Night settled over Green Valley with a quiet so deep it hummed. Moonlight, pale and liquid, spilled through the single window of Han Li's room, pooling on the worn floorboards. Shadows clung to the corners like folded velvet. The air held the scent of aged timber, dried chrysanthemum from a sachet, and the rich, damp earth of the valley floor. The constant murmur of the river was a lullaby for this strange new world.
Too awake for sleep, Han Li sat cross-legged on his cot. The journey's fatigue was a distant ache. His mind was a clear pool, reflecting the day.
From his robe, he drew the two anchors of his old life.
First, the jade pendant. His thumb found its cool, smooth surface. In the moonlight, its cloudy green depths seemed to swallow the light. He traced the simple carvings—unremarkable, worn by time and touch.
Could my true parents have been cultivators?
The thought was a whisper from a childhood tale. Old Zhang's stories by the fire: spatial treasures, rings that held palaces, jade slips containing oceans of knowledge. He pressed his thumb hard against the stone, focusing all his will, his newfound hope, into the touch.
Nothing.
No hidden compartment. No resonant glow. No sudden flood of ancestral memory.
Just stone. Cool, inert, and silent.
A soft sigh escaped him—not of despair, but of relinquishment. He let the fantasy go. "Even if you hold no secret," he murmured to it, "you hold my history. That is enough."
Then, the tower pendant. Small, bronze, weathered to dullness. Yet when the moonlight caught its edge just so, faint, swirling lines emerged—like script eroded by centuries. His fingers closed around it. A memory surfaced: a frantic chase through brambles, the stubborn, inexplicable refusal to discard this peculiar find even when fear screamed at him to let go.
A faint, wry smile touched his lips. "You've been nothing but trouble," he whispered. "But you're mine. I keep what's mine."
He returned both to their place against his skin, lay down, and let the river's song pull him under.
---
Dawn in Green Valley was a gentle alchemy. Golden light transmuted mist into glowing vapor. Birdcall, sharp and clean, pierced the stillness. The air itself tasted of dew and vitality.
Han Li stepped outside to find Physician Xiao already there, kneeling beside a large wooden tub under a bamboo awning. Steam rose in thick, aromatic plumes. Xiao was methodically crumbling dried leaves into the water—Silverthread Grass, Spirit Nettle, Ghost Ginseng root. The water swirled, turning a pale, luminous green, releasing a scent that was both piercingly bitter and strangely sweet.
Han Li bowed. "Good morning, Master."
Xiao did not look up. His voice was calm, measured, devoid of warmth. "For now, you may call me that. But it is only temporary."
The words hung, deliberate. Han Li stilled. "Temporarily?"
Xiao finally lifted his gaze. His eyes were pale, clear, and sharp as quartz. "You have one month. If, within that time, you reach the First Tier of Qi Refining, I will accept you as my formal disciple. You will learn medicine, theory, scripture, and the true path of cultivation. All resources here will be yours to use."
"And if I fail?" Han Li asked, his voice quieter.
"Then you return to where you came from," Xiao said, his tone unchanged, gentle yet final. "I will provide silver for your journey—enough for a comfortable life. Consider it compensation for your time."
The statement was a guillotine held by a thread. A door, opened a crack, with a solid wall behind it.
Han Li's hands tightened, but his expression remained placid. "I understand."
A flicker passed behind Xiao's eyes—cold, clinical assessment. Some jade is hollow, he thought. Better to know now.
He gestured to the tub. "Remove your garments. Enter. Do not emerge until I permit it."
Without hesitation, Han Li stripped and stepped into the steaming liquid.
The heat was instantaneous and violent. It was not warmth, but a searing, intelligent invasion. His breath hitched. Every pore screamed. The sensation deepened from scalding to a deep, marrow-deep scraping—as if the herbal essence were needles of fire, scouring his veins, probing for blockages he never knew he had.
His knuckles whitened on the tub's rim. His teeth ground together. "Master, it's—"
"Endure," Xiao's voice cut through, flat and absolute. "The pain opens what is closed. Breathe. Direct your mind to the heat. Follow its path."
Han Li tried. He focused on the brutal energy coursing through him, a river of molten glass. Minutes stretched, distorted. The world blurred into a haze of emerald steam and agony. His heartbeat became a deafening drum in his skull. The line between his body and the burning water dissolved.
He fought for anchor, for breath.
The world tilted—
—and shattered into black silence.
---
He awoke in his bed. A clean robe covered him. The world had shifted.
Sound was crisper—the rustle of leaves outside was a detailed tapestry. Sight was sharper—he could count the fibers in the wooden beam above. His lungs drew air that felt thin and profoundly clean.
And in his lower abdomen, a new presence. A small, warm pool of energy, pulsing gently in time with his heart. It felt alive. His.
Physician Xiao sat nearby, observing him like a peculiar specimen. "You lost consciousness," he stated. "But the result was… unexpected."
Han Li pushed himself up, body humming with strange, sore vitality. "What happened?"
"Your spirit meridians reacted," Xiao said, a spark of genuine, analytical interest in his eyes. "Violently. The bath didn't just clear blockages; it ignited your latent potential. For most, this takes weeks of repeated treatment. You awakened on the first attempt."
Han Li's hand went to his stomach, to that steady, inner warmth. "This feeling…"
"That is your dantian," Xiao confirmed, his voice dropping. "The crucible of your cultivation. It has stirred. You are no longer fully mortal."
The words landed with the weight of a covenant.
You can cultivate.
"Tomorrow," Xiao continued, rising, "I will teach you the basic circulating mantra. Learn it. Move qi through your meridians correctly. That is your task. Succeed, and the world of flight, technique, and extended life ceases to be rumor. It becomes your future."
Han Li bowed from his seated position, his heart a drum of fierce, quiet joy. "Thank you, Master. I will not fail."
A thin, unreadable smile touched Xiao's lips. "We shall see."
The evening meal was simple: rice, steamed mountain greens, a clear broth. To Han Li, it was ambrosia. Each grain, each sip, was infused with the taste of possibility. The warmth in his dantian remained, a silent companion beneath the meal's satisfaction.
After, Xiao dismissed him with a final, quiet command. "Rest. Tomorrow, you learn to breathe with purpose. That breath will decide your path."
Back in his room, the excitement was a steady flame. He touched the jade, then the tower at his chest. They felt different now—not just relics, but companions for a journey just beginning.
One month. First Tier.
The stakes were absolute. Fail, and he returned to the mundane world, his glimpse of the profound severed forever.
Succeed, and a true door would open—not just into Green Valley, but into the vast, whispering universe he had only dared to dream of.
He lay down. Outside, the moon climbed, bathing the valley in watchful silver.
A single thought echoed, harmonizing with the new pulse in his core:
This time, I will rise.