The evening was serene, and the moon whitened over the Green Cloud Mountains. In his simple hut, Li Tian slept — his labored breathing slow and even, the pale light of the window dancing along the rim of the table where the ancient stone rested.
Dreams came to him in drifting images: mist-shrouded mountains, flowing rivers, rays of light that changed and flowed like the carvings on the stone. The lines spun in his head, smooth and serene, never overwhelming. They flowed like a stream back into the sea.
He was breathing in harmony with theirs unconsciously.
Every breath became a little deeper.
Every outbreath grew longer, smoother.
Qi — the delicate, stubborn energy he'd struggled to control for years — began to flow in him. Not forcibly, not pressured, but of its own accord, as though something had finally gotten into sync within his body.
The gentle stream flowed on a route he did not even recognize: up through his dantian, spreading out to his chest, sweeping round his shoulders, and flowing back down again like the river returning to its source.
For the first time, his Qi moved freely.
It wasn't solid or brilliant; it was pale and thin, like dawn mist. But it moved without hurt or effort, leaving behind a calm warmth.
Li Tian stirred fractionally in sleep, unaware of what was happening inside him. His face eased, the tension from his brows melting.
The carvings of stone glowed dully — once, twice — then fell silent.
Hours passed.
When morning arrived and the sun rose high in the sky, Li Tian felt… different. Not stronger, perhaps, but lighter. His body lay still as it had not in years, and the sharpness in his shoulders — the result of endless tasks — was gone.
He slowly sat up, wincing at the light.
The rock was still sitting on the table, just as it had been. But now when he looked at it, there was a distant familiarity, as though he understood its rhythm even without a study.
He reached his hand over it and placed his fingers on it again.
Nothing. No pulse, no reaction. But when he closed his eyes, he could feel something weak within himself — a trace of movement that had not been there before.
Intersted, he sat cross-legged on the floor and began to breathe the way he had always been instructed. The first several breaths were by the sect manual technique: even, focused, intent. But soon enough, his body relaxed into it — his breath going deeper, his chest and belly exhaling with an easier, more relaxed motion.
The Qi hit him at once. It flowed.
Gentle wave after gentle wave moved through his form, flowing freely, not directed by exertion but by habit. The heat returned, settling in the recesses of his torso.
When he opened his eyes, an hour had passed.
Li Tian blinked in shock. Ordinarily, he could barely maintain focus for ten minutes before his Qi lost coherence. But now… he was refreshed, even at peace.
He curled his fingers and exhaled gently. A subtle smile played on his lips.
"I really did it… without agony, without strife."
He looked again at the stone. It lay still on the table, but its designs seemed more prominent in morning light — not glowing, but throbbing, like veins of energy under its surface.
He didn't know what it was, or how it had guided him, but one thing became absolute in his heart:
Whatever the stone was, it was not ordinary.
He stood, pushed the door of the hut open, and walked out into the crisp mountain air. The morning mist had started to lift, and the high peaks above were revealed.
For the first time since joining the Green Cloud Sect, Li Tian was aware that he had finally taken his first true step on the path of cultivation.
It wasn't glorious, it wasn't loud — but it was his.