The main lecture hall of the Verdant Peak was called the Hall of Whispering Pines, a name that sounded far more dignified than the building deserved. It was a massive, open structure built from ancient gray stone and dark, weathered wood, its roof supported by rows of thick pillars carved with simple, repetitive patterns of clouds and crescent moons. The floor was polished stone, worn smooth by generations of disciples shuffling in and out. Tall windows lined the walls, letting in the pale morning light and the scent of pine needles. At the front of the hall, a raised platform held a simple wooden lectern. Behind it, a massive tapestry depicted the Azure Moon Sect's emblem, a silver crescent moon over a stylized mountain, its threads faded and frayed at the edges. The hall could easily hold a thousand people, and this morning, it was packed. Rows upon rows of outer disciples filled the benches, their grayish-blue robes blurring together into a sea of muted color. The low hum of whispered conversations filled the air like the buzzing of bees.
I stood near the back with Li Wei, Chen Yuxi, and Zhao Rui, craning my neck to see over the crowd. The sheer number of disciples was staggering. There were hundreds of us, maybe even a thousand, all crammed into this single hall. It made sense, I supposed. The Verdant Peak had the least inner disciples and the most outer disciples of any peak in the sect. We were the bottom of the barrel, the largest and least valuable group. But why? Why did the commoners flock to this sect in particular?
The answer came to me from Xu Qinghe's memories, settling into my mind like a puzzle piece clicking into place. The Azure Moon Sect produced the most cultivators in the region. Not the strongest, not the most elite, but the most. They churned out graduates like a factory, sending them out into the world to fill the ranks of the military, the bureaucracy, and the merchant class. The empire loved them for it. The sect and the empire had a symbiotic relationship, a partnership built on mutual benefit. The empire provided protection, resources, and legitimacy. The sect provided trained cultivators, loyal soldiers, and skilled workers. It was a pipeline, and the outer disciples were the raw material.
A commoner, especially one without talent, without connections, without anything special, would look at the Azure Moon Sect and see an opportunity. Take Xu Qinghe, for example. Suppose he spent ten or twenty years here, grinding away at the bottom, and then left. He would most likely join the military, using his cultivation to secure a position as an officer, or take on an official post within the state, using his sect training to qualify for bureaucratic roles that would otherwise be closed to someone of his background. That was the deal. That was the unspoken contract.
Li Wei had joined for the same reason. If he could reach Mid Qi Awakening, or maybe Elite Qi Awakening, he could leave the sect and return to his family's merchant business with a massive boost in status. A cultivator in the family was a mark of honor, a sign of prestige. It would open doors, attract clients, and elevate the entire clan. Or he could join the military and do the same thing, earning a commission, a salary, and a pension. The empire usually gave jobs to the sect, jobs that most outer disciples took on, and the sect and the empire worked together like two gears in a well-oiled machine. The empire needed cultivators to maintain order, to fight its wars, to patrol its borders. The sect needed the empire's money, its resources, and its political protection. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement, and the outer disciples were the ones who made it work.
And if you actually had talent? If you were one of the rare few who could break through to Foundation Establishment or higher? Then the doors really opened. You could become a high-ranking inner disciple, or even a direct disciple of one of the elders. The benefits were enormous, though I only knew the broad strokes from gossip and overheard conversations. Inner disciples received better resources, better teachers, better cultivation manuals. They had access to restricted areas, to rare pills and elixirs, to techniques that could shatter mountains and part seas. Direct disciples were the elite of the elite, hand-picked by the elders themselves, groomed for greatness. They received personal instruction, unlimited resources, and a level of protection that bordered on invincibility. They were the future of the sect, the ones who would carry its name into the annals of history.
But that path was not for the likes of us. That path was for the Ji Yuehans and the Pei Zhaoyus of the world, the ones with Heaven-defying talent and unshakable destinies. The rest of us, the commoners, the rabble, the outer disciples, we were just here to fill the ranks, to do the work, to be the foundation upon which the elite built their glorious futures.
