The stone gate trembled.
Dust fell from the ceiling in thin streams as ancient runes flickered across its surface, responding to the jade pendant hanging against Chang Lee's chest. The low hum that followed was deep and steady, like the heartbeat of something that had been sleeping for centuries.
Every conversation in the underground hall stopped.
Dozens of eyes turned toward Chang Lee.
Yuan Tao shifted uncomfortably beside him. "Lee," he whispered, "I don't want to alarm you, but it feels like you just volunteered us for something very dangerous."
Chang Lee swallowed. "I didn't do anything."
"That's what worries me."
The old man with the staff slowly approached the gate, his previously casual demeanor replaced with sharp focus. He studied the runes carefully, then glanced at Chang Lee with an unreadable expression.
"How old are you, boy?" he asked.
"Seventeen," Chang Lee replied.
The old man snorted. "Too young."
Yuan Tao frowned. "For what?"
"For fate," the old man said dryly.
He tapped the floor once with his staff. The gate's trembling subsided, though the runes continued to glow faintly.
"Good," the old man muttered. "It hasn't fully awakened yet."
Yuan Tao blinked. "Yet?"
The old man ignored him and turned back to Chang Lee. "Name?"
"Chang Lee."
"And the pendant?"
Chang Lee hesitated. "I… don't know its name."
"That," the old man said, "is the worst possible answer."
Before Chang Lee could respond, the old man waved his staff, and several people approached—two middle-aged warriors bearing scars, and a young woman carrying medical supplies.
"Get them settled," the old man ordered. "They'll stay."
Yuan Tao exhaled in relief. "See? I told you not dying immediately was an option."
Chang Lee wasn't so sure.
The underground settlement was far larger than Chang Lee had imagined. Hidden corridors branched endlessly, connecting living quarters, training chambers, storage halls, and sealed areas marked with warning symbols.
They were led to a small stone room with two simple beds and a flickering lamp.
Yuan Tao flopped onto one of the beds immediately. "I officially declare this the most comfortable disaster I've ever survived."
Chang Lee sat on the other bed, the weight of exhaustion finally catching up to him. Yet despite his fatigue, his mind refused to rest.
The gate.The pendant.The words of the scroll.
Hide strength within chaos.
A knock sounded at the entrance.
The old man entered alone.
"Name's Elder Mu," he said, lowering himself onto a stone stool that definitely hadn't been there a moment earlier. "I oversee this section of the underground."
Yuan Tao straightened instantly. "Senior Mu."
Elder Mu raised an eyebrow. "You bow well for someone who complains loudly when walking."
Yuan Tao coughed. "Habit."
Elder Mu turned to Chang Lee. "The pendant chose you."
Chang Lee stiffened. "I didn't ask for it."
"No one ever does," Elder Mu replied. "That's why it matters."
He tapped Chang Lee's chest lightly with his staff. "Tell me—have you cultivated before?"
Chang Lee shook his head. "I cleaned training halls. Watched from the outside."
Elder Mu nodded slowly. "Then you are empty."
Yuan Tao frowned. "That sounds… insulting."
"It is factual," Elder Mu said. "Cultivation begins with emptiness."
He gestured, and the lamp dimmed. "Listen carefully. What I tell you now is not a technique, not a shortcut, and certainly not something impressive."
Chang Lee leaned forward.
"In the past," Elder Mu said, "cultivators rushed. They absorbed spiritual energy aggressively, refined it quickly, and climbed realms like ladders."
He paused.
"They died just as quickly."
Yuan Tao blinked. "That escalated fast."
Elder Mu continued calmly. "The underground path is different. We cultivate slowly. Painfully. Intentionally."
Chang Lee frowned. "Why?"
"Because rushing attracts attention," Elder Mu said. "And attention attracts extinction."
He raised one finger. "First principle: The body endures before the spirit awakens."
Chang Lee felt something shift within him.
"Before you sense spiritual energy," Elder Mu continued, "you must survive hunger, darkness, pressure, and fear. Only then will your body be worthy of holding power."
Yuan Tao scratched his head. "So… no flashy techniques?"
Elder Mu smiled thinly. "If you want flashy, go shout at the sky and see which dragon answers."
Yuan Tao immediately shut up.
Training began the next day.
There were no manuals. No glowing formations. No elders shouting grand speeches.
Chang Lee and Yuan Tao were assigned to carry stone blocks through narrow tunnels—up, down, sideways, sometimes while crawling. Their muscles screamed. Their lungs burned.
"This," Yuan Tao panted, "is not cultivation."
"It is," said a passing cultivator calmly. "You're still breathing."
By the third day, Chang Lee noticed something strange.
Despite the exhaustion, his body felt… denser. His movements steadier. When he sat quietly, he could almost sense warmth gathering deep within him—not energy, not yet, but potential.
At night, he dreamed of tunnels stretching endlessly, of roots growing beneath mountains.
On the seventh day, Elder Mu returned.
