The minutes passed slowly as Jin seriously read through the Jade Dragon Body technique — Volume 1: Jade Temple. The title alone stood out immediately.
It was clear this was no ordinary manual. According to its own preface, the technique belonged to a series of eight volumes, each intended for higher stages of cultivation, eventually reaching levels where a cultivator could, in theory, withstand heavenly tribulations without their body collapsing. Of course, new disciples only received Volume 1. The "gentle" one. Though after reading a few pages, Jin began to suspect the author had a very distorted concept of the word gentle.
The text began by explaining the fundamental principle:
The body is the vessel of Qi.
If the vessel is weak, it overflows;
if it is resilient, it can contain entire seas.
Unlike spiritual cultivation, this method focused entirely on strengthening the physical body. The first chapters described a series of exercises meant to activate the minor meridians and allow Qi to slowly infiltrate muscles, tendons, and bones. The process was simple in concept: inhale, tense, guide the Qi, release… repeat. But every description made it clear the execution was anything but simple.
Then came the complex part: a sequence of slow, controlled movements that had to be maintained until every muscle fiber burned. Static postures that forced the body to absorb the distributed Qi. And finally, the dreaded Impact Tempering, where controlled strikes reinforced skin, muscles, and bone structure.
Jin narrowed his eyes.
"Controlled strikes? Seriously? …these people are insane."
He flipped the page and found a formally written warning:
"Important Note:
Due to the demands of the Jade Dragon Body — Volume 1 method, disciples are advised to evaluate their progress carefully. If after one month of continuous practice no minimal improvement in resistance or internal circulation is observed, or if the body cannot properly withstand the postures and tempering, it is recommended to switch to another body-strengthening technique to avoid delays in overall cultivation."
Jin blinked a couple of times.
"Wow… even the sect admits this can leave you behind if you're not suited for it. That's… comforting, I guess."
He closed the book for a moment, thoughtful. The existence of that warning meant not everyone could advance in this method, and apparently the sect preferred to discard the unsuitable rather than have stagnant disciples. Even so, Jin kept reading.
The last pages described the final objective of Volume 1: to create a stable physical foundation capable of enduring constant use of Qi and offering resistance against minor impacts. It wasn't a dramatic transformation, but it was an essential cornerstone.
"Alright… I get it. Pain, pain, and more pain — but it makes sense."
Finally, he stood up, pushed the table aside, and placed himself in the middle of the room. He took a deep breath and assumed the initial posture.
"Better start now, before I regret it."
With his typical confident smile, Jin focused his mind and recalled the instructions and postures of the technique. He exhaled slowly and took the Horse Stance, legs apart, back straight, arms hanging yet tense, as if held firm by an invisible thread.
"Damn… it's been years since I last did this," he whispered. How nostalgic. He used to practice this back on Earth, but… it definitely didn't hurt like this over there.
Barely a minute passed before a sharp burn rose through his thighs. The posture was simple, yes, but maintaining it while guiding Qi through his minor meridians was like trying to balance on a flaming tightrope.
He inhaled deeply. The Qi responded at once: a thin, cool, light thread descending from his chest to the dantian, from where it extended through the meridians in his legs. Its contact with his tense muscles triggered an electric tingling, as if dozens of tiny needles of light were trying to carve a path inside him.
He tensed, guided the Qi toward the base of the spine, released the air slowly, feeling the Qi slide along his tendons like warm water, and repeated. Each cycle deepened the sensation: first burning, then pressure, then a kind of enveloping heat that made the muscles vibrate from within.
When he finished the first sequence, the book explained the truly challenging part: movements must be slow and deliberate, so the Qi is absorbed by every muscle fiber.
So Jin straightened up and began the series of movements described by the manual. He lifted his arms, rotated shoulders and hips in precise patterns — all at a painfully slow speed. Each time a muscle stretched, the Qi seeped further in, biting and strengthening at once.
Then came the static postures. Inclined Pine Posture. Open Circle Posture. Jade Bow Posture. Each forced his body to withstand the internal pressure of the distributed Qi — a silent, cruel, effective training.