Most sects didn't even offer this much. Most sects hoarded their knowledge, guarding their techniques like dragons guarding gold. They only accepted disciples from powerful families, from established cultivation clans, from those who could pay their way with wealth or connections. The idea of offering education to commoners, to farmers' daughters and merchants' sons, was almost unheard of. But the Azure Moon Sect was different. They had opened their doors to the masses, and in doing so, they had secured their place as the dominant power in the region. They had become indispensable to the empire. They had created a system that benefited everyone, except perhaps the poor souls at the very bottom who never made it past Qi Awakening.
But that was the gamble, wasn't it? You came here with nothing, and you rolled the dice. Maybe you'd make it. Maybe you'd break through, advance, become someone. Maybe you'd leave with enough power to change your life, to elevate your family, to carve out a better future. Or maybe you'd die trying. Either way, the sect didn't care. They had already gotten what they wanted from you. Your labor. Your loyalty. Your life.
At the front of the hall, standing on the raised platform behind the lectern, was Han Chen. He was one of the rare inner disciples of the Verdant Peak, a young man in his late twenties who had somehow clawed his way up from the outer ranks. He was an Advanced Qi Awakening cultivator, which, while not impressive by the standards of the inner sect, was practically a god among the outer disciples. He was tall and lean, with sharp, angular features and a perpetually bored expression. His black hair was pulled back into a neat, tight ponytail, and his robes were a deeper, richer shade of blue than ours, marking him as an inner disciple. The fabric was finer, the embroidery more intricate, the crescent moon emblem on his chest stitched with silver thread that glinted in the morning light. He had high cheekbones, a straight nose, and thin lips that were currently pressed into a tight line. His dark eyes swept over the crowd, and I could see the barely concealed disdain in them. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. He looked like he would rather be fighting a horde of demons than lecturing a thousand outer disciples on the basics of breathing.
Han Chen: Alright, settle down.
Han Chen said, his voice cutting through the murmurs. It wasn't loud, but it carried, and the hall fell silent almost immediately. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. He had the kind of presence that commanded attention, even if it was born from irritation rather than authority.
Han Chen: We'll begin. Today, we will review the Azure Moon Breathing Art. This is a basic Mortal-Tier technique, the foundation of everything you will learn in this sect. Some of you have heard this lecture before. Some of you have heard it a dozen times. I don't care. You will listen. You will pay attention. Because if you can't even master the basics, you have no business calling yourselves cultivators.
He paused, letting the words sink in. I glanced around. Most of the disciples looked bored, their eyes glazed over, their postures slack. A few were whispering to each other, not even trying to hide it. This was clearly a familiar ritual, a monthly sermon that everyone had heard so many times they could recite it in their sleep. But I was listening. I was paying attention. Because I had never heard it before, not really. Xu Qinghe's memories were there, but they were fuzzy, distant, like a half-remembered dream. I needed to hear the words myself, to understand them, to internalize them. Because this was my new reality. This was the key to survival.
Han Chen began to speak, his voice flat and monotonous, reciting the steps from memory.
Han Chen: Step One. Moonlit Stillness. The cultivator calms their mind, regulates their breathing, and becomes aware of the spiritual qi surrounding them. Beginners learn to distinguish external spiritual energy from ordinary bodily sensations. This is the most basic step. It is also the most important. If you cannot still your mind, you cannot cultivate. If you cannot feel the qi around you, you cannot draw it in. You must sit in silence. You must breathe. You must let the world fall away until there is nothing left but the energy that surrounds you, the energy that is waiting to be claimed.
I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to imagine it. Sitting in a quiet room. The world fading away. The gentle, shimmering mist of qi that I had seen earlier on the mountain path. It sounded peaceful. It sounded almost meditative. It sounded like something I could do. I had spent seventeen years in a hospital bed, after all. I knew how to be still. I knew how to breathe through pain. I knew how to let the world fall away until there was nothing left but the cold, sterile reality of my own failing body. This would be different. This would be better. This would be power.
Han Chen continued, his voice droning on.
