Chapter 9: Origins of Power
The morning after Fang broke through to the Meridian Opening Realm felt unreal—like she was wearing a brand new skin. Every breath, every step, even the way her fingers flexed, had this quiet ripple of qi strumming through her nerves now. Her senses snapped into focus. Colors looked brighter; smells, richer. For the first time, she noticed her old scars pulsing faintly—not just marks, but threads humming with hidden energy beneath the surface.
Master wasn't one for soft landings. He gave her barely a day to rest, then hauled her back into training. They returned to the flat rock on the mountainside, perched above a valley shrouded in morning mist. It smelled like damp earth and distant pine. Wildflowers, somewhere out there, added a hint of sweetness. Fang sat cross-legged, slow and methodical, circulating qi through her newly-forged meridians. Master lounged sideways against a tree, chewing a stem of spiritual grass like he had all the time in the world.
"Master," Fang finally spoke. Her voice was soft, hesitant. "Yesterday you said my roots are the origin of elements. What's that supposed to mean?"
He set aside his lazy grin and arched an eyebrow—clearly pleased she was paying attention to the details. Tossing the grass away, he pushed himself upright, his serious side peeking out.
"Smart question. Most cultivators go their whole lives without learning this. Pay close attention."
He scooped up a small stone and scratched a handful of diagrams in the dirt between them, nothing fancy, just circles and lines.
"Normal elemental roots—like Fire, Water, Earth, whatever—aren't the beginning. They're descendants. Offshoots watered down from ancient, purer sources."
He motioned at the drawing.
"See, at the top are the Origin Roots. The Blessed Devil Root, the Cursed Immortal Root. These aren't tied to any single element. They're the actual font—the place every element was born from."
He jabbed at the dirt. "Your Blessed Devil Root? It's where all yang forces in the world start. Fire, lightning, metal, light, even destruction—every version and variation, all the way down to the most common Fire Roots, are fragments of what your root can do. They barely scratch the surface of its power."
He drew another line, connecting it down to smaller circles.
"Same thing with your Cursed Immortal Root, except for yin. Mother of water, darkness, wood, shadow, ice, regeneration—each of those, and every root related to them, is basically a shadow of the real deal. You're holding the blueprint, not just a copy."
Fang blinked, wide-eyed. She stared at her hands, which looked so ordinary, yet felt enormous now.
"So… my roots are almost like ancestors? Every elemental root traces back to them?"
"That's right," Master nodded. "They're classified as Unique Roots, not elemental, precisely for that reason. Elements come from them, not the other way around. And that's why your cultivation rockets ahead of everyone else. When you tap into yang qi, you're pulling straight from the source—not just nibbling what's leftover in the world. Same thing for yin. Normal cultivators? They're sipping from a distant creek. You? You're drinking from the headwaters."
He flicked a finger, sending a thread of his own qi into the air. It shimmered, splitting into a little flame and a droplet of water—each hovering for a heartbeat before fading.
"People with a Flame Root can master fire, sure. But someone with your Blessed Devil Root could, in theory, master every yang-aligned force—fire, lightning, metal, destruction—anything born of yang. Your Cursed Immortal Root? Same deal, but for water, darkness, regeneration, all things yin. That's the horrifying promise—and beauty—of Origin-level Unique Roots."
Fang sat there, silent. The idea settled on her shoulders, almost crushing in its enormity. What was she supposed to do with that?
She glanced at Master, her fingers tightening. "Does that mean I'm… dangerous?"
Master chuckled, low. But his gaze stayed serious.
"Extremely. That's why I told you—never reveal your roots. If the big sects, if the ancient clans ever heard someone like you existed, they'd wage war to hunt you down. They'd dissect you, drain your blood, study your bones, do whatever it took to get a piece of your talent."
He stood up, brushed his robes off, then slipped back into his usual, casual tone.
"But now? You're still my little servant-turned-monster. So quit staring at your hands—keep circulating your qi. Since you've opened your main meridians, let's focus on the secondary ones today. And Fang—" He paused, just briefly, and smiled faintly. Proud. "Having the origins inside you doesn't automatically make you special. What matters is what you choose to do with this power. Don't fall into the same traps as your roots' past owners."
Fang nodded, dropping her gaze.
"Yes, Master."
She closed her eyes and started guiding the qi through her body again, slow and steady. The weight of her potential—of being the carrier of the primordial sources of power—pressed down on her. This wasn't ordinary cultivation anymore.
She was nurturing the roots from which the world itself was born.