I braced myself against the wall and slowly stood up. My palm pressed against the stone, and the chill crept up from it. My legs were still trembling, but they could support my body now. The spot at the Baihui Acupoint on top of my head throbbed as if it had been pricked by needles, but it was far better than the chaotic currents crashing through me before.
The room was quiet. The animal hide on the roof still rustled as the wind rose and fell. I looked up at the loosened vine, its knot crooked over the beam, hanging down like a rope with its line cut. I did not touch it. I had wanted to fix it just now, but it no longer seemed urgent. This house would not collapse, just as I would not fall now.
I lowered my head and touched my chest. The ruined spirit stone was still tucked against my skin inside my clothes. It no longer glowed or gave off heat, but I could still sense its presence. It was the first thing I had used, the starting point that had set me on the path of cultivation. It was broken, but I could not throw it away.
I returned to the corner and sat cross-legged. I did not close my eyes in a hurry or circulate my spiritual energy at once. I simply placed my hands on my knees and felt my breath rise and fall. My dantian was terribly empty, with barely a trace of airflow to be found, but I did not reach for any pills. I wanted to clearly assess my condition first.
My meridians still hurt. It was neither burning nor cutting pain, but the dull ache of long exertion, like calves after running ten miles. I slowly sent my awareness inward, starting from the Yongquan Acupoint at the soles of my feet and moving upward along the meridians. Whenever I reached a place where things snagged, I stopped and lingered for several breaths.
When I reached Yuzhen Pass, my fingers curled unconsciously. That was where the damage was worst. When I had forced my way through, my spiritual energy had exploded and nearly torn the entire Governing Vessel apart. It had stabilized now, but the marks remained. I memorized that place, knowing clearly that I would have to slow down there in the future.
That red line from the system surfaced in my mind again: "Guide slowly for three breaths, guard the Niwan Palace with intent, reverse the Governing Vessel and return to the Conception Vessel." Twelve words, each carrying weight. It was not the first time I had seen them, but it was the first time I truly understood what they meant.
"Slow" did not mean sluggish. "Guard" did not mean block. "Return" did not mean drag it back; it meant letting it return on its own. Like river water reaching a cliff and naturally flowing downward. I should not have pushed it forcefully, nor should I have stopped it.
I closed my eyes and recalled the basic chant of the Profound Origin Breathing Technique. I had once memorized it well: inhale as a secluded valley draws in clouds; exhale as a stream returns to the sea. I had thought following those words would be enough, but I had been wrong. They were not instructions for movement, but descriptions of a state. They described what the breath should be like, not something I had to force it to become.
I opened my mouth to call the system, but my voice was still hoarse. After clearing my throat, I finally spoke. "Please reanalyze the foundational section of the first three levels of the Profound Origin Breathing Technique."
My sea of consciousness was silent for several seconds. I thought it would not respond, since it had only given feedback when I answered questions before. But just as I was about to give up, a passage of text slowly emerged.
There was no reward notice, nor any mission window. Only a clean annotation:
"The first level does not lie in rapid achievement, but in 'awareness.' Be aware of the birth of qi, aware of the openness and blockage of the meridians, aware of the restlessness and stillness of the heart."
I froze. Those words seemed carved into my mind with a blade. So I had been getting it wrong all along. I had thought cultivation meant creating something from nothing, but it was really a journey from ignorance to understanding. It was not about refining spiritual energy first and sensing it afterward. Only by learning to sense it first could I guide it.
I read on. The system continued sending information, explaining the rhythm points that should be present during each circulation, where I should pause, where I could only use intent and not force, and even how different times of day affected sensitivity to spiritual energy.
This was not a reward for answering questions, nor was it a remedy after punishment. This was the first time it had proactively given me something—not because I had answered anything correctly, but because the way I asked had changed.
