The Beginning of Cultivation

Six years later.

Deep within Mount Paozu, in a wide-open clearing.

"Ha!"

A youthful yet resonant shout exploded, and a small figure shot out like a cannonball. His fist tore through the air with a sharp whistle, aiming straight for the face of the white-haired old man opposite him.

Son Gohan's white beard fluttered backward from the force of the punch.

"Too straight."

The old man's tone was flat. With a slight movement of his feet, his body swayed aside like a willow catkin. The wooden staff in his hand flicked and guided, moving with such lightness it was as if he were brushing away a fallen leaf, yet it precisely latched onto Son Goku's wrist joint.

"Hey—"

Son Goku felt his strength being led by a clever force, his entire body stumbling forward uncontrollably. But his reaction was lightning-fast; he tapped his toes, used the momentum of his forward rush to flip in mid-air, whipped his tail with a loud "snap," and landed steadily.

"Your center of gravity is still too high," Son Gohan said, retracting his staff, his voice steady and unhurried. "No matter how much strength you have, if your feet aren't rooted, you're just handing your opponent an opening."

"Again!"

Son Goku didn't feel the slightest bit discouraged; instead, he grinned, a light of unyielding determination burning in his eyes. He took a deep breath—

"Haa!"

He kicked off the ground, leaving a shallow crater behind. Dirt and gravel sprayed in all directions. His speed was even faster than before, and his punching style was trickier—his left fist feinted, leaving a trail of afterimages; his right fist struck for real, wrapped in a dull, wind-breaking sound; at the same time, that furry tail swept low across the ground with a "whoosh," aiming straight for Son Gohan's legs.

"Oh?"

Son Gohan's eyebrows arched slightly. This move... fists, body, and tail all attacking at once; he was already using his tail like a third arm.

He no longer dodged completely, blocking instead with his wooden staff.

"Bang!"

A dull thud exploded through the forest.

The palm holding Son Gohan's staff went slightly numb, and the ground beneath his feet was gouged by two shallow drag marks. He had actually... retreated half a step.

"Good lad." Son Gohan's eyes brightened, his white beard trembling slightly. "This strength has doubled since last month. Honestly, did you sneak off and eat some immortal herbs?"

"No!" Son Goku landed, his tail wagging excitedly. "I just kept thinking about what Grandpa said—'Every punch should be like a wild beast is chasing you'!"

"I was just saying that; I didn't think you'd take it to heart."

"Of course I took it to heart!" Son Goku nodded earnestly. "Every word Grandpa says, I remember!"

Son Gohan felt a warmth in his heart, though he didn't show it on his face. He raised his staff and took a stance: "Fine, then let Grandpa see exactly how much you've remembered over these six years!"

Both figures moved at once.

"Bang!" "Bang!" "Bang!"

Fists crossed and leg-sweeps whistled.

Son Goku was like a tireless little beast, every move and style imbued with a wild ferocity.

These weren't formulaic techniques, but instincts honed from six years of battling the wild beasts of the mountain—if a punch didn't land, he used his knee; if his knee was blocked, he rammed his head forward; if his body was sent flying, he twisted his waist in mid-air to adjust his posture, and before landing, his tail would touch the ground like a spring to bounce him back.

"Not done yet!"

The twelve-year-old boy was steaming with heat, his martial arts uniform soaked through and clinging to his body, but the fire burning in those eyes only grew brighter.

The more they fought, the more startled Son Gohan became.

Six years ago, this child was just a baby who had fallen off a cliff and had to learn how to count from scratch. Now—

He raised a hand to parry a straight punch and countered with a strike of his staff.

—Now, he was forcing this old man to use ninety percent of his strength just to keep up.

He had never seen this kind of growth rate in his decades-long martial arts career.

It wasn't even human.

The thought surfaced in his mind again. Son Gohan's pupils contracted slightly, and his movements faltered for a split second.

Son Goku did not let the opportunity slip.

"Ha!"

He surged forward, driving a fist straight toward the center.

Son Gohan snapped back to reality, his left hand moving like a seal to catch that small fist.

"Stop."

The old man uttered the word.

Both of them withdrew their attacks and took a step back.

Son Goku panted heavily, hands on his knees, sweat dripping from his chin onto the ground. But there wasn't a hint of exhaustion on his face; instead, he wore a satisfied smile. "Grandpa, I hit you three times today! One more than yesterday!"

"...Three times?" Son Gohan looked down at the martial arts uniform on his chest, where three faint fist marks were indeed visible. He froze for a moment, then threw his head back and laughed heartily. "Hahahaha! Good! Good lad! In a little while, I'm afraid it'll be Grandpa's turn to be chased around by you!"

"I wouldn't hit Grandpa," Son Goku said earnestly, then grinned. "But Grandpa, tomorrow let's try for four!"

Son Gohan smiled and shook his head, leaning on his wooden staff as he sat down on a nearby rock. He patted the stone surface beside him, signaling for Son Goku to sit as well.

A mountain breeze swept past, carrying away the heat from the old man and the boy.

Son Goku sat on the stone, his legs dangling as his tail swayed gently to the rhythm. He tilted his head to look at Son Gohan, suddenly feeling that his grandfather's expression was different today.

