The following morning, when the rain had passed, was peaceful. Fog wrapped around Green Cloud Mountain, enveloping the sect in velvety curtains of silver. Dew fell from every blade of grass, every bead reflecting the newborn sun like a shard of a hidden world.
In a tiny hut near the eastern ridge, Li Tian sat cross-legged, his eyes half closed. His breathing was even — deep, still, cadenced.
With each breath in, he drew the essence of the world inside. With each breath out, he released it cleansed.
But what now flowed through him was not the ordinary spiritual force that all sect novices learned to generate. The Qi within his meridians had changed texture — cleaner, silkier, more alive.
As it ran within him, his skin tingled lightly, as though stroked by undetectable spring water. The grime that had clung resolutely to his veins was washed away by itself.
This was Heavenly Qi — a current so pure that it could blend with the universe itself.
Li Tian still did not know its nature fully, yet he felt its harmony. It did not impose itself on him; it took its course, flowing like wind over the mountains, like rain following gravity's force.
His thinking calmed down. The difference between breath and thought dissolved.
For a moment, the outside world paused. He sensed the gentle rustle of the mist as it drifted over roof tiles, the gentle tremor of dew dropping onto leaves, the pulse of the mountain itself.
Then — boom.
His perception pulsed.
A muffled noise echoed from very deep inside his dantian — like the sound of an immersed bronze bell. His sea of Qi increased by an infinitely small margin, and the small light which had hitherto flickered weakly at its center now shone tranquil and constant.
As Li Tian exhaled, a soft strand of mist slipped from between his lips, softly glowing before vanishing into nothingness.
He carefully opened his eyes.
".This is Heavenly Qi," he breathed.
No euphoria. No arrogance. Only soft awe.
He curled his fingers; energy ran through them, gentle but immoveable. The aching ache that had long disturbed his skeletons from all the hard work all these years dissipated. His vision cleared. Even the delicate flutter of a butterfly zipping past outside seemed sharper, more deliberate.
And the strangest thing wasn't physical. It was awareness.
He could sense the subtle rhythm of Heaven and Earth — not by sight or sound, but through intuition. The harmonious flow of the mountain's Qi, the rhythm of wind, even the heartbeat of the world was subtly resonant with his own.
The Heavenly Dao Primordial Art did not just cultivate Qi; it resonated existence itself.
And the stronger his resonance became, the more the world would be there for him to access.
Li Tian emerged, standing. Sunlight greeted him gently, spreading across fog.
Below, disciples began training in the morning, wooden swords flashing across the air.
He watched in silence. Their methods were sharp but rigid. Each strike wasted energy; each breath lost power.
In contrast to them, his body was light, effortless. He raised a hand, and his arm swung effortlessly — not bound by will, but guided by flow.
He wasn't cultivating energy.
He was fostering understanding.
"Maybe… the true method isn't in combat," he panted. "It's in listening."
He shut his eyes again and let his breathing harmonize once more with the universe.
Above, the morning clouds parted and one isolated ray of sunlight cut through — falling directly upon him. The light danced daintily around his body, as if Heaven itself saw the coming of something lost.