"Sit," he commanded.
Chang Lee and Yuan Tao obeyed, cross-legged on cold stone.
"Close your eyes," Elder Mu said. "Do not seek energy. Let it come to you—or not."
Hours passed.
Yuan Tao shifted constantly. "I think my legs are plotting a rebellion."
"Silence," Elder Mu said.
Then—
Chang Lee felt it.
A faint thread of warmth, thinner than breath, brushed against his awareness. It wasn't powerful. It wasn't obedient.
But it was real.
His heart pounded.
Elder Mu opened his eyes sharply. He stared at Chang Lee, then laughed softly.
"Slow," he murmured. "But steady."
Yuan Tao opened one eye. "Did I miss something?"
"Yes," Elder Mu said. "Everything."
Weeks passed.
Chang Lee's progress was steady but modest. He couldn't manipulate energy yet, but his senses sharpened. His endurance grew. His mind became calm in ways he hadn't thought possible.
Yuan Tao… struggled.
"I don't get it," Yuan Tao complained one night. "I do everything he does."
Chang Lee smiled faintly. "You complain more."
"That's emotional cultivation."
Despite his words, Yuan Tao didn't give up.
Then one evening, alarms rang through the underground.
A deep horn echoed once.
Then twice.
Elder Mu appeared, his expression grim.
"The surface has changed," he said. "The dragons are not merely destroying anymore."
Chang Lee's heart sank. "Then what are they doing?"
Elder Mu looked at the sealed gate in the distance, now glowing brighter than ever.
"They're searching," he said quietly.
The horn's echo faded, but its weight lingered.
For the rest of the day, the underground settlement moved differently. Conversations were quieter. Steps were quicker. Even the children who usually played near the storage halls had been pulled away by their elders.
Chang Lee noticed it all.
He was carrying water jars when a pair of senior cultivators passed him, their expressions tense.
"…another scouting pattern," one muttered.
"…too precise," the other replied. "They're learning."
Chang Lee's grip tightened around the jar.
That night, training did not stop.
If anything, it intensified.
Instead of stone-carrying, Chang Lee and Yuan Tao were led into a narrow chamber where the air felt unnaturally heavy. The moment they stepped inside, Chang Lee felt pressure press against his chest, like invisible hands pushing inward.
Yuan Tao staggered. "I suddenly miss the rocks."
"This chamber," a senior cultivator explained flatly, "simulates external pressure. Remain inside until sunrise."
Yuan Tao stared. "Remain alive until sunrise, you mean?"
The cultivator didn't answer.
Hours passed.
Sweat soaked Chang Lee's clothes. His breathing grew slow and deliberate, not because it was easy, but because anything else hurt too much. The warmth he had sensed days earlier returned, faint but steadier, pooling deep within his abdomen.
He didn't try to guide it.
He remembered Elder Mu's words.
Do not seek energy. Let it come—or not.
Beside him, Yuan Tao collapsed onto his back, staring at the ceiling.
"If I die," Yuan Tao muttered weakly, "tell future generations I was handsome."
Chang Lee almost laughed. Almost.
By dawn, both of them were still standing.
Barely.
When Elder Mu returned, he studied them silently.
"Good," he said finally. "Your bodies have learned obedience."
Yuan Tao blinked. "My body feels like it's planning revenge."
Elder Mu nodded approvingly. "That means it remembers."
Three days later, Chang Lee felt it clearly for the first time.
Not power.
Alignment.
As he sat in meditation, the underground felt closer, as if the stone itself was breathing with him. He sensed thin threads of energy drifting through the air, slow and indifferent, brushing past his awareness without stopping.
One lingered.
His heart raced.
He resisted the urge to grab it.
The thread settled on its own.
A soft warmth bloomed in his lower abdomen, no bigger than a candle flame.
Chang Lee's eyes snapped open.
Elder Mu was already watching him.
"A seed," the old man said quietly. "Small. Fragile. Real."
Yuan Tao leaned over. "Did he just upgrade?"
"No," Elder Mu replied. "He endured."
That night, Chang Lee couldn't sleep.
The jade pendant pulsed faintly against his chest, warmer than before. When he closed his eyes, he saw the stone gate again—clearer now. The runes no longer felt distant. They felt… aware.
As if waiting.
Deep underground, something shifted.
A low, ancient sound rolled through the sealed halls, too deep to be heard, yet heavy enough to make Chang Lee's chest tighten.
He sat up suddenly.
Yuan Tao stirred. "If this is another drill, I quit."
"It's not a drill," Chang Lee whispered.
At that exact moment, the alarm horn sounded again.
Once.
Long.
Final.
Elder Mu's voice echoed through the tunnels, calm but urgent.
"All cultivators to defensive positions."
Chang Lee stood.
Far above them, the heavens stirred.
And deep below—
The gate rumbled.
The jade pendant burned against Chang Lee's chest.
And from deep within the underground, something ancient began to awaken.