I opened my eyes and took out the jade slip and engraving pen I carried in my sleeve. My hand still trembled slightly, making my writing unsteady, but I wrote each stroke slowly. After writing each sentence, I tried moving a thread of spiritual energy through my body to verify it. I was not circulating the entire technique, only testing individual parts.
When I wrote, "Be aware of the birth of qi," I stopped for a long time. I realized I did not know at all how qi was born. I had always thought it was drawn in through breathing, or produced by the dantian itself. But when I probed according to this new understanding, I discovered that qi actually seeped in from the outside, like moisture condensing into dew, gathering bit by bit at the bottom of my dantian.
I revised my earlier notes and added a small line beside them: Qi is not self-born; it is drawn from without into within, gathering into threads.
After writing that sentence, I suddenly felt my shoulders loosen. It was not physical relief, but the release of something that had been weighing on my heart. I knew where I had gone wrong, and I knew how to correct it. That feeling was more solid than breaking through to a new realm.
I put down the jade slip and stood up. The room was too stuffy. I wanted to go outside for a walk.
When I pushed open the wooden door, the night wind blew straight into my face. There were countless stars in the sky, and a silver band stretched across the heavens. I could not read the star charts, nor did I know which star corresponded to which great power, but I knew they had always been there. Unchanging for ten thousand years, neither fighting nor striving.
I stood at the doorway and gazed at the distant mountain silhouettes. This valley was not large, and I had not been here long. Building a house, cultivating, making mistakes, getting injured... it felt as if I had gone through so much, but it had only been a few days.
I thought of the day I first arrived, clutching a spirit stone in my hand and unable even to chop down a tree. Back then, I had only wanted to survive. Now that I had a cultivation technique and resources, I had instead driven myself into a dead end.
I smiled. I was laughing at my own impatience.
The Primordial World was so vast, and the great calamity had not even begun. Why should I care whether I had made progress in these few days? Others cultivated for a thousand years before even entering the gate, yet I had only been at it for so long and already wanted to reach the heavens in a single step?
I turned and went back inside, washed my hands again, and lit a small stick of incense. As the smoke rose, I took out the jade slip and wrote three rules in the blank space at the very front:
First, do not crave speed. Second, do not act rashly. Third, always reflect on oneself.
After writing them, I blew on the ink and set the jade slip aside by itself. Then I returned to my spot, adjusted my posture, placed both palms over my knees, and closed my eyes in concentration.
This time, I did not think about how many cycles I could complete. I only intended to follow the most basic route once: starting from the dantian, moving upward along the Conception Vessel, passing through the Zhongji Acupoint, Guanyuan Acupoint, and Tanzhong Acupoint, then turning to the Governing Vessel, passing through the Mingmen Acupoint, Dazhui Acupoint, and Yuzhen Pass, finally reaching Baihui, before reversing the Governing Vessel and returning to the Conception Vessel, back to the dantian.
For the entire process, I measured each movement by half a breath. Every inch I advanced, I stopped once to feel it. Was there any blockage? Any restlessness? Was my heart calm?
When my spiritual energy completed a full circuit for the first time, I was already sweating. Not from exhaustion, but from maintaining focus for too long. Yet this stream of qi was steady. Unlike before, it did not float on the surface, but moved solidly along my meridians.
I opened my eyes, my breathing even. The incense in the room had not yet burned out, and its smoke rose straight. The vine on the roof was still swaying, but its knot had not loosened further.
I reached out and touched the spirit stone against my chest. It was still cold, but warmth rose in my heart.
I knew how I should proceed from here.
I would no longer chase speed, nor would I fear slowness. I would plant every step firmly and sort out every breath clearly.
I picked up the engraving pen, ready to add today's insights to the jade slip. The tip had just touched its surface when my sea of consciousness suddenly trembled faintly.
A new prompt appeared.
It was neither a red warning nor a question interface.
There was only one sentence:
"Detected correction in the host's cultivation philosophy. Phase-based assistance mode activated."
Before you continue