The sky had barely lightened when Qin Lian stirred from her sleep.
The chirping of morning birds drifted through the window lattice, and the scent of dew on spirit grass wafted into her room. Yun was curled into a tiny, fuzzy ball near her feet, snoring faintly—soft enough not to disturb the quiet stillness of the early hour.
Today felt different.
She sat up slowly, brushing her sleep-mussed hair behind her ear. Her hand instinctively reached for the jade slip resting on her nearby shelf—smooth, warm from the morning sun, and faintly humming with quiet spiritual energy.
She had reviewed its content the previous night until her eyelids grew heavy. But something inside her whispered now—This is the day. Try it.
Carefully, Qin Lian crossed her legs and sat on her mat in the lotus position. She placed the jade slip on her brow and closed her eyes.
⸻
The Soul Armament Sutra was unlike anything else she'd ever encountered.
There were no rigid diagrams, no forceful postures or movements. It did not demand—it invited.
"Cultivation is not a conquest," the first line had read.
"It is a conversation."
So she started the way her grandfather taught her.
She breathed.
Not too fast. Not too slow.
With each breath, she followed the pathway of qi into her body, sensing how it moved from her lungs to her chest, how it gathered softly near her navel.
Again.
In.
Out.
Settle.
Soon, the world outside dimmed. The birdsong grew distant. The flickering flame of a nearby oil lamp blurred into quiet stillness.
And within that stillness—something responded.
It began faintly, like a strand of silk brushing the inside of her ribs. A subtle coolness. A gentle swirl of warmth gathering in her dantian.
She didn't try to reach for it.
She simply acknowledged it.
The feeling deepened.
Like mist rolling across a still lake, the qi began to spiral inward, forming a slow, calm pattern deep within her core. She felt her chest loosen, her spine lengthen—like something inside her had adjusted to let in a new rhythm.
And then—without warning—something in her dantian clicked into place.
A pulse. A hum. A steady warmth, like a candle lit in the very center of her body.
Qin Lian gasped softly. Her eyes opened.
She didn't move.
She simply sat there for a long moment, marveling at the gentle heat still glowing in her abdomen.
It was real.
It had formed.
A seed. A beginning.
The Soul Core had taken root.
⸻
"Grandpa!" she cried, bursting into the morning courtyard with her robes slightly uneven and her hair only half-braided.
Yan Zhenwu, who had just settled down with his tea, blinked at her sudden arrival.
"Oh?" he said, arching an eyebrow. "Are we under attack, or is this just enthusiasm?"
"I—I did it!" she beamed, practically bouncing. "I followed the breathing method from the jade slip and it worked! There's something in my dantian. It's warm, and it's humming, and it's—there!"
His teacup paused midair.
Then, slowly, he set it aside, stood up, and looked at her with a long, unreadable gaze.
"You formed the initial core?" he asked gently.
She nodded so fast her braid flopped forward.
"Sit," he said, gesturing to the stone bench under the plum tree.
Qin Lian obeyed immediately, still glowing with excitement.
"Let me check your pulse."
She offered her wrist, and he took it between his fingers with practiced ease. For a moment, his expression remained impassive.
Then, ever so slightly, his eyes warmed.
"Well now," he murmured. "So young, and yet… already grasping the first root. You really are your grandfather's descendant."
Qin Lian tilted her head. "Are you this fast as well?"
"Of course," he said while reminiscing his first time using the Soul Armament Sutra. "You are the fastest among my three disciple, truly my descendant" he laugh weirdly as he said that
That made her giggle.
Yan Zhenwu released her wrist and sat back.
"You've done well, Lian'er. The Soul Armament Sutra is a Mystic Grade, your cultivation journey will be smooth and as you managed to feel the core already, it is time to circulate your qi to fully formed your Spirit Core, this spirit core will house your natal weapon, the weapon that will be your greatest treasure and protector"
"Ok, Grandfather" she said softly.
⸻
The two sat together in the quiet courtyard, the wind stirring petals around their feet.
After a while, Yan Zhenwu poured a second cup of tea and handed it to her. "You've taken the first step on the Sutra's path. But now comes the slow part."
"I don't mind," she said. "It feels… right. Like something is finally in place."
He nodded. "That's your spiritual root aligning with the Sutra. From here on, you'll feed that formation with qi daily, and slowly cultivate it into something stronger."
She nodded again. "It doesn't have a shape or anything yet. Just a light. A warmth."
"As it should be," he said. "The first stage is called the Soul Seed—the beginning of resonance between spirit and cultivation method. In time, it will deepen. Mature. Take form."
She looked down into her teacup.
"So I just… nurture it?"
"Yes," he said. "With qi. With rest. With intention."
They were silent for a long moment, sipping together under the trees.
Then he added, almost absently, "You'll be able to tell when it begins to shift. But don't rush. The best seeds bloom slow."
She smiled, the cup warm in her small hands.