The morning sun beat down on the training grounds of the Han Clan, baking the packed earth until it radiated heat like a kiln.
"Stance! Shoulders down! Ground yourselves like the roots of an ancient pine!"
Han Su Tian's voice boomed across the field, easily overpowering the grunts and shouts of forty young disciples. He walked among them, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze sharp and critical. Every flaw in their posture, every hitch in their breathing, was instantly catalogued by his Foundation Establishment spiritual sense.
"If the roots are weak, the tree falls in the first storm!" he roared, correcting a disciple's spear thrust with a gentle but firm tap of his finger. The disciple stumbled, face flushing red. "Qi is not just power. It is life. It is the sap that flows through the wood. Control it, do not just expend it!"
He paused at the edge of the field, looking out towards the misty peaks of the Jade Serpent Mountains.
For two hundred years, the Han Clan had called these mountains home. To the young ones sweating in the sun, this was just where they lived. But Su Tian remembered the stories passed down by his grandfather.
The Han Clan wasn't always a small family in a remote province like Taichuan.
Once, they were giants.
During the Great Demonic Wars two centuries ago, when the abyss vomited forth nightmares that threatened to swallow the Xu Empire whole, it was the Han Clan then a Nascent Soul powerhouse that stood as the vanguard. They didn't fight with swords or spells, but with life itself. Their mastery of the Wood Dao and spirit herbs kept the Empire's armies fighting when they should have been dead. They healed the maimed, purged the corruption, and turned the tide of attrition.
For their sacrifice, the Emperor himself bestowed upon them the title "Guardian of the Empire" and granted them the Jade Serpent Mountains a spiritual paradise rich in resources.
It was a golden age. The Han, Li, Wang, and Shu clans moved to the region, flourishing under the Han's lead.
But peace breeds complacency, and envy rots the roots like a fungus.
Fifty years ago, the Li Clan, once their closest allies, turned. It started with disputes over spirit mines, then escalated to ambushes, and finally, open war. The Han Clan won barely. The Li were exterminated, their name erased from the province. But the victory was bitter.
The Han Clan's ancestors fell one by one. The clan's inheritance was shattered. The main branch of the Jade Lotus Technique the chapters detailing the path to the Nascent Soul realm was lost in the burning of their ancestral library.
Now, Su Tian, a mere Foundation Establishment Fifth Stage cultivator, was the one of the strongest support of the branch family here. The glory of the past was just that a memory, fading like ink in the rain.
And my own son... Su Tian's thoughts drifted to Han Zhau. The boy was frail, born with Meridians so narrow they might as well be closed. To be born into a cultivation clan without the ability to cultivate... it was a cruel joke.
He sighed, the weight of the clan and his fatherhood pressing down on him.
"Master Su Tian!"
A shrill scream shattered his meditation.
Su Tian spun around. Little Gui was sprinting towards the training field, stumbling, his face pale as death.
"Master! Master!"
"Little Gui?" Su Tian frowned, a cold spike of dread piercing his heart. "What is it? Is it Zhau'er?"
"Young Master Zhau... he... he collapsed!" Little Gui gasped, doubling over. "Blood... coughing blood... unconscious!"
"What?!"
The world seemed to tilt. Su Tian didn't think. He didn't dismiss the class. He simply exploded into motion.
Boom.
The ground where he stood cracked as he launched himself forward. He was a blur of blue robes, crossing the training field in a single breath, leaving a trail of dust and shocked disciples in his wake.
Hold on, son. Hold on.
The run back to the manor was a blur of terrified servants and rushing wind. Su Tian burst into Han Zhau's room, his heart hammering against his ribs harder than it ever had in battle.
"...Zhau'er! Zhau'er!"
Zhau was lying on the bed, pale, a stark contrast to the crimson stain on his quilt. His eyes open up.
"Father..."
The relief that washed over Su Tian was so intense it nearly buckled his knees. He checked the boy's pulse. Weak. Erratic. But alive.
He fed Zhau a Spirit Mending Pill, his hands trembling slightly. He asked the usual questions who bullied him, why did this happen but Zhau denied it all. Just sick, he said.
Su Tian wanted to believe him, but the boy's eyes... they were different today. There was a fire in them. A strange, desperate intensity.
Then, Zhau asked for the manual.
"I can feel it," the boy had said. "I can feel the Qi."
Su Tian had frozen. For thirteen years, he had checked those meridians. They were inert. Stone. But when he checked today...
It was flowing.
It was a trickle, yes. barely a thread. But it was there. And it was stable.
Su Tian didn't care how. He didn't care if it was a miracle or some fluke of the heavens. His son could walk the path.
He had sprinted to the library, ignoring the startled looks of the elders, grabbed the copy of the Jade Lotus Sutra, and ran back.
"Here, take this!"
Su Tian thrust the book into Han Zhau's hands, panting slightly. He grabbed a stool and pulled it to the bedside, his earlier stern demeanor replaced by the eagerness of a teacher finding a prodigy.
"The Jade Lotus Sutra," Su Tian began, his voice thick with emotion. "It is the foundation of our clan. It is not the most destructive technique, but it is the most resilient. Wood feeds Fire, but Wood also persists. It heals. It grows."
He opened the book, pointing to the diagrams of the human body and the meridian networks.
"For the Qi Condensation Realm, the principle is simple. You draw the Qi from the heavens and earth, guide it through your limbs, and store it in your Dantian here, three inches below the navel."
Han Zhau nodded, his eyes glued to the pages. Su Tian noticed how quickly the boy was scanning the text.
"The realm is divided into nine stages," Su Tian explained. "Stages One through Three are the Body Refinement phase. You use the Qi not just to store, but to wash your muscles, bones, and organs. You enhance your vitality. You make the vessel strong enough to hold the power."
He tapped the diagram of the Dantian.
"Stages Four through Seven are the Expansion phase. You expand the Dantian, like digging a deeper well. The more Qi you can hold, the longer you can fight, the stronger your spells."
"And Eight and Nine?" Han Zhau asked, his voice raspy.
"Mistification," Su Tian said reverently. "Raw Qi is like smoke. Diffuse. Hard to control. In the later stages, you compress it. You turn the smoke into mist. Thick, heavy mist that fills every corner of your Dantian."
He looked at his son seriously.
"And when the mist is so thick it can no longer be compressed... when it condenses into a single drop of liquid essence... that is Foundation Establishment. That is when you faced the Heavenly Tribulation."
Su Tian sat back, watching faces his son.
"But do not look so far ahead. For now, focus on the sensation you felt. The flow. The Jade Lotus has a unique property compared to other wood techniques. It has a passive ability called 'Growth'. It doesn't just heal wounds; it can accelerate life. We use it to nurture spirit herbs, stimulating years of growth in mere months. It is why our clan was valued by the Empire."
He placed a hand on Han Zhau's shoulder.
"Try it. Guide the flow into your Dantian. Do not force it. Let it grow like a root seeking water."
Han Zhau closed his eyes.
Su Tian held his breath, watching. He expected a struggle. He expected the boy to cough, to fail, to cry out in pain.
Instead, the air around the bed shifted.
A faint, green aura shimmered around Han Zhau's skin. It was weak, barely visible, but to Su Tian's spiritual sense, it was blindingly bright.
The Qi wasn't just entering. It was being pulled. Smoothly. Rhythmically.
He... he mastered the introductory circulation in seconds?
Su Tian's eyes widened. Is this the result of the blockage clearing? A sudden rush of talent?
He sat there, guarding his son, a silent sentinel witnessing the impossible blossoming of a withered tree.