The world around her seemed sharper — every droplet's fall, every gust of wind distinct and alive.
She knelt beside the pool and caught her reflection.
Her eyes — once clouded with sorrow — now gleamed faintly with a red hue, clear and resolute.
Her mother's voice echoed softly in her memory:
"Purity is not innocence, Yuyan. It is strength reborn."
She smiled faintly. "Then I'll be strong."
Blood Refinement
Days passed.
The second stage was far harsher.
"To refine the blood, one must face its pain."
Those words from the book were etched into her thoughts, heavy as steel. Yuyan pricked her fingertip with a shard of stone. A single droplet of crimson blood welled up — faintly luminescent, shimmering with warmth. She stared at it, her heart thudding, then pressed her palms together and focused.
Her heartbeat echoed in her ears — steady at first, then faster.
The warmth within her chest deepened into heat.
Then fire.
It began as a spark behind her sternum, spreading outward like molten metal poured through her veins. She gasped, body trembling, her vision swimming red. Pain lanced through her like lightning, every pulse of blood an explosion.
But she endured.
She had to.
She clenched her teeth, breathing raggedly, forcing her will to push the blood faster through her meridians. She could feel the impurities burning away — pain transforming into heat, heat into power.
Hours passed.
Her body shook, drenched in sweat, but she refused to stop.
And then, slowly… the fire settled.
Her heartbeat steadied, deep and sure. The pain dulled into warmth — the kind that comforted rather than scorched.
The blood in her veins no longer felt thin and frail. It throbbed with energy, alive, pulsing with the faint rhythm of flame.
She exhaled shakily. A faint wisp of red vapor escaped her lips.
Her first true step into cultivation.
Sensing the World
When her strength returned, she continued.
"When the blood burns clean, sense the air between heartbeats," the text instructed.
So Yuyan sat cross-legged again, spine straight, hands resting gently over her knees. She closed her eyes and began to breathe — slow, deep, deliberate.
At first, there was only silence.
The hollow echo of her heart, the faint dripping of the cave water, the whisper of the wind outside.
But then, between one heartbeat and the next… she felt it.
A hum.
Soft and distant, like a hidden melody. The air around her shimmered faintly, carrying warmth not her own — a quiet pulse connecting everything around her.
It was the world's breath. The rhythm of heaven and earth.
Her fingers twitched. She reached out, and for a moment, something unseen brushed her skin — gentle as a spark.
Her eyes opened slightly. The air before her rippled faintly, glowing a faint crimson.
She gasped, tears welling in her eyes.
"So this is… Qi."
Her voice trembled in awe.
The book had called this moment The First Touch of Flame.
Only then did she turn to the next section. The script flared faintly, as if aware of her progress.
"Guide the flame through your veins," it said. "But never let it consume."
This was the true beginning of the Xuèyàn path.
Yuyan calmed her breath, placing her palms over her heart. She could feel her blood — hot, alive, pulsing beneath her fingertips. Slowly, she gathered that warmth and guided it upward — heart to chest, chest to arms, down to her legs, then back again.
At first, the energy rebelled.
It surged wildly, burning, unrestrained. Her vision blurred, her teeth clenched, sweat beading along her brow. Every heartbeat felt like a hammer striking her ribs.
Still she pressed on.
Her breath came steady, her mind unwavering.
Bit by bit, she coaxed the wild flame to follow her will — to flow rather than burn.
And then something shifted.
The heat softened, turning fluid, rhythmic. Her veins no longer felt aflame; they pulsed with a steady crimson glow, moving in time with her heart. The light beneath her skin flickered faintly, veins glowing like living threads of fire.
A quiet pulse echoed through her body. Then another.
She knew — instinctively — that her first vein had awakened.
Her breath shuddered. She opened her eyes.
The cave around her seemed different now.
The air shimmered faintly with warmth. Each drop of water sparkled as though reflecting hidden light. The world itself felt alive.
She looked down at her hands.
Faint red lines pulsed beneath the surface, like embers dancing under porcelain skin.
Her blood no longer felt fragile.
It felt powerful.
Alive.
The Xuèyàn flame was no longer just a legacy — it was within her now.
She exhaled slowly, watching a thin wisp of crimson mist rise from her skin, curling into the air before fading away.
The book's words whispered softly in her thoughts:
"When the blood glows, the first vein awakens."
She had done it.
Stage two vein ignition
Yuyan lowered her hands and sat quietly, feeling the warmth pulse through her body. She could still feel the faint ache of exhaustion — but beneath it was something far greater. Strength. Peace. Purpose.
She lifted the crimson book with trembling hands and pressed her forehead against its cover.
"Thank you," she whispered, voice full of reverence. "I won't let your legacy fade."
Outside, dawn's first light spilled into the cave, painting the stone walls in pale gold. The cold wind brushed against her skin, but she no longer shivered. The warmth within her burned steady and sure.
For the first time since that night — since the blood, the screams, the fall of her home — she did not feel fear.
Nor sorrow.
But something purer.
Purpose.
The Xuèyàn flame had been reborn.