The morning sun had not yet fully stretched across the horizon, but the first pale light filtered through the dense branches of Blackpine Forest. Each needle of the dark pine glistened with dew, reflecting a soft silver against the earth, while the distant chirp of morning birds mingled with the low hum of wind through the forest canopy. Xu Xuan sat cross-legged on a flattened patch of moss, his dark robes blending with the shadows of the towering trees. Long black hair cascaded over his shoulders, drifting slightly with the breeze. In front of him, a cluster of delicate herbs—gathered the previous day under the guidance of Yuan Heng—lay arranged in meticulous order, each leaf, root, and petal reflecting the dim morning light as though attuned to the quiet rhythms of the forest itself.
He inhaled slowly, letting his breath pass deep into his dantian. Though his broken dantian had long since been repaired by the mysterious nameless Scripture, Xu Xuan knew better than to rely solely on its hidden power. Cultivation, he reminded himself, was his own, refined by constant effort, each pulse of energy and soul resonance flowing entirely from his own will. As his mind cleared, his spiritual energy extended outward, brushing against the herbs before him. The fine strands of green vitality vibrated under his influence, aligning with the subtle rhythm of his pulse. A bead of sweat formed at his temple, yet he did not flinch; the process was slow, deliberate, almost ritualistic.
"Xu Xuan," came the calm, teasing voice of Yuan Heng from the side, the older cultivator perched casually on a boulder, legs crossed. "If you crush that root even slightly, you will have to start over. Do you intend to ruin three hours of work for pride?"
Xu Xuan's hands paused, hovering just above the herb. He shot a glance toward his teacher, lips pressing into a thin line. "Yes, teacher," he replied with quiet determination, though there was a subtle twitch in his fingers betraying his tension. Yuan Heng only chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that mingled with the forest's whispers.
With painstaking care, Xu Xuan began grinding the roots into a fine powder, each movement measured. He rotated his wrist, adjusting pressure and angle, allowing the fine fragments to catch the early sunlight, their natural essence released gently into the air. Every movement was mirrored by a corresponding shift in his internal energy. The spiritual force within him flowed outward in subtle pulses, caressing each fragment of herb, coaxing it into harmony with his intended formula. Each breath became part of the process: inhale to gather energy, exhale to imprint focus into the herb, a cycle repeated endlessly.
Hours passed, though time itself seemed suspended within the secluded forest. Small insects crawled across the mossy ground, unaware of the grander struggles playing out above them. Xu Xuan's concentration remained unbroken, even as his fingers ached and sweat dripped from his brow. He adjusted his posture, pressing the heel of his palm against the mortar, a subtle increase in force applied to crush a particularly stubborn root. As the powder reached the desired consistency, he channeled his spiritual energy into it, watching the delicate green essence of the herbs shimmer faintly in response. A single miscalculation could dissipate this fragile resonance; he could feel the fragility like a thread woven across his fingertips.
"Good," Yuan Heng said quietly, his voice a mere ripple against the wind. "Now infuse it. But remember—do not rush. Each strand of your energy must harmonize with the herb's own nature. If it resists, you must coax it gently, not dominate it."
Xu Xuan nodded. Slowly, deliberately, he extended his energy. His eyes narrowed as he felt the subtle pushback of the herb's own life force, delicate and stubborn. He shifted his awareness, letting his breath synchronize with the herb, guiding his energy in waves rather than floods. The powder began to faintly glow, a soft, verdant shimmer appearing along the edges of the grains. With a measured exhale, Xu Xuan pressed further, embedding a trace of his soul into the concoction. For a moment, time seemed to halt. Then, as the final thread of energy settled into place, the powder pulsed once, twice, and settled into a harmonious vibrancy. A Grade 2 pill would require greater skill, but this first attempt at infusion had passed the essential test.
Yuan Heng clapped softly. "Not bad, Xu Xuan. You have grown more patient. But do not think this is mastery. Mastery is not simply the completion of a formula—it is the instinctual flow of your will into the herb, the absolute comprehension of its spirit. You have begun, but there is a long path ahead."
