The wind was gentle.
Too gentle.
The young man stood still, letting it brush past his face.
"…This is definitely not Earth."
He took a slow breath.
The air felt lighter. Cleaner.
It flowed into his lungs with unusual ease.
His eyes sharpened.
"Spiritual energy…?"
His heart began to beat faster.
"No… this isn't ordinary qi…"
He closed his eyes again, focusing.
"The density is too subtle… too natural…"
A thought formed in his mind.
And once it appeared—
it refused to leave.
"…A higher realm."
His lips slowly curved upward.
"So this is what real cultivation feels like…"
Just as he was about to sit down and begin "training"—
A voice came from behind him.
"If you stay like that, you'll catch a cold."
His body stiffened.
He turned around immediately.
Not far away, an old man stood quietly.
He carried a small basket in one hand.
His clothes were plain. His posture relaxed.
There was nothing remarkable about him.
Just… an ordinary old man.
And yet—
The young man's pupils shrank.
"I didn't hear him approach…"
Not a single sound.
Not even the wind shifted.
It was as if he had always been there.
Watching.
Calmly.
Silently.
A chill ran down his back.
"…An expert."
His breathing slowed.
His expression became serious.
Without hesitation, he cupped his fists.
"Junior greets senior."
The old man blinked, slightly surprised.
"…Senior?"
The young man lowered his head respectfully.
"To be able to approach without a trace… your cultivation must be profound."
The old man stared at him for a moment.
Then he chuckled.
"I'm just an old farmer."
The young man did not move.
His tone remained firm.
"A true expert hides in the ordinary."
The old man's smile deepened slightly.
"Is that so?"
He stepped closer, placing the basket on the ground.
Inside were a few freshly picked vegetables.
"Then tell me," the old man said casually, "what are you doing standing here with your eyes closed?"
The young man hesitated for a brief moment.
Then answered honestly.
"…Cultivating."
The old man paused.
He looked at the young man carefully.
"…Cultivating?"
"Yes."
The young man nodded.
"Absorbing the spiritual energy of heaven and earth. Circulating it through the body. Strengthening the foundation."
He spoke seriously.
Without the slightest doubt.
The old man watched him in silence.
Then—
he laughed.
Not loudly.
But softly.
As if he had heard something amusing.
"If standing still could make one stronger," he said, "then the mountains would be the strongest of all."
The young man froze.
His mind shook.
"…The mountains…"
He slowly turned his head, looking at the distant peaks.
Tall.
Unmoving.
Silent.
His eyes widened slightly.
"…So that's how it is."
The old man raised an eyebrow.
"How what is?"
The young man took a deep breath.
His expression turned serious.
"Stability…"
"True cultivation is not movement… but stillness…"
"Like the mountains."
The old man stared at him.
Silent.
For a long moment.
Then he shook his head lightly.
"…You think too much."
But the young man didn't hear that part.
His gaze was fixed on the mountains.
His thoughts racing.
"I see…"
"I was doing it wrong…"
"This is a higher-level method…"
His breathing slowly calmed.
His body relaxed.
And without realizing it—
the wind around him seemed to soften.
The leaves nearby swayed gently.
The air grew… quieter.
The old man's eyes flickered slightly.
He glanced at the surroundings.
Then back at the young man.
"…Interesting."
The young man opened his eyes again.
Turned toward the old man.
And bowed deeply.
"Thank you for your guidance, senior."
The old man waved his hand.
"I didn't guide you."
"No," the young man said seriously.
"You did."
The old man looked at him for a moment.
Then sighed softly.
"If you say so."
He picked up his basket again.
"If you're not busy cultivating," he added, "come help me carry these."
The young man froze for a second.
Then his eyes lit up.
"…A test."