Han Chen: Step Two. Azure Inhalation. The practitioner draws compatible spiritual qi into their body through controlled breathing and concentration. The quality of their spiritual root, the surrounding environment, and their mental focus affect how efficiently they absorb it. Your spiritual root is the gateway. It determines what kind of qi you can absorb, and how quickly you can absorb it. A Mortal-Tier Spirit Root, like most of you have, is like a narrow pipe. It will let qi in, but slowly. A Heaven-Tier Spirit Root is like a wide river. It can absorb qi in torrents. You cannot change your root. You cannot change your talent. But you can change your effort. You can change your focus. You can learn to breathe more efficiently, to concentrate more deeply, to absorb more qi despite your limitations. It will take time. It will take patience. But it is possible. It has been done before.
I thought about my own spirit root. Xu Qinghe's spirit root. Mortal-Tier. Water Affinity. The lowest of the low. A narrow pipe. But it was a pipe. It was a gateway. It was a path. It was more than I had ever had in my past life. I had been born with a body that was actively trying to kill me. I had been born with a disease that had no cure, no hope, no future. Now I had a spiritual root. It was weak, but it was mine. It was a chance. I would make it work. I would learn to breathe more efficiently. I would learn to concentrate more deeply. I would claw my way up this ladder, one agonizing inch at a time.
Han Chen: Step Three. Circulation of the Moon. The newly absorbed qi is guided through the prescribed meridian pathways. This trains the disciple to circulate energy without creating unnecessary resistance, disrupting their flow, or injuring their meridians. The meridian pathways are the roads of your body. They connect your dantian to your limbs, your organs, your senses. If the roads are blocked, the qi cannot flow. If the roads are damaged, the qi will leak. You must learn to guide the qi gently, patiently. You must not force it. You must not rush. A river does not carve a canyon in a day. A cultivator does not master circulation in a month. It takes years of practice. Years of discipline. Years of failure, followed by more years of failure, until one day, you realize that you are no longer failing. That the qi is flowing smoothly, effortlessly, like water down a stream. That is the goal. That is what you must strive for.
The meridian pathways. I remembered the healers telling Xu Qinghe that his meridians were torn, shattered by the unstable pill. They had said he would never cultivate again. But the breakthrough had healed him. The qi had repaired the damage. It was a miracle, or something close to it. I felt a small, fierce spark of pride. Whatever had happened, whatever cosmic joke had brought me here, I was grateful for it. I had been given a second chance, and I was not going to waste it.
Han Chen: Step Four. Azure Condensation. The cultivator refines and stabilizes the circulated qi before gathering it within their lower dantian. Repeated practice gradually increases their usable reserves and improves their control. The lower dantian is located here.
Han Chen placed a hand on his lower abdomen, just below his navel.
Han Chen: It is your reservoir. Your battery. The place where you store the qi you will use for techniques, for combat, for everything you do as a cultivator. You must fill it. You must expand it. You must learn to draw upon it at a moment's notice, to unleash its power in a single, devastating instant. This is not easy. Condensation requires focus, precision, and a deep connection to your own body. You must feel the qi within you, not just as a concept, but as a physical thing. A warmth. A pressure. A living current that responds to your will. And then, when you have gathered it, when you have refined it, when you have stabilized it, you must let it settle. You must let it rest. You must let it become a part of you.
I placed a hand on my own lower abdomen, mirroring the gesture. I couldn't feel anything yet, not really. Just the faint, gentle hum of the qi that had healed me. But it was there. It was real. It was mine. I could feel it waiting, dormant, like a seed buried in the soil. All I needed to do was water it. All I needed to do was cultivate.
Han Chen: Step Five. Returning to Stillness. The disciple settles their qi, releases unnecessary tension, and completes the cultivation cycle. This final step helps maintain stability and reduces the risk of disrupting their circulation through careless practice. You must learn to end your sessions properly. You must not rush. You must not jump up and run off to your next chore. You must sit. You must breathe. You must let the qi settle. This is the step most of you will neglect. This is the step that will cause you the most problems. A chaotic mind leads to chaotic qi. A chaotic qi leads to blockages, to injuries, to deviations. You must return to stillness. You must end where you began. Calm. Focused. Whole.