Xu Xuan exhaled, rubbing the sweat from his brow. "Yes, teacher," he said, though his eyes reflected a mixture of pride and exhaustion. Yuan Heng only shook his head slightly, amusement glinting in his eyes.
The rest of the day passed in similar fashion. Xu Xuan moved through each herb with precision, grinding, soaking, heating, and infusing, following the teachings of his mentor while discovering the nuances of his own inner rhythm. Occasionally, he ventured into the nearby woods, gathering the rarest leaves and roots as Yuan Heng instructed, taking careful note of their growth patterns, the direction of sunlight, and the subtle vibrations in the earth beneath them. These excursions were lessons in more than gathering; they trained the senses, honed awareness, and developed the instincts necessary to survive in the untamed wilds of Blackpine Forest.
One particular afternoon, as the sun tilted low over the horizon, casting long shadows across the mossy ground, Xu Xuan stumbled upon a cluster of blue-veined flowers that shimmered faintly with spiritual energy. Yuan Heng's voice echoed in his memory: "Every herb has a rhythm, Xu Xuan. Find it, and you control it. Misread it, and it controls you." Kneeling carefully, Xu Xuan reached toward the flowers, feeling their delicate vibration against his pulse. Each petal seemed to whisper, to resonate with his energy, faint tremors passing along the tips of his fingers. He drew back slightly, adjusting the flow, and with a precise infuse and rotation of spiritual energy, the flowers' vibrancy intensified, harmonizing with his own pulse. A faint smile crossed his face.
"Excellent," Yuan Heng's voice rang behind him. "Now, can you do it again without forcing? Let it respond naturally to your energy."
Xu Xuan paused, recalibrating his focus. Breath slow, heart steady, hands steady, he extended the threads of his energy once more. The petals pulsed, then brightened in subtle waves, folding into harmony. The delicate dance of control and surrender, of pushing and yielding, became clear in his mind. For a young alchemist just crossing into the higher echelons of Grade 1 mastery, this was a revelation.
Night fell, the sky painted with deep indigo and the first stars twinkling faintly above. Xu Xuan packed away his herbs carefully, mindful of their fragility. Yuan Heng rose from his perch on the boulder, stretching his long limbs and yawning with an exaggerated slowness. "Enough for today. Even the best alchemists need rest, Xu Xuan. Tomorrow, we begin again. More complex herbs, more intricate formulas. And perhaps, if you continue as you are, you will finally attempt your first Grade 2 pill."
Xu Xuan nodded, though his mind still raced. Each step forward seemed to open a new horizon of knowledge, a new challenge of precision, patience, and resilience. On the way home, his father, Xu Ling, awaited him, arms folded, eyes sharp but kind.
"And how was today?" Xu Ling asked, voice light but laced with curiosity.
Xu Xuan gave a small smile. "Father, teacher guided me well. I have grown more adept at controlling the herbs' resonance. Tomorrow, I will attempt a greater challenge."
Xu Ling's lips curved into a quiet, approving smile. "Good. Your teacher is indeed skilled. I trust you are in capable hands."
Inside their home, the quiet warmth of the evening welcomed them. Yuan Heng, still in his soul form, nodded respectfully toward Xu Ling, who met him with the familiarity of an old friend. They spoke quietly, discussing nothing of serious consequence, joking informally about small frustrations in cultivation, or Xu Xuan's tendency to over-focus and forget meals. Xu Xuan, sitting quietly in the corner, observed their interactions with a faint smile. The closeness between his father and teacher comforted him; he knew his path was safe for now, even as the trials ahead promised greater hardship.
Later that night, alone in his quarters, Xu Xuan sank into meditation, returning to the herbs of the day, feeling their vibrations, replaying each movement, each infuse, each adjustment. His dantian pulsed steadily, a reminder of both the power he now possessed and the weight of his responsibility. Every thought, every breath, every pulse of energy was a small step along a path that seemed infinite in its complexity.
Above the forest, the stars shifted imperceptibly, silent witnesses to the young alchemist's awakening. Tomorrow, the dance would begin again.