The nite fell softly over the City of Eternal Clouds. Oil lamps flickered in the streets, and shadows stretched between the old wooden and stone houses. As the city fell asleep, a single room remained awake: the small chamber of Jun Tian, in the eastern wing of the Jun mansion.
He had lit only one candle—not out of necessity, but out of habit, a sign that there was still light even in silence. Before him, on a linen rug, lay the crystal his father had given him at birth: a piece of blue jade that, on that nite, seemed as calm as the clan's lake. But within Jun Tian, the true sea was boiling.
The Lotus of the Nine Colors spun silently over its spiritual sea, each petal emitting a faint glow that did not reach the outside world. Jun Tian closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. The first step, he had learned, was not to force the Qi, but to listen to it — to listen to the world as if it were a score, to find the pauses where the void sings.
— Show me, — he murmured, and in the silence, the Lotus responded.
The voice of the flower had no sound; it was as if notes of wind tinged its consciousness. Images came: a field where the air was as fine as silk; rivers of energy flowing like invisible currents. The Lotus condensed the guidance into a clear image — and Jun Tian knew, without understanding how, the name of the technique that was forming in his soul.
Method of Ascensional Collection of the Nine-Core Lotus.
Level: Ascension (maximum understanding within the Realm of Qi Gathering — pinnacle of the Lower World).
The technique was a map. Not a series of mechanical steps, but a path of resonances. In its essence: learning to make one's own body a conductor and filter, absorbing the Qi from the environment with purity, shaping the trace of the spiritual signature, and — most importantly — projecting a false signature to any external gage: the Lotus kept the true tide hidden under a veil, while the body filled with real energy.
Jun Tian felt the ground beneath him seem firmer. The revelation did not bring him arrogance; it brought a cold responsibility. Knowledge, he realized, was a heavier burden than brute strength.
The beginning of the practice was humble. He placed his hand on his chest and listened to the whisper of the nine petals within him. First, the breath: slow, almost like blowing out a candle without extinguishing it. Next, the opening of the spirit — not a blind expansion, but a fine contraction, a gathering of the nerves that made each pore become an antenna.
The Lotus guided him: small waves of Qi, almost imperceptible, should be attracted. Do not seek the violent influx of the meridians, nor the haste of the initiates who suffer wounds, but the hesitant webs that were already weaving the air — spiritual molecules that hovered over the plantations, over the stones, over the very breath of the city. That was Coleta. Collect with understanding.
The first nites were about making mistakes and learning. Jun Tian failed: he pulled too hard, and the sensation was one of discord — nausea, vertigo. At other times, he was too timid, and nothing came in except for his own fatigue. But the Lotus, patient, corrected him with images. Seven overlapping worlds appeared in his vision: each color corresponded to a quality of Qi. The black and white danced in the center like two tides. The technique forced him to combine the pure light of blue with the malleability of green, the immense slowness of time with the impetus of fire. Rune after rune, the Lotus inscribed in the depths of its meridians.
It was thus, in the calm of the dawn, that Jun Tian learned the main trick: when shaping the Qi — condensing it into small points below the navel — it was necessary, at the same time, to insert an illusory seal: a remnant of fabricated spiritual identity. This seal touched the fabric of the monolith, the measuring instruments, the sensing techniques: it was like teaching the world to see a mirror of itself, instead of the real object. With this, the external reading could show a green-grade cultivator — an acceptable and unremarkable standard — while, deep down, the body was filled with energy far beyond.
He practiced for weeks in shallow nites that felt like months. Everything in the human world followed its course: mornings with lessons, afternoons with clan protocol games, and nites with the breath of the universe. He only cultivated when the sun hid, when the rooftops rested, and even the birds slept. Thus, no one looked directly at his practices; and when someone looked from afar, they saw only a candle and a young man who was steaming with ideas — nothing threatening.
At first, that was enough. But the world has small flaws, and chance, small eyes. One nite, a servant, returning from a late round, saw thru the window crack a strange glow. He approached, curious. Jun Tian froze, the meridians full of Qi, the Lotus murmuring to lower the frequency. He thot about stepping back, but when the servant turned his head inside, all he saw was the young man sleeping, a candle flickering. The fabricated signature funcionara.
Jun Xiao and Gu Qingluo, unaware of what was unfolding so intimately, continued to cultivate their discreet sadness. In public, they maintained their composure, but when they removed their ceremonial robes and closed the door to the parental alcove, the frustration came to the surface.
— "Tian'er... the elders say... they say your progress is weak," said Gu Qingluo in a voice she tried not to break. "You read too much and train too little." A young person must learn to strengthen their body before dreaming of the heavens.
Jun Xiao looked at the fire and did not respond immediately. There was love in his eyes, but also an understanding of the danger: talent attracts envy. In his mind, a silent plan — let the child hide, allow him to grow, but always under the watchful eye of a father who knows the weight of lineage.