Han Chen finished, his voice trailing off into the silence of the hall. He looked at us, his expression still bored, still annoyed, but with a hint of something else. Exhaustion, maybe. Or resignation. He had given this lecture before. He would give it again. And again. And again. For the rest of his life, or until he advanced far enough to escape this thankless duty.
Han Chen: That concludes the review. You may go. The training grounds are open. Those of you who wish to practice may do so. Those of you who wish to waste your time may do that instead. I don't care.
He stepped down from the platform and walked towards a side door, not looking back.
I listened in detail. Most people didn't. I could see it in their eyes, in their slumped postures. They had heard this all before. It was the same thing Han Chen said every month, the same words, the same steps. But for me, it was new. For me, it was a lifeline. The Azure Moon Breathing Art. The Azure Moon Sword Art. Both Mortal-Tier techniques. Both available to all outer cultivators. Both the foundation of everything I would learn. When I'm done, I thought, I'll practice both. I can't wait. I can't wait to actually cultivate. I can't wait to feel the qi flow through my meridians, to condense it in my dantian, to learn what this body can do.
Li Wei: Come on. We should go. The training grounds are always crowded after the sermon, but if we hurry, we can grab a good spot.
I nodded, still lost in thought. The training grounds. A place to practice. A place to learn. A place to become stronger. I followed Li Wei out of the Hall of Whispering Pines, my mind racing with the possibilities. The morning sun was warm on my face, the air was crisp and clean, and for the first time in my life, I felt something I had never truly felt before. Hope. Real, genuine, terrifying hope. I had a path. I had a plan. I had a second chance. And I was not going to waste it.
Li Wei: Hey, Qinghe. Are you listening to me?
Ethan: Yeah. Sorry. What did you say?
Li Wei rolled his eyes, a fond, exasperated grin on his face.
Li Wei: I said, do you want to find a spot near the river? It's quieter there. Fewer people. More space to practice.
Ethan: Yeah. That sounds good. Let's do that.
We walked towards the river, leaving the Hall of Whispering Pines behind us, the sermon echoing in my mind. Step One. Step Two. Step Three. Step Four. Step Five. The words were already becoming familiar, a new mantra, a new prayer. I had a lot of work to do. I had a long way to go. But for the first time in my life, I was eager to take the first step.
Chen Yuxi: Hey, Qinghe.
Chen Yuxi said softly, falling into step beside me.
Chen Yuxi: Are you okay? You seem... different. Distracted.
I looked at her, at her kind, patient eyes, and I smiled. A real smile, not the forced, polite ones I had used in my past life.
Ethan: I'm okay. I'm just... thinking about the future.
She nodded, a small smile on her own lips.
Chen Yuxi: That's good. It's good to think about the future.
We walked in silence for a moment, the sound of the river growing louder as we approached. The training grounds were a large, open field beside a wide, slow-moving stream, the water crystal clear and cold. There were already dozens of disciples there, some practicing forms, some meditating, some just sitting and talking. We found a relatively quiet spot near the riverbank, away from the main crowd, and Li Wei immediately began stretching, his chubby limbs bending in ways that looked almost comical.
Li Wei: Alright. Let's get started. Qinghe, you should focus on the breathing art first. Get your qi stable. Zhao Rui, you want to spar?
Zhao Rui shrugged, a small, sharp smile on his face.
Zhao Rui: Sure. Try not to cry when I beat you.
Li Wei sputtered, his face turning red.
Li Wei: You wish! I've been practicing! I'm way better than I was last month!
Chen Yuxi laughed softly, shaking her head.
Chen Yuxi: Boys. Always so competitive. Qinghe, do you want to meditate with me? We can work on the first step together.
I nodded, grateful for the offer.
Ethan: Yeah. That sounds good.
I sat down on the grass, cross-legged, my hands resting on my knees. The ground was cool and slightly damp, and I could feel the gentle hum of the river's qi in the air. I closed my eyes, letting the sounds of the world fade away. The rustle of the wind in the trees. The murmur of the river. The distant shouts of the other disciples.