While holding the third posture, he recalled a warning he had skimmed earlier:
"If after one month the disciple shows no improvement or their body cannot withstand the pressure of the technique, they must change manuals to avoid delaying their cultivation."
Jin snorted, sweat dripping from his chin.
"One month… perfect. I'm not going to be that kind of disciple."
When he finally flipped the page, he reached the last section of the training: Impact Tempering.
There, the text was blunt:
"Precise strikes must be applied to reinforce skin, muscles, and bone structure. Perform rhythmic impacts on arms, chest, back, and legs…"
Jin froze. He looked at his hands. Then at his body. Then at the book.
"Strikes? Just like that? What kind of explanation is this…? How is someone supposed to—? With what force? What angle? It doesn't even have drawings!"
He remained silent for several seconds, with the exact expression of a student discovering the final exam problem is worth 60% of the grade.
At last, he raised his fist, hesitating.
"…Well… I guess… gently at first."
Even so, his hand trembled slightly.
Jin tightened his fist and gave his forearm a light tap.
Paf.
He felt… nothing. No burning, no internal vibration, none of that micro-impact sensation the book described as "necessary" to reinforce skin and muscle.
He tried again, a bit harder.
Paf. Paf.
Aside from slight redness, absolutely nothing happened.
He frowned. He struck his chest. His thighs. His abdomen. He increased the intensity.
PAF. PAF. PAF.
"What the hell…? Am I really this bad at it, or is this manual incomplete?" he muttered, shaking his sore hand yet frustrated by the lack of results.
He stood still for a moment, breathing, trying to recall every word of the manual. His gaze slid over the line mentioning "rhythmic impacts so the Qi adheres to the bone structure."
Qi… Strikes…
A spark shot through his mind.
"…This is insane," he whispered. "But maybe… maybe this technique isn't looking for a physical strike?"
Qi could reinforce, expand, penetrate. The minor meridians were already open. The energy could move freely if he guided it with enough precision.
"Striking… with Qi," he repeated softly, tasting the idea. "Let's see… if I direct it… compress it right before impact…"
He sat down again in a firm posture, placed his palm over his forearm, and concentrated Qi at an exact point — a small, dense whirlpool beneath his skin.
"This is going to hurt…"
And he struck.
But it wasn't his fist that hit; it was an internal detonation, an invisible impact bursting outward from within.
The sensation pierced him like a burning spear.
"Gh—AAAHH!!"
A short, torn cry escaped before he could suppress it. The Qi, compressed unnaturally, slammed into muscle, tendon, bone — pressing every fiber from the inside. A white, pure, stunning pain sent him collapsing to his knees.
For an instant, he considered stopping, dropping the technique, following the manual, switching methods, avoiding destroying his body before even beginning his path as a cultivator. But then he clenched his teeth — so hard his jaw cracked — and forced his breathing into a tight, steady rhythm.
"No… I'm not… stopping…"
He directed another wave of Qi, this time toward his chest.
BOOM!
"Khh—! Damn…!" he hissed, bending forward as his ribs vibrated.
He repeated the process on every point described by the imaginary manual he was now creating: arms, legs, abdomen, back. Each internal blast made him tremble, sweat, almost vomit. The Qi dispersed through his tissues like a hammer of fire and jade striking from within.
By the time he reached the last point, his vision had blurred. A sharp ringing filled his ears, and every breath was like inhaling needles.
"Just… one more…"
He gathered the remaining Qi in his dantian, compressed it with every ounce of will, and launched it toward his lower back.
BOOOOM!!
The internal impact shook him completely. A spasm shot up his spine, and a wave of boiling pain spread through his entire body. Jin opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
His legs gave in, and he collapsed sideways, gasping as if he had run kilometers with shattered bones.
The world spun in blurry circles. His fingers twitched involuntarily. The Qi, chaotic and violent, still vibrated inside him like a distant echo.
"Holy… heavens…" he managed to whisper.
And then darkness swallowed him as his exhausted, overloaded body forced him into unconsciousness.