The morning sun had barely crested the horizon, its pale light filtering through the tall bamboo groves surrounding Xu Ling's estate. Xu Xuan, robed in his dark black and purple attire, stood barefoot upon the dewy grass, the chill seeping through the fabric yet failing to disturb the focus that had settled deep within him. His eyes, dark and steadfast, reflected the faint glimmer of the rising sun as he exhaled slowly, centering his spirit, aligning the currents of his body.
Beside him, as always, Yuan Heng rested upon a smooth boulder, his posture casual, one leg crossed over the other, his long black robes brushing the earth. The faintest hint of a smile lingered upon his lips, the kind that spoke of amusement rather than approval. "Brat," he said casually, voice carrying over the gentle rustle of leaves, "if your spirit wavers now, the flame will surely scorn you."
Xu Xuan did not glance at him. He inhaled, letting the cold morning air fill his lungs, then exhaled, drawing upon the depths of his spiritual sea. His dantian, repaired and strengthened by the mysterious scripture, glimmered faintly within, pulsing with a rhythm of its own. This was not mere energy; it was a presence, a silent guidance, the voice of the inherited art that now dwelt within him. He allowed it to awaken, calling forth the embryonic essence of flame, a spark of potential that had long eluded him.
"Focus," Yuan Heng murmured, leaning slightly forward, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Do not falter in haste. Let the fire sense you, not you trying to seize it."
Xu Xuan's hands moved in a series of intricate, circular motions above a flat stone surface, each movement slow, deliberate. The fingers traced arcs that mirrored the invisible threads of energy winding through the air. His brows furrowed as the subtle tremor of potential flame began to manifest—a faint, flickering light, barely visible to ordinary eyes, but to him, it danced like the first whisper of dawn.
Hours passed, and the bamboo groves witnessed nothing but the small, precise motions of the young cultivator. Sweat beaded upon his forehead, his arms ached from holding the same position, and yet his focus remained unbroken. Yuan Heng observed silently, occasionally tilting his head, occasionally letting out a soft chuckle. "You call this flame? Hmph. Patience, Xu Xuan. Patience is the birthright of fire, not brute will."
It was nearing midday when Xu Xuan felt the first true stirrings of the flame. Within his spiritual sea, the essence coalesced, forming a tiny, violet ember that hovered above his palm. It flickered uncertainly, as if testing the waters of existence, a newborn in the vast cosmos. He let out a soft breath, the concentration rippling through his body, the muscles, sinews, and bones attuning themselves to the flame's rhythm.
"Steady," he whispered to himself. "Do not devour me before I can claim you."
The ember quivered, then expanded slightly, a faint halo of purple illuminating the space around his hand. Xu Xuan's heart raced—not from fear, but from the intoxicating joy of creation, of seeing a pure, self-willed flame emerge under his guidance. Yuan Heng leaned back, a grin now fully unfurled, the amusement evident. "Finally, the brat's stubbornness bears fruit. Look at it, Xu Ling," he called over, his voice carrying easily to the estate's main hall where Xu Xuan's father had been observing from afar, "it moves like the dawn itself, yet he has yet to temper it."
Xu Ling, a middle-aged man with sharp yet kind eyes, stepped closer, his long robe trailing softly on the grass. His hands clasped behind his back, he observed the faint violet glow hovering in the air. "By the heavens… is that—" he began, astonishment catching in his voice. Yuan Heng interjected quickly, a teasing edge, "That, Xu Ling, is your son's first normal flame. The brat insisted on a hue most unusual; purple, of course, because ordinary fire would insult his stubborn pride."
Xu Xuan's cheeks flushed faintly. "Father… it is unstable," he murmured, eyes still locked on the delicate, flickering ember. "I have yet to master it fully."
"Unstable?" Xu Ling's tone softened into a smile, the pride clear in his gaze. "That is expected. Fire listens to no one at first. It tests the master before it can be mastered." He crouched slightly to be closer to his son's level, resting a hand on Xu Xuan's shoulder. "But it is truly beautiful. You have done well."
The ember danced higher, responding to Xu Xuan's subtle cues. His entire body hummed with energy, the blood coursing like a silver river beneath his skin, the pulse of his cultivation resonating in tandem with the flame. Yuan Heng clapped slowly, the sound echoing in the morning air. "Now you see, brat? Creation demands struggle. If you had not nearly fried yourself half a dozen times this morning, the fire would never have sensed your intent."
Xu Ling chuckled. "I see he has learned well, then, from both flame and teacher." He turned to Yuan Heng, his tone now more playful, "But tell me honestly, Heng, you did not intervene once. You let him wrestle with flame like some feral beast."
Yuan Heng shrugged, the corners of his mouth lifting in amusement. "And what of it? A flame will never bow to mere caution. If he wishes to control it, he must first survive it."
Hours passed, and the violet flame stabilized slightly, pulsing with Xu Xuan's breath, tethered to his will. It was small, yet vibrant, a pure representation of the young cultivator's mastery over energy and essence. His body ached, his fingers stiffened, yet a deep satisfaction warmed him from within. He had done it—the first normal flame, born from his own will and precision, a seed for future power.
That evening, over a simple meal of steamed rice and pickled vegetables, Xu Ling leaned closer to his son, lowering his voice. "I have heard… there is to be a grand alchemist competition in the Qingyun Empire soon. The Qingyun Empire Alchemist Grand Competition, organized by the Grandmaster of the Alchemy Guild himself. Your talents… perhaps you should consider attending."
Xu Xuan's eyes widened slightly, the violet flame's afterglow still lingering faintly in his pupils. "Competition?" he asked, voice low and filled with curiosity. "Even for Grade 1 alchemists like me?"
"Exactly," Xu Ling replied with a chuckle. "It is not merely for the strongest, but for the most precise, the most cunning, and the most inventive. They welcome young alchemists who dare to show their skill. You are now Grade 1; perhaps this is the time to test yourself."
Yuan Heng, ever at the table's edge, let out a low laugh. "Brat, do not let your father's excitement blind you. The Grandmaster does not coddle novices. Step carelessly, and the fire will consume more than your pride."
Xu Ling smiled wryly. "Heng, it seems you are enjoying the show already. But truly, Xu Xuan, I only speak as your father. Perhaps this competition will give you a chance to see how your flame fares in the eyes of others."
Xu Xuan nodded, a mixture of anticipation and resolve stirring in his chest. His first normal flame, born from the trials of patience and persistence, had not only been a personal victory but a symbol of what could be achieved through struggle. The path to mastery, he knew, was long, and yet the thought of testing himself against other alchemists, even those far stronger, ignited a new fire within him—one that rivaled even the violet flame dancing in his palm earlier that day.
As the night deepened and the stars emerged above, Xu Xuan sat within his meditation chamber, the violet flame now gently hovering in a small crystal orb, casting its dim light upon the walls. Yuan Heng reclined silently nearby, eyes closed, yet ever watchful. Xu Xuan breathed steadily, training not only the flame but his control, his precision, and the subtle art of harmonizing his inner energy with the essence of creation itself.
The path ahead was long. The Qingyun Empire Alchemist Grand Competition beckoned. Yet for the first time, Xu Xuan felt not fear, but a calm certainty. His flame, however small, had answered his call. And soon, the world would see the brilliance of this young cultivator, the first of many trials, the first step toward a destiny far beyond ordinary reckoning.