It was the first ray of sunlight in centuries that pierced the darkness of the cursed cave—daring to touch what no one else would. Deep within the forgotten Sinful Forest, in a cavern long sealed by fear and time, a young man stirred from his slumber.
A groan echoed from the stillness, hoarse and rough, as if unused to air. The young man—covered in thick, withered roots—blinked against the golden light.
He lay upon a bed of cold stone, his body cocooned by vines that pulsed faintly with a sinister aura, as though they had preserved him... or imprisoned him.
His vision was slow to return, and his limbs refused to obey.
"Ugh..." he mumbled, his voice cracking from disuse. His fingers twitched, barely managing to curl into a weak fist.
The roots around his torso and legs tightened in response, coiling like serpents.
He attempted to shift, only to find his muscles stiff, bones aching, as if he had been carved from stone and only now awakened.
"What... in the world..." he muttered through gritted teeth, glaring at the roots as though he could set them ablaze with sheer annoyance. "Let go, damn you."
Yet, no matter how much he struggled, the vines held firm—unyielding, ancient. He was no ordinary mortal, but whatever power once dwelled in his veins was now distant, like a dream slipping through his grasp.
With a low growl of frustration, he resorted to biting. Like an uncivilized beast, he tore at the smaller roots with his teeth, chewing until they snapped with a sickening snap.
The taste was foul—bitter like cursed ash. He spat it out immediately.
"P'tui! What kind of cursed breakfast is this?"
After what felt like hours of pathetic gnawing and wriggling, he managed to free enough of his upper body to sit up.
His legs trembled beneath him, barely capable of supporting his weight. He staggered to his feet, swaying like a drunk.
He looked down at his hands—pale, veined with darkened qi, and trembling. His dantian felt hollow. Empty.
He slapped his thighs in frustration. "Move, damn you. Did you forget how to walk too?"
Before he could take a proper step, he felt a sudden pull—a sharp, invasive tug from behind. A single root had latched onto his back again. Then another. Then more.
He turned his head, and his eyes widened.
The roots had come alive.
Dark, slick tendrils slithered from the stone floor, climbing him like starving leeches. Not for blood—but for something far more intimate.
They were draining his dark qi.
"You—you filthy parasites!" he growled, grabbing at the roots that pierced his skin. Black blood spilled from his mouth, staining his chin as his legs gave way.
The vines didn't stop.
They coiled tighter around his limbs and waist, lifting him off the ground with cruel elegance. His body convulsed with pain, his consciousness flickering as the roots began burrowing deeper, not just into flesh—but into spirit.
"STOP IT—!" he screamed. "It HURTS! I said STOP—!"
But no one heard.
His vision blurred, world tilting sideways as he hovered in midair like a marionette on cursed strings. It was as if the cave itself had decided to devour him.
Just as he began to slip back into unconsciousness—resigned to vanish once again into darkness—
Voices.
Footsteps echoed at the entrance of the cave.
"We found it! The Root of Sentiment is here!"
Three figures in flowing white robes stepped cautiously into the chamber, their blades drawn and their robes fluttering like snow petals in the wind.
Their garments bore the emblem of the White Sun Sect—gold-threaded cranes in flight—an order known for purging malevolent spirits.
Each of them was armed with a spiritual longsword, their qi faintly glowing like frost.
The leading disciple, a boy with narrow eyes and a commanding presence, pointed toward the coiling mass of roots.
"The spiritual reading is overwhelming... but—wait. There's someone in it."
A second disciple, shorter and more hesitant, squinted. "He could be a victim. The Root of Sentiment ensnares those with emotional weakness. Maybe he was lured here."
"Idiot," the third one scoffed, twirling his sword. "If he's been here this long and still alive, he might be part demon."
All the while, the young man hanging among the roots heard everything—his lips twitching in a grimace.
"Enough dillydallying and just help me already... why are they so slow-witted?!"
Alas, he was too weakened to say it aloud.
The lead disciple raised his sword.
"Form an array! Suppress it before it devours him!"
The three spread out, forming a talismanic array with their blades. Their feet glided in practiced patterns, leaving glowing sigils across the stone floor.
"White Sun Art: Moonlight Purge Slash!"
The lead disciple's sword erupted in silver flame as he slashed down, cleaving a section of the vine clean in half. The Root screamed—not with sound, but a tremor of mental pressure.
"Don't let it regrow!" shouted the second. "Aim for the black core near the base!"
The third disciple summoned spiritual threads from his fingertips, binding the lower vines and dragging them down.
"White Sun Art: Heaven's Binding Threads!"
The vines writhed, but could not break free.
Another arc of swordlight followed, this time burning with holy fire. The dark qi that had leeched from the young man scattered, sizzling as it met the purifying flames.
Within moments, the Root's grip slackened, releasing its prey.
The young man dropped like a ragdoll to the floor, coughing more black blood. His chest heaved, and for a moment, everything went quiet.
One of the disciples stepped closer, cautiously.
"He's still breathing... Should we take him back to the Sect?"
Vocabulary:
Qi (氣)
Pronounced: "chee"
The life force that flows through all living things. In this world, Qi is the foundation of all cultivation. Though it exists in nature and within every being, only those with spiritual roots or exceptional bodies can sense, absorb, and refine it.
Ordinary humans possess Qi in minimal amounts—too faint or unstable to cultivate. True cultivators undergo rigorous training, meditation, or body refinement to awaken and strengthen their Qi flow.
Cultivation (修行 – Xiūxíng)
The process of absorbing Qi to temper the body, purify the mind, and ascend beyond mortal limitations. Cultivation increases one's lifespan, spiritual awareness, and physical prowess.
Cultivators climb stages—each bringing them closer to immortality or enlightenment.
Qi Flow (氣脈 – Qìmài)
The movement of Qi through meridians and acupoints within the body. Qi flow must remain stable—any disruption may cause Qi deviation, leading to madness or death.
Qi Condensation (凝氣 – Níngqì)
The earliest stage of cultivation where a practitioner absorbs ambient Qi and condenses it into a stable reservoir within the dantian (core). Without passing this stage, one cannot perform martial techniques or spiritual arts.
Dantian (丹田)
The energy core located below the navel, where Qi is stored and refined. If shattered, the cultivator loses their power permanently
Qi Poisoning (氣毒 – Qìdú)
Exposure to contaminated or demonic Qi results in this illness. Symptoms include corrupted meridians, discolored veins, and irreversible mutations if untreated.
False Qi (假氣 – Jiǎqì)
Artificial or unstable Qi produced by pills, forbidden arts, or demonic contracts. It grants quick power but shortens life and brings corruption.
Qi Deviation (走火入魔 – Zǒuhuǒ Rùmó)
A state caused by reckless cultivation, emotional instability, or absorbing impure Qi. The cultivator may suffer internal damage, madness, or spiritual corruption.