The sun had climbed higher, filtering gentle golden light through the latticework windows of Taryn's room. With the breakfast tray cleared and his body feeling just a bit lighter, he reached for the small, leather-bound book on the bedside table. Its title shimmered faintly under the sun.
Cultivation Theory 101: Awakening the Self.
Taryn chuckled. "System, you really know how to title a book."
"Of course!" the cheerful voice echoed in his mind. "It's the most beginner-friendly one in your library. I didn't write it, but I edited the hell out of it. Trust me, it won't be boring."
He flipped it open.
The first page was scrawled with neat, flowing characters that glowed ever so faintly:
To cultivate is to walk the path of nature while shaping it with one's will. It is to awaken the self—mind, body, and spirit—and reach beyond the veil of mortality.
Taryn blinked. Okay, that's poetic. Not too bad.
He turned the page.
All living things have spiritual essence. Cultivation begins with sensing that essence in the world—and awakening your own. The early path is not about fighting or flying or casting lightning—it's about knowing yourself. Understanding how your breath moves, how your blood flows, how your spirit stirs when silence surrounds you.
In the first stage—the Foundation Vein Stage—the goal is not strength, but alignment. You learn to breathe with the world.
That part caught him. Breathe with the world, he thought. That wasn't just a concept—it was… a feeling. Like tuning into a forgotten rhythm.
Taryn closed his eyes. He slowed his breath, remembering what the book said. Inhale gently. Feel the pull of the air, not just in your lungs, but in your limbs. In your center. Let it flow—don't control it. Follow it.
At first, there was only silence. Then… something.
A flicker.
A ripple in still waters.
Not a sound, not a shape. But a presence. Like distant thunder from a storm still over the horizon.
He opened his eyes slowly.
"I felt… something," he murmured.
"And that, my friend," the system chimed, "means you're not entirely hopeless. Congratulations—stage one, level zero: spiritual sensitivity unlocked. I'll schedule your first guided meditation tonight."
Taryn couldn't help but grin. "Look at me. One morning in, and I'm already a cultivator."
"Let's not get cocky. You've sensed a thread of power, not mastered the Dao. Baby steps, grasshopper."
He chuckled, flipping to the next page to continue reading.
But then—a soft knock.
Taryn looked up.
"Come in," he called, voice calm but curious.
Lila stepped in, her face a blend of excitement and a touch of nervous energy.
"Young master," she said, smoothing the fabric of her dress unconsciously, "your parents… they've arrived."
His breath caught.
The book slipped closed in his lap.
"They're here," he said softly.
Lila nodded. "They're in the reception hall. They didn't want to rush you, but… they're waiting."
He stood slowly, legs trembling slightly but holding firm. He took a moment to straighten his robe, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves. The mirror on the wall showed a young man with clear eyes and calm composure—but behind that calm was a thousand unspoken things.
"Thank you, Lila," he said.
And with that, he stepped out of the room, the quiet thud of the door behind him echoing louder than it should.
Today wasn't just about breakfast or books.
It was about roots.
And facing the love that this new world had already offered him, even before he knew how to receive it.