The elder's visit had lit a spark in Tian's mind. Though his martial spirit seemed insignificant, the insight lingered: *strength is not only in mass, but in use. Even weak frost can preserve the harvest.*
The following morning, Tian walked through the snow-buried paths of Coldwater Village toward the elder's hut. His father frowned at him for moving so soon after injury, but Tian's eyes were steady. His shoulder ached, but to him the pain was a reminder: he had survived.
The elder sat outside, wrapped in thick wolf-pelt, his beard crinkled with frost, gazing at the horizon where northern lights shimmered faintly even in dawn's sky.
"You came," the old man remarked, not turning. "Good. Few youths listen when words lack blades."
Tian bowed deeply. "Elder, please guide me."
The elder finally looked, eyes clouded by age yet piercing like ice under sunlight. "Your Frost Crystal spirit is flawed. Most would abandon cultivation, resigning to herd or hunt. But your spirit has clarity."
Tian hesitated. "Clarity?"
"Yes. Broken it may appear, but the shard is pure. Purity can freeze where turbulence leaks away. What you lack in quantity, you may yet rise with quality."
He tapped Tian's chest lightly. "Channel not for force, but for endurance. Frost is slow, but it lingers. Fire burns bright, snow smothers long. Do you understand?"
Tian's heart shook. His martial spirit's sliver had always disappointed him… but now he thought of enduring frost, eternal snow, ice that lasted centuries upon mountains.
"I… think I do, Elder."
The old man nodded. "Then begin. Train each night when winds howl. Feel the frost in your veins. Use breath to weave it, do not force. Your strength shall not be in sudden blaze, but in the patience to outlast seasons."
---
### Days of Grinding
From that day, Tian began new routines.
At dusk, after helping his father carry pelts, he retreated to a quiet glade beneath frozen pines. Kneeling under the aurora-lit skies, he breathed slowly, guiding soul power like snow drifting across plains. His Frost Crystal glimmered faintly, shard edges sharper each night.
The process was painfully slow — while others gained levels swiftly with robust soul force, his progress crawled like ice forming drop by drop. Days yielded no change, weeks only traces. Yet Tian never wavered.
In the stillness of winter, his breath formed an unbroken rhythm: inhale frost, exhale will.
Even villagers spying curiously began to whisper differently. No longer "useless" with mockery, but:
"That boy… strange. He never gives up."
---
### Lesson in Heritage
One night, after long meditation, the elder said quietly, "Tian… tell me, why do you seek strength?"
Tian's eyes drifted toward his hut, where his parents slept within. "To protect… and to live."
"Too small," the elder muttered. "A man dies; his strength dies with him. If you wish for eternity, plant roots. Protect not just family, but lineage. Protect not just now, but tomorrow."
These words struck Tian like thunder. Roots? Lineage? Could his weak hands truly create something that lasted beyond him?
And yet… wasn't that exactly what his cheat demanded? Every life seeded the next, every descendant strengthened the bloodline. His very rebirth cycle intertwined with family.
That night, under pale aurora, Tian whispered to himself:
"Then I will make more than myself. Even if I fall, my family will rise."
---
🔥 End of Chapter 4
***