Usually, when his grandfather trained him, he was always very stern. But today... there seemed to be something else mixed into that sternness. It was a bit like the autumn mist on Mount Paozu—thin, yet heavy.

"Grandpa, do you have something on your mind?"

"...You noticed, did you?" Son Gohan was silent for a moment before speaking slowly, "Goku, after six years of training, your fundamentals are already very solid. When it comes to fighting, to be honest, there isn't much left that Grandpa can teach you."

Son Goku stopped swinging his legs.

"Starting today—" Son Gohan turned to face him, sitting cross-legged with an expression of unprecedented solemnity, "Grandpa is going to teach you how to sense 'Ki'."

"'Ki'?"

Son Goku's ears practically perked up.

This was it! The core power system of the Dragon Ball world! The Kamehameha, the Flight technique, the Spirit Bomb... the foundations of all those earth-shattering moves were right here!

"Everything has Ki," Son Gohan said in a deep voice. "The mountains have Ki, the trees have Ki, the wind has Ki as it blows, and the stream has Ki as it flows over the stones. Birds and beasts have Ki, and people have even more."

He extended his palm, facing upward. His rough, calloused hand seemed to be cradling something invisible yet heavy.

"In martial arts, strength and speed are only the foundation. Every true master is someone who has reached the pinnacle of controlling their Ki. Close your eyes."

Son Goku obediently closed his eyes.

"Calm your heart," Son Gohan's voice became slow and low. "Don't just look with your eyes, and don't just listen with your ears. Use your entire body to feel—feel the temperature of the wind on your skin, feel the tremor of the earth beneath your feet, feel the presence of every living thing around you..."

Darkness.

At first, there was only darkness.

But the Saiyan bloodline was naturally gifted with sharper combat perception than that of Earthlings. It was just that for the past six years, this door had remained closed. And now—

Gradually, he felt it.

The wind. It wasn't just a tactile sensation on his skin, but... a flowing mass, carrying a faint chill, passing through the forest on his left, brushing past his cheek, and flowing toward the valley on his right.

The chirping of insects in the grass. A few inches beneath the soil, an earthworm was slowly wriggling. On a tree in the distance, a squirrel was gnawing on a pinecone; crunch, crunch, each sound was as clear as if it were right next to his ear.

And then—

His breathing suddenly hitched.

Less than five steps in front of him, there was a... presence beyond description.

Warm and vast. It was like a silent volcano, hiding unfathomable power beneath a calm surface. It was also like the ocean—deep, expansive, with every swell carrying the weight of accumulated time.

This is—

"Can you feel it?" Son Gohan's voice seemed to come from very, very far away.

Son Goku snapped his eyes open.

Those dark, bright eyes reflected Son Gohan's aged and kind face. In this moment, he didn't just see "Grandpa," but the owner of that warm aura—a true martial artist.

"I can feel it!" Excitement bubbled over in his voice, "Grandpa's Ki is so strong!"

Son Gohan's eyes suddenly grew moist.

"...Good lad." His voice trembled slightly as his rough hand gently pressed onto the top of Son Goku's head. "Back when I was training under Master Roshi, it took me a whole month to sense Ki."

He held up one finger: "You—it took you less than an hour."

"That's because Grandpa is a great teacher!"

"Don't butter me up." Despite his words, Son Gohan's white mustache twitched with pride. "This only proves one thing—you have more talent than Grandpa."

He withdrew his hand, stood up, and gazed into the distance.

"Goku, do you remember the stories I told you about Master Roshi?"

"I remember!" Son Goku jumped down from the rock. "Grandpa said he is the greatest martial artist in the world! Grandpa's master!"

Son Gohan said with a touch of emotion, "Right. You should go find Master Roshi. He will teach you things I cannot, and take you to realms I cannot reach."

Son Goku looked up, meeting his grandfather's eyes—filled with reluctance yet unwavering firmness—and a sudden bitterness welled up in his heart.

"Grandpa..."

"Don't worry about me." Son Gohan bent down, his rough hands resting gently on Son Goku's shoulders, smoothing out the wrinkles in his martial arts uniform bit by bit. "Although I am old, dealing with a few wild wolves or bears in the mountains is still no trouble at all. And—"

He straightened up and ruffled Son Goku's hair. His palm was warm and strong.

"When you go out into the world, don't just think about training. Make some friends, eat plenty of good food, and see how vast this world is." He paused, his voice softening, "Whenever you have time, just come back to visit Grandpa."

"I will come back." Son Goku's voice wasn't loud, but he emphasized every word. "I will definitely come back."

Son Gohan smiled.

In that smile, there was reluctance, but even more pride.

"Grandpa has never doubted it. Since you've made your decision, let's set off tomorrow!"

Son Goku calculated the time; the plot points of the original story were happening right about now. Bulma should be arriving at Mount Paozu soon.

"Okay!" Son Goku replied.

It is also worth mentioning that, perhaps due to his soul as a transmigrator, Son Goku had retained his consciousness even after transforming into a Great Ape, which was the only reason he had been able to train so steadily over these past six years.