Morning broke over the hills with a stillness unfamiliar to the family. The wind rustled only the long grass, and the faint gurgling of the stream was the only sound. Here, in the cradle of wilderness, the silence was not empty. It was watchful, alive.
Zhenyuan rose first, shaking the stiffness from his limbs as he stepped into the cool air. His breath misted faintly. Beside the stream, his father sat in lotus position, unmoving. The outline of his figure looked oddly sharp against the rising mist—a stone unbothered by time.
Hui stirred soon after, groaning as he rubbed his neck. "I miss my bed. Even if it creaked."
Jian grunted, already folding their thin sleeping mats. "We're cultivators now. This is training."
Zhenyuan looked up at that. The word cultivators still felt foreign. Heavy. Like a cloak that didn't yet fit.
Li Qingshan opened his eyes.
"Gather close. It begins today."
They sat by the stream in a half-circle. Qingshan stood before them, arms folded, his gaze calm but sharp.
"Before we begin," he said, "you must understand the value of silence. Not just in meditation, but in guarding what is yours. Your talents must never be revealed lightly."
He let his words hang. "Zhenyuan, Hui, Jian—you are now cultivators with spirit nodes far beyond ordinary men. In the world beyond this wilderness, even a 3-inch node brings admiration. Five inches makes a genius. Nine? It births either legends or corpses."
Jian frowned. "But we're just starting. Why would anyone care?"
Qingshan looked at him. "Because the world does not admire potential. It covets it."
Silence followed. Even Hui, usually the first to speak, only nodded solemnly.
Qingshan knelt and drew a simple circle in the dirt. "We begin with breath. The first key to all cultivation is learning how to draw spirit qi without harming yourself. Too much, and you rupture your veins. Too little, and you make no progress."
He pointed to the circle. "Your dantian lies here, just below your navel. This is where you gather qi. First, you must feel it in the air. Then, guide it inward."
Their first session began by the stream.
Zhenyuan sat cross-legged, spine straight, palms up. He breathed slow and steady as instructed. At first, he felt nothing—just the usual cool breeze. Then, subtly, something shimmered just beyond sensation. A warmth coiled near his chest, faint but distinct.
He focused.
The warmth moved. Not through his veins, but around them, like water swirling around stone. He gasped, breaking his breath pattern. The warmth vanished instantly.
Qingshan's voice came behind him. "Do not chase it. Let it come to you."
Zhenyuan nodded and began again.
Nearby, Jian was motionless, eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed in frustration. He could not sense anything, not even a flicker of energy. His breathing stayed too shallow, his mind filled with doubts.
Hui was opposite him, visibly tense. His face twitched with effort, and a faint glow touched the edge of his skin—then vanished as he coughed violently.
Qingshan was beside him in an instant. "Slow down. You tried to force it. That will burn your pathways."
Hui grimaced. "It just... it felt like it was right there."
"Cultivation is not firewood," Qingshan said. "You do not seize it. You endure it."
By midday, they rested. Zhenyuan had managed a brief, shaky moment of gathering qi to his core. A mere wisp, but real. Jian remained frustrated, silent. Hui watched the stream, his expression unreadable.
Later, while Jian cleaned their bowls, Qingshan sat beside him.
"You are not slow," he said without prompting. "You are careful. That is rare. Treasure it."
Jian stared at the water. "Zhenyuan and Hui will be ahead of me soon."
"If cultivation was a race, the world would be full of fools at the top," Qingshan replied. "But it is a staircase, Jian. Every step must be solid."
Jian didn't answer, but something in his shoulders eased.
That night, as the fire crackled and the sky filled with stars, Hui nudged Zhenyuan. "You think we'll change? Like... become strangers once we grow stronger?"
Zhenyuan looked up. "We're brothers. Not even the heavens can change that."
He meant it. And in that quiet moment beneath the vastness of the sky, the weight of their path felt lighter.
The embers of their journey had been lit. And though they burned softly now, one day, they would rise.
