The first rays of dawn crept through the cracks of Lin Feng's dilapidated wooden hut, casting long shadows across the dirt floor. His eyes snapped open, breath coming in short, ragged gasps as the vestiges of a recurring dream clung to his consciousness. In the fading remnants of his slumber, he had soared through azure skies, qi coursing through his veins, the limitations of mortality left far behind. But reality crashed down upon him as the familiar ache in his muscles made itself known—a constant reminder of his grueling daily labor in the fields.
At sixteen, Lin Feng was nothing more than a common farmhand in the remote village of Willow Creek, nestled in the shadows of the towering Azure Mountains. Like most inhabitants of the Mortal Realm, he spent his days toiling under the scorching sun, eking out a meager existence in a world where true power seemed forever out of reach.
Sitting up on his threadbare mat, Lin Feng ran a calloused hand through his unkempt black hair, his dark eyes reflecting a mixture of resignation and an ember of defiance that refused to be extinguished. Unlike many of his peers who had long ago accepted their lot in life, Lin Feng harbored a burning desire that set him apart—a desperate yearning to break free from the shackles of mortality and ascend to greater heights.
Tales of immortal cultivators had captivated Lin Feng since childhood. Stories whispered around village bonfires spoke of beings who could split mountains with a wave of their hand, of ageless masters who had unlocked the secrets of the universe. These legends painted a picture of a world beyond the mundane, where qi—the fundamental energy of creation—could be harnessed to achieve the impossible.
Yet, in the harsh reality of Willow Creek, such dreams seemed destined to remain just that—dreams. Qi was scarce in the Mortal Realm, and true cultivation methods were closely guarded secrets, passed down through ancient sects and noble families. For a mere farmhand like Lin Feng, the path to immortality might as well have been on the far side of the moon.
As Lin Feng rose to begin another day of backbreaking work, a strange sensation washed over him. It started as a faint tingle at the base of his spine, quickly spreading throughout his body. His heart raced as an unfamiliar warmth coursed through his veins, igniting every nerve ending.
"What... what is this?" he whispered, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and excitement.
Instinctively, Lin Feng closed his eyes and focused on the strange energy pulsing within him. To his astonishment, he could sense a faint, swirling mist of qi—the very essence he had only dreamed of—gathering around him. It was barely perceptible, like trying to grasp smoke with bare hands, but it was undeniably there.
A memory stirred in the recesses of his mind—a fragment of an ancient meditation technique he had overheard from a traveling merchant years ago. The old man had been deep in his cups, loosened by rice wine, and had let slip a few tantalizing details of a breathing exercise said to awaken one's latent qi.
With trembling hands, Lin Feng assumed a cross-legged position on the floor and attempted to steady his breathing. Inhale for four counts, hold for seven, exhale for eight. The pattern felt awkward at first, his lungs burning with the effort, but slowly, ever so slowly, he fell into a rhythm.
As his breathing steadied, Lin Feng became acutely aware of the world around him. The rough texture of the wooden floorboards beneath him, the gentle caress of the morning breeze through the cracks in the walls, the distant chirping of early-rising birds—every sensation seemed magnified tenfold.
And there, at the edge of his perception, was the qi. It swirled around him in eddies and currents, responding to the rhythm of his breath. With each inhalation, Lin Feng imagined drawing the energy into himself, visualizing it as a golden mist seeping into his pores.
Hours passed unnoticed as Lin Feng remained locked in this state of cultivation. The sun climbed higher in the sky, its warmth intensifying, but he was oblivious to it all. In his mind's eye, he saw the qi circulating through his body, following pathways he somehow instinctively knew—meridians, the ancient texts had called them.
It was crude and unrefined, nothing like the powerful techniques wielded by true immortals, but Lin Feng could feel the energy nourishing his cells and strengthening his muscles. A profound sense of rightness settled over him, as if he had finally found a piece of himself that had always been missing.
When Lin Feng finally opened his eyes, he was startled to find that the sun had already passed its zenith. Panic gripped him as he realized how late he was for his duties. Old Man Chen, the irascible farmer who employed half the village's youth, was not known for his patience or forgiveness.
As he scrambled to his feet, Lin Feng noticed something extraordinary. The constant ache in his body—the result of years of hard labor—had vanished, replaced by a newfound vitality. He felt lighter, stronger, more aware of his surroundings than ever before. Even the air seemed different, charged with possibilities he had never before imagined.
A wide grin spread across Lin Feng's face as the realization dawned on him. Against all odds, he had taken the first step on the path of cultivation. He, Lin Feng, a mere mortal farmhand, had awakened his latent qi.
But as quickly as the elation came, it was tempered by caution. Lin Feng knew the stories—cultivators were both revered and feared. In a world where power was jealously guarded, the sudden emergence of a new cultivator could upset delicate balances. If word of his awakening spread, it could bring unwanted attention, both good and bad.
For now, he would have to keep this miraculous development a secret. He would continue his life as a simple farmhand by day, but by night, he would nurture this small spark of power, fanning it into a roaring flame that would one day propel him beyond the Mortal Realm.
With renewed purpose, Lin Feng quickly donned his worn work clothes and rushed out of the hut. The village of Willow Creek sprawled before him, a collection of humble dwellings and small plots of land nestled in a valley between two offshoots of the Azure Mountains. In the distance, he could see his fellow workers already toiling in Old Man Chen's fields, their backs bent as they tended to the rice paddies.
As he jogged towards the fields, Lin Feng's mind raced with questions and possibilities. How had this happened? Why now? And most importantly, what should he do next? He had no mentor, no ancient manual to guide him—only fragments of overheard conversations and half-remembered tales.
"Lin Feng!" a gruff voice bellowed, snapping him out of his reverie. Old Man Chen stood at the edge of the field, his weathered face creased with annoyance. "Where in the name of the Jade Emperor have you been, boy? The sun's been up for hours!"
"I'm sorry, Old Man Chen," Lin Feng said, bowing his head in contrition. "I... I overslept. It won't happen again."
The old farmer's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "See that it doesn't. Now get to work—those weeds won't pull themselves."
As Lin Feng waded into the knee-deep water of the rice paddy, he couldn't help but marvel at how different everything felt. His movements seemed more fluid, more precise. Tasks that had once left him exhausted now felt almost effortless. He found himself having to consciously slow down, lest his newfound abilities draw unwanted attention.
Throughout the day, Lin Feng's mind wandered to the qi circulating within him. Even as his hands worked automatically, pulling weeds and tending to the delicate rice plants, he focused on the energy flowing through his meridians. With each passing hour, he felt his control growing, his understanding deepening.
As the sun began to set, painting the sky in brilliant hues of orange