With the jade fragment in hand, Jin kept a serious look on his face.
"How am I supposed to use this? That old man didn't even explain anything…" he muttered, scratching his head.
Normally, sects handed out manuals or gave clear instructions on how to use these kinds of jades—but he had simply received it without a single word more.
He sighed, thought for a moment, and finally decided to follow his instincts.
"After all, in those stories, this is usually how it works…" he said to himself, bringing the jade closer to his forehead.
The moment the mineral touched his skin, a faint, stabbing pain pierced through his head.
He frowned as an avalanche of unfamiliar words burned into his mind like liquid fire.
It was as if someone had pried open his skull and forcefully poured an entire book inside.
When the sensation faded, Jin exhaled slowly.
"So this basic technique… is more interesting than I expected."
He closed his eyes, going over the information now floating in his mind like a newly learned melody.
The method was called Pure Qi Breathing, the foundational art of the Eight Celestial Peaks Sect. It carried no elemental attribute, making it compatible with any spiritual root. Stable, safe, and—most importantly—flexible: it allowed practitioners to switch to another technique later without causing inner conflicts within the body.
Its structure seemed simple, but demanded absolute precision.
The cultivator had to draw in natural Qi through rhythmic breathing, guiding it through the meridians. A full cycle began between the eyebrows, descended down the neck, flowed through the chest and arms, passed the abdomen, and returned to the dantian, the spiritual core where energy was stored.
Each breath refined the Qi, purifying it before depositing it back into the dantian.
The jade explained that there were one hundred and eight primary meridians, though the number one could open depended on talent. Geniuses could connect more than sixty even in the early stages; the rest, with luck, barely half that.
The more meridians one could open, the faster and denser the Qi circulation became.
The spiritual root influenced how efficiently Qi could be absorbed, but it wasn't the key factor.
What truly mattered was the harmony of the flow, the consistency of rhythm, and mental clarity. A single mistake could block the channels, causing anything from dizziness to irreversible damage.
Jin chuckled softly.
"So this is their 'safest' technique, huh… I wonder how many people exploded before they perfected it."
He set the jade aside, sat cross-legged on the bed, and straightened his back.
Closing his eyes, he inhaled slowly.
The air filled his lungs with a faint sound, like silk brushing against silk. At first, he felt nothing—only the heavy calm of the room—but soon, a gentle warmth began to stir in his abdomen.
It started as a spark… then a flame, breathing in rhythm with his heart.
Qi flowed into his body like an invisible mist, following the path described in the technique.
First, a tingling between the brows. Then, a warm thread sliding down his neck, spreading through his arms and chest.
His breathing became natural—almost perfect.
The Qi moved on its own.
"Isn't this supposed to be difficult?" he thought, keeping his eyes closed.
He could feel the flow dancing inside him with an ease that unsettled him, as if his body already knew the path—long before he was born.
He tried to trace it carefully, counting each channel as the energy advanced. The Qi flowed steadily, connecting one meridian after another… until something stopped.
When it tried to ascend toward his head, it struck an invisible barrier.
The same thing happened when it attempted to pass through his heart—the current instinctively veered away, as if some deep instinct warned him not to touch those points.
Jin focused his mind.
Ninety-one meridians. That was the exact number his body had opened.
The remaining seventeen stayed closed—dormant—but he could still feel them, faint and alive.
Among them, two stood out with overwhelming presence: those of the heart and brain.
"Blocked…" he thought, frowning. "It's not that I can't use them… it's like something forbids me from doing it."
The feeling was strange—almost… protective.
As if his own body was shielding him from an invisible danger.
Even so, the Qi continued to flow steadily, calm and harmonious, until it returned to his dantian—where a small, glowing sphere began to form, spinning slowly like a living seed.
He could hear the faint murmur of his Qi running through his body, like a clear stream flowing between ancient stones.
The warmth in his abdomen turned into a gentle vibration climbing up his spine, spreading through his body before settling again at his center.
When the first cycle ended, Jin slowly opened his eyes.
The air in the room felt different—fresher, more alive.
He looked at his hands, noticing a faint tremor.
"So this was cultivating…" he whispered with a faint smile. "Not bad… though something tells me that was way too easy."
For a moment, he thought of the results of his test: Average spiritual root.
A lie—or a cruel joke.
Or maybe, something in his body was… different.
He looked toward the window. It was still night.
The Qi within him continued to dance—obedient, vibrant, alive.
He wasn't sleepy, and his mind was clearer than ever. So, without hesitation, he continued.
The flow moved again, each breath guiding the energy with unsettling perfection.
The ninety-one meridians resonated together, producing a faint hum that only he could hear.
Qi condensed, swirling in his abdomen like a luminous vortex… until a soft explosion echoed inside his dantian.
When he opened his eyes, the sky was beginning to brighten.
He had stepped—without meaning to—into the first level of Qi Gathering.
For a few seconds, he stayed still.
The dawn's gentle light touched his face, and a faint, ironic smile curved his lips.
"Is that all?" he murmured. "Average, huh?"