The First Immortal Art

"I used to think that daybreak just meant another day I had to endure," Zhi Zun Bao said suddenly. "Today is the first time I've felt that daybreak is actually quite nice."

Goten did not speak, but he thought to himself—Zhi Zun Bao had changed.

He had transformed from that glib-tongued bandit leader into a man who would sit under a tree and wait for the dawn.

Patriarch Bodhi emerged.

He wasn't wearing his usual Taoist robes today, but a short, sturdy martial arts outfit.

He didn't look like he was about to teach an Immortal Art; he looked like he was about to teach combat. He walked to the clearing, looked at Goten, and said only one thing: "Today you will learn the first move, but not an Immortal Art."

Goten was stunned. "Huh?"

"Did you think an Immortal Art was something you could just gesture with your hands?" Patriarch Bodhi's voice carried a rare hint of severity—the first time Goten had heard him use such a tone.

"The foundation of an Immortal Art is your body's ability to withstand the flow of vital energy within your meridians. Your meridians can currently only handle thirty percent—you must train them to at least seventy percent first. How do you train?"

He untied a rope from his waist—it looked like an ordinary hemp rope, but seven stones were tied to it.

Each one didn't look very large, but when bound together, they hung with a heavy, dragging weight. "Carry this on your back and run. Run to the summit, then run back down. Finish ten laps, and your lesson for today will be over."

Goten took the rope and slung it over his shoulders—his wrists sank. Each of the seven stones didn't look like much, but the weight on his back felt like he was carrying an ox. "Understood."

He hoisted the rope and began to run.

The first lap was relatively easy. By the second, his legs began to ache. By the third, his breathing grew ragged. By the fourth, sweat blurred his vision—he gritted his teeth and kept running. By the fifth, his body began to reject the flow of vital energy; his meridians felt clogged, and every step felt like struggling through a quagmire.

He wanted to give up.

But every time that thought crossed his mind, he remembered what Zhi Zun Bao had said that morning: "Daybreak is quite nice." He kept running.

When he reached the eighth lap, a faint "pop" sounded within his body—as if something had cleared—and a force awakening from slumber began to break through his meridians.

The vital energy that had been blocked in his meridians suddenly flowed freely; his footsteps became lighter, and his breathing smoothed out. Carrying the seven stones, he ran even faster than he had on the first lap.

Patriarch Bodhi, standing at the summit, looked down at the scene, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.

The ninth lap. The tenth lap. Goten finished—every breath was burning, and every step was a breakthrough of his own limits.

He collapsed on the ground, gasping for air, but his eyes were shining. He had felt it during that final lap—his meridians had been widened. The speed at which the vital energy flowed through his body was at least twice as fast as it had been that morning.

He looked at Patriarch Bodhi, but the master offered no praise. He simply said, "Tomorrow, carry ten."

Goten's smile froze.

The night on Fangcun Mountain was as quiet as water.

Goten lay in bed, his muscles aching all over, but he could not sleep.

He raised his right hand and watched his palm in the darkness—he could feel the vital energy gathering there.

It wasn't the forced flow driven by training during the day; it was gathering naturally, as smooth as a stream flowing into a low-lying pool. He gently clenched his fist—the vital energy compressed in his palm—and then he relaxed it, like a breath.

The next morning, when Goten walked out of his room, a new rope was waiting at the door, tied with ten stones.

He bent down, picked up the rope, and slung it over his shoulders—this time, it didn't feel quite as heavy. It wasn't that the stones had become lighter; it was that his body had become stronger.

He looked up. The sun had just risen from behind the mountain, bathing Fangcun Mountain in gold—Zhi Zun Bao was sitting under the old locust tree waiting for him again.

Zhi Zun Bao saw him and asked, "How many laps today?"

"Ten."

"And after you finish?"

Goten thought for a moment, then smiled. "After I finish, I'll go find Patriarch Bodhi and have him teach me the first move of an Immortal Art."

Zhi Zun Bao stood up and followed him onto the mountain path.

From that day on, whenever the first rays of sunlight shone into Fangcun Mountain, there were always two figures running along the mountain path.

One carried stones on his back, the other held a bamboo pole. They didn't speak, each running his own pace, but for some reason, when they ran, neither felt quite as tired as before.

He closed his eyes, a smile playing on his lips.

Tomorrow, he would learn the first move of an Immortal Art.

And he did not yet know that it would be the most important morning of his life.