Object Manipulation Technique

On the eighth morning after clearing the mountain-running challenge with the stone on his back, Goten stood on the training ground, where seven stones of varying sizes were laid out before him.

These were not the thousand-pound boulder from before—they were seven stones ranging from the size of a fist to the size of a watermelon, lined up in a row. Patriarch Bodhi stood beside the stones, holding a single leaf in his hand.

"What you will learn today has a name—the Immortal Art of Object Manipulation."

Goten nodded earnestly.

This was the first true Immortal Art he had learned since arriving in this world—not meant for fighting, but for cultivation.

"The basic principle of Object Manipulation is not to use your hands to grasp an object—it is to use your qi to 'grasp' it."

Patriarch Bodhi placed the leaf in his palm and enveloped it with his qi—the leaf slowly drifted upward, hovering just above his palm. "Try to make this leaf move first."

Goten took the leaf and placed it in his own palm. He stared at it, channeling his qi—the leaf remained motionless.

He increased his output of qi—the leaf still did not move.

"You are trying too hard." Patriarch Bodhi's voice came from beside him. "Object Manipulation does not rely on force—it relies on the resonance between you and the object. You must first perceive it, then invite it to move with you."

Goten took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

He stopped trying to "push" the leaf with his qi—instead, he began to perceive the leaf's existence.

It was a leaf that had fallen from the old locust tree, half-withered, its veins distinct and still damp with morning dew. He felt it—the faint qi within the leaf.

It was not something he had infused into it—it was inherent to the leaf itself. Every leaf—even every stone—carried its own qi. The only difference was that the qi of living things was more active, while the qi of inanimate objects was quieter.

He gently touched the leaf's qi with his own—not to push it, but to offer a greeting.

The leaf trembled slightly. He opened his eyes—the leaf had truly moved. It hadn't been pushed by him; it had responded on its own.

"Continue." There was a hint of imperceptible satisfaction in Patriarch Bodhi's tone.

Goten continued to communicate with the leaf using his qi. His qi enveloped the leaf, and the leaf's qi sensed the presence of its own kind—they attracted one another—and the leaf slowly floated up from his palm, hovering in mid-air, an inch above his hand.

Goten held his breath—he was afraid that a single exhale would cause the leaf to fall. The leaf hovered for the duration of three breaths—then drifted softly back onto his palm.

"I did it—"

"It is merely a leaf." Patriarch Bodhi pointed to the seven stones. "When you can make the largest one float—only then will you have completed your apprenticeship."

Goten looked at the largest stone—a size larger than his own head—and swallowed hard.

Goten spent the entire morning battling with that leaf.

From hovering for only three breaths, he progressed to ten, then to the duration of a stick of incense.

By midday, he was already able to make the leaf fly in a circle around his body before landing steadily back in his palm. He began to challenge the fist-sized stone.

The principle was the same—perceive its qi, establish a connection, envelop it with qi, and guide it to float.

But the stone's qi was far quieter than the leaf's—as if it were fast asleep—and he needed much more patience to awaken it.

He pressed his palm against the stone, closed his eyes, and perceived it for a long time before gently tapping it with his qi.

A dull response came from within the stone. He guided it to rise—the stone wobbled, left the ground by an inch, and then dropped heavily back down.

"Again."

He tried once more—this time the stone rose two inches. He tried again—three inches.

By the afternoon, he was able to keep the fist-sized stone hovering above his palm.

He began to challenge the second stone—twice the size of the first. This time, he spent even longer perceiving it. He discovered a pattern—the larger the object, the more "dense" its internal qi was. It wasn't that there was less of it, but that the density was higher, requiring more qi to envelop it and make it float.

He made both stones float at the same time—one large, one small, one to the left, one to the right, hovering above his outstretched hands. He held them for five breaths—then both stones fell to the ground simultaneously.

"Take a break." Zixia's voice came from the edge of the training ground. She walked over carrying a bowl of water and sat down beside Goten. Goten took the bowl and drained it in one gulp.

Zixia looked at the dust on his hands and the sweat on his forehead, suddenly finding it somewhat amusing—a man who had once sent the Bull Demon King flying with a single punch was now struggling with a stone.

"What are you laughing at?"

"Laughing at you." Zixia took the empty bowl. "When you first arrived, you sent four Demon Kings flying with one punch—now you can't even lift a stone."

Goten was amused by himself as well. "It's different. Before, I was using force—now I am using... how should I put it—my heart."

Zixia froze for a moment—then smiled. That smile was different from before—it wasn't one of gratification—it was one of nostalgia. "The way you just spoke—it was very much like him."

"Sun Wukong?"

"Yes. When he learned things, he was the same—even when he could have taken shortcuts, he insisted on doing it step by step, mastering every foundation until it was second nature before he would move on to the next."

Goten fell silent for a moment—then asked a question he had wanted to ask but hadn't dared to voice: "Sister Zixia—did you love Sun Wukong?"

Zixia did not answer.

She looked at the old locust tree in the distance—the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting mottled light and shadows on the ground.

After a long time, she spoke—her tone as calm as if she were speaking of someone else's affairs—"I did."

"And then?"

"Then—he chose to go on the pilgrimage. I chose to wait."

"Wait for what?"

Zixia lowered her head to look at the empty bowl in her hands—a few droplets of water still remained at the bottom. "Wait for him to return. But in the end—what I waited for was the news of his death."

Goten fell silent.

He had not known that the word "wait" could carry such weight—a light, airy word that Zixia had spent five hundred years making heavier than any mountain.

"Goten," Zixia stood up, "I didn't tell you all this to make you sad. I wanted you to know that there are some people you can wait for for five hundred years and still never see. But there are others—you don't need to wait for them at all—they will come to you naturally."

She walked away.

Goten sat in the training yard, watching Zixia's retreating figure; her words lingered in his mind for a long time.

He withdrew his gaze and looked back at the stone before him.

He reached out and pressed his hand against the rock, sensing the primordial energy sleeping within it. This time, his perception was deeper than it had ever been before—so deep that it surprised even himself.

The stone slowly floated up from the ground—not an inch, not two—but a full ten feet into the air.

This was not brute force; it was a breakthrough in his understanding of primordial energy. It hung suspended in mid-air, remaining perfectly steady as if it had never once touched the ground.