Lin Ming returned to his small, drafty hut as the sun dipped below the trees. The hare Old Man Kael had given him felt heavy in his hand. He skinned and cooked it with practiced efficiency, the simple meal tasting richer than any before. The warm ball of qi in his stomach seemed to amplify the nourishment, leaving him feeling truly full for the first time he could remember.
As he ate, his mind raced. MeridianOpening, he decided, would be the name of this first stage. He had no master to tell him, no ancient text to consult. He was naming the stars in a sky only he could see. A giddy, almost frightening thought struck him: what if he was the only one? What if, in this entire world, he was the first and only person to ever feel this energy? The predecessor's memories held no tales of flying swords or mountain-splitting palms. The idea was isolating, but intoxicating.
The next morning, he found Old Man Kael mending a net outside his hut. "Uncle Kael," Lin Ming began, trying to sound casual. "When you're in the deep woods, in the quiet places... do you ever feel anything... strange?"
Kael didn't look up from his work. "Strange how?"
"Like a... warmth in the air. A tingling on your skin. Even when there's no sun."
The old hunter paused, his rough hands stilling. He gave Lin Ming a long, searching look. "That's the cold, boy. Or your own fear. The woods are full of real things to worry about. You don't need to go inventing feelings." He resumed his mending, the subject clearly closed. "Focus on the trail, the wind, the scat. That's what keeps you alive. Not fancies."
The answer was a confirmation. Kael, the most perceptive man in the village, felt nothing.
Later, while hunting, Lin Ming noticed the difference. It was subtle, but undeniable. When he spotted a rabbit and lunged, his body felt lighter. His steps were a fraction surer. He wasn't lightning fast, but he was faster than yesterday. His throw had a little more force behind it; the stick struck the rabbit with a solid *thump* that spoke of a few extra pounds of strength. It was a small victory, but it was his. It was proof.
The following month became a strict routine. At dawn, he would do his chores. Then, he would disappear into the clearing. He sat for hours, breathing in the qi, letting it fill his core until the pressure built, and then guiding it through the pain to carve new pathways.
He learned his body had a natural design. The meridians weren't random; they followed invisible rivers waiting to be flooded. One by one, he opened them. The second meridian, up his spine, sharpened his sight. The third, down his other arm, made his grip steadier. He marked his progress in his mind.
Four. Five. Six.
Each new channel made the energy flow through him more smoothly, a quiet hum of power that was becoming as familiar as his own heartbeat. The constant background hunger of his old life was a distant memory.
Seven. Eight. Nine.
He moved through the forest like a ghost, his senses so acute he could hear a worm stirring under the soil.
Finally, he opened the tenth meridian. A major circuit of energy snapped into place within him, and he felt a profound sense of completion. He had reached a peak. For days, he tried to push further, to find an eleventh path, but it was like trying to grasp smoke. His qi would swirl in his core, full and potent, but it had nowhere new to go. There was no direction, no hint of another channel. A logical voice, born from his modern mind, whispered that this was the limit. Ten meridians. A perfect, complete system.
But something deeper, an instinct from his merged soul, rebelled. It was a compulsion, a gut feeling that screamed this was not the end. The energy inside him felt restless, not settled. It yearned for another outlet, a final key to unlock a greater door.
Frustration gnawed at him. He had come so far. He sat in his clearing, the vibrant qi flowing around him, useless. He had hit a wall. Giving up was the sensible thing. He was stronger and healthier than any villager could dream of.
Yet, he couldn't.
Something, an undeniable pull from within, compelled him to not yield. The path wasn't finished. He just had to find the missing piece. He closed his eyes, not to breathe in more energy, but to listen to the flow inside him, searching for the silent, hidden door he knew was there.