Li Qingshan's Reflection
As the night deepened and his sons finally lay down to rest, Li Qingshan sat at the edge of the fire, his eyes lost in the flames. The crackling of the wood seemed distant, as though muffled by an invisible barrier.
His thoughts turned inward, to a past long buried.
They are children still, no matter their talents. How quickly they have grown, and how much I have kept from them.
Qingshan's fingers tightened around the worn hilt of his sword. It had been many years since he had felt its weight. A weight far heavier than it looked.
How many more days before their innocence shatters?
He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering his own beginnings, the endless days of practice under the cold, watchful eyes of his sect. Back then, cultivation had been a promise of power—of something greater. But power came at a price. Always.
I had a master who told me I was destined to lead. He never told me that I would lead my brothers into death.
He looked back toward his sons. Zhenyuan, the most promising, the youngest. Nine inches, they said. That spirit node was a gift that could open unimaginable doors. But it also came with a burden—the burden of being too good to remain unnoticed, of being the target of envy, of schemes.
I see that fire in his eyes already—the same fire I had. I will not let it consume him.
And then there was Hui, stubborn and fiery, always second-guessing himself, the one who feared the future more than anyone. He feels the weight of what he does not know. That fear will either be his greatest strength or his undoing.
Jian... Qingshan's thoughts lingered on the eldest son. The one who never asked for greatness, but who carried it nonetheless. His 5-inch node, good enough to reach Golden Core, was far from ordinary, yet it seemed so fragile in his hands. Jian had doubts—doubts that Qingshan would not allow to grow.
He thinks he is slow. He will come to understand that it is better to be steady than to rush.
Qingshan's eyes softened. I wish I could protect them from this world. But I know, no matter what, I can only guide them. Their path is theirs alone to walk.
He sighed and leaned back, staring up at the stars. The night sky seemed both infinite and suffocating.
I will guide them... and pray they never face the choices I had to make. But the cultivation world is not kind. It is not forgiving.
The flickering fire illuminated his face, but it could not dispel the shadows in his heart.
Meanwhile...
A thousand miles to the east, in a shadowed chamber lit by flickering jade lanterns, a council of powerful cultivators gathered. Their faces, sharp with age and wisdom, were illuminated by the soft glow, their eyes narrowing in silent contemplation. These were not just any practitioners of cultivation, but experts from various renowned sects, each seeking something of great value.
"The relic has been discovered," one voice murmured, deep and gravelly, the sound cutting through the quiet like the edge of a blade. "The presence of its power has been confirmed."
A murmur swept through the group. This was no ordinary relic—it was rumored to be a treasure capable of reshaping the fate of its possessor, a relic of ancient origin whose power had been lost to time. And now it had resurfaced, hidden somewhere in the southern lands.
"It is said to be in the southern woods," another figure added, his voice carefully controlled. "But the details are unclear. The one who holds it... it could be anyone, even a lowly mortal family. But regardless, its aura is undeniable. The world will feel its pull."
One of the older cultivators, with a dark robe and eyes like obsidian, raised a hand. "We cannot act hastily. We must send people to search for it. We do not know who has it or how far it has spread. The relic must be claimed before it falls into the wrong hands."
A younger voice interjected. "If it has been found by a mortal family, they may not even realize its full potential. But if it's been taken by someone with the intent to use it... we must act quickly. We cannot let this treasure slip through our fingers."
A figure with a calm and commanding presence stood and spoke slowly. "Golden Core cultivators will be sent to scout the area. It is possible that the relic has already changed hands. We will search for any signs—any trace that will lead us to its possessor."
"Understood," the older cultivator agreed. "We will move in secrecy. Our enemies cannot know of our interest in this treasure. Find them, find the relic, and ensure it is secured."
With that, the council members nodded in agreement, each beginning to make their plans. They didn't know who had found the treasure, but they all shared a single, singular goal: to claim the relic and the power it offered before anyone else could.