The night was still, save for the occasional whisper of the wind against the trees. I sat on the same rock by the stream, eyes closed, trying to feel what Elder Sun had spoken of.
Qi. The lifeblood of all things. The force that moved the heavens and the earth. It was there, he said, within me. But finding it was like chasing mist through my fingers.
I inhaled deeply, the crisp mountain air filling my lungs. The cold settled in my chest before I exhaled, slow and steady. Again. Again. But nothing changed.
Frustration gnawed at the edges of my thoughts. My entire life, I had relied on my strength, on the power of my body. But this was different. This was something unseen, something untouched by brute force.
I opened my eyes, staring at the rushing water below. It never stopped moving, never hesitated. What did Elder Sun say? Draw it in as the river draws the rain.
I closed my eyes again. This time, I did not force myself to find qi. I let go. I breathed. And in that moment, something shifted.
A faint sensation, barely perceptible—a warmth curling in my lower abdomen, like an ember buried beneath ashes. My heart quickened, but I did not chase it. I only breathed. Slowly, the ember brightened, fragile but real.
The first thread of qi.
A sharp snap broke my focus. My eyes flew open, and the ember vanished like smoke in the wind. I turned toward the sound and found Elder Sun watching me from the shadows, a broken twig beneath his foot.
He said nothing at first, only observing. Then, a rare nod. "You have found the thread."
I swallowed, still shaken by the sensation. "It was… faint."
"It always is, at first." He stepped closer, looking down at the stream. "Now you must learn to weave it."
I exhaled, my breath steady. This was only the beginning. Just as I had learned to move with the water, I would learn to move with the qi inside me.
Slow. Steady. Step by step.