— "We will ensure that you are not exposed," he said at last. "A well-kept secret protects more than a title..."
Meanwhile, over time, Jun Tian's body began to show signs of change that he himself noticed: the taste of food gained more depth; his sleep became slightly shorter and more restorative; his muscles responded with lightness. More subtly, beneath the skin, something began to pulse: the first traces of condensation.
The Lotus warned him: do not rush. But there was a natural flow, and the body, nourished by the flower's techniques, began to condense Qi into stable points. Reorganized meridians, nine channels forming small chambers where energy accumulated. In the early hours of a waning moon, Jun Tian felt a deep warmth in the dantian area — not like burning, but like the emergence of a warm gem. He knew, with the clarity of someone looking at an ancient flame, that he had broken thru the boundary of the first realm.
The ascent to the Condensation of Qi did not come accompanied by trumpets or proclamations. It came like a dawn that becomes lighter, like a tightness in the chest that turns into calm. He sat down, feeling the density within himself: it was the initial, nascent core, pulsating with rhythms that did not belong to this world. There was danger — such pure energy could attract unwanted eyes — and so the Lotus reinforced the seal, adjusted the signature. Jun Tian also did what a prudent cultivator does: he retreated, slept thru the early hours of the morning, feigned laziness. In the clan's counts, he still appeared average. Outside the calculations, the truth: a core was forming.
The first days after the condensation were delicate. Each step he took was calibrated by his father at a safe distance. Jun Xiao, who had noticed the faint glow on his son's face, pretended not to see anything; he feigned nonchalance. There were moments when he watched the boy sleep and, in his chest, an ancient premonition would rise — something that came from family stories, from signs that lineages recognize by instinct. He prayed silently that the world would not force the child to reveal what was meant to remain hidden.
But Jun Tian couldn't stop. The Lotus urged. The Ascensional Collection Method, now operating with the initial core, allowed him not only to maintain reserves but also to transform collection into formation: small mosaics of Qi began to form patterns within his body. It was the seed of the Formation Establishment — the structure that would make Qi more than just force: it would make it the architecture of the soul.
The journey between Condensation and Establishment was slow but steady. It was not a leap, but a stitch: nites and nites of work, small daytime retreats, a routine that had become almost liturgical. He trained the meridians to simultaneously accept various qualities of Qi — sowing red, blue, green; harmonizing light and shadow — and the Lotus gave him the formula of harmony: small runes, small rotations of the soul that became less and less foreign.
When the patterns aligned completely, the feeling was of a closed circle within the chest. It was the Formation — the channels synchronized like branches of a tree ready to bear fruit. Jun Tian smiled alone in the darkness. The world outside him had not changed: the elders continued to converse, meals followed rituals, Gu Feng continued to boast. But inside, there was a new order.
The next day, during the clan's routine readings — bureaucratic exams that, for the young, brought more shame than glory — Jun Tian presented the same result as always: green. No one outside suspected the nights. His father observed the record, raised an eyebrow, and, with the composure of a patriarch, made a comment to the elder:
— "He still needs more time." There are things that haste ruins.
A murmur of agreement. The crisis passed without a fuss. Jun Tian, however, felt the weight of his father's gentle lie and his mother's tenderness. They were disappointed — for social appearance, not for love — and that hurt him. Being hidden was protection, but also loneliness.
The Lotus, ever subtle, shared one last vision that nite: a line of luminescent dots extended from the heart of its formation beyond the mansion walls, crossing the city, reaching the central monolith and beyond, until it touched the veil of the sky. It was a map and a warning: the path would rise, and with it, the eyes.
Jun Tian closed the book he had been annotating—drawings of runes, notes on vibrations, sketches of the Collection Method. He felt the responsibility like a heavy and warm blanket. He didn't want to be the star of rivalries; he wanted to understand. His spirit rested on a thot that both consoled and incited at the same time:
— Walking in disguise is not weakness. It is wisdom. Growing in the shadows is preparing for when the light demands payment.
And so, while the city breathed in the dark, Jun Tian slept with the Lotus as his guardian, the warm formation in his chest like a seed ready to germinate. The first step had been conquered. The second, carefully modulated, was already taking shape. The third — Establishment — was becoming a distant but real promise.
Outside, in well-lit salons, rumors began to circulate about a new purple talent in the governor's activities; whispers about the whereabouts of riches, veiled conversations about alliances. Life in the city went on, always blind to what was germinating in small rooms and long nights.
Inside Jun Tian, the Lotus of the Nine Colors spun more serenely than ever. She had promised neither glory nor ease. She had promised to hide, teach, and, when the time came, challenge. And the young man who breathed in the dark now knew: the Dao was not a race; it was patience. And he, patient, would continue to work at nite, step by step, with the calm of someone who learns to listen to the world before forcing it.
When the candle finally burned out, the world did not notice the change. But under the extinguished light, something older than families watched — and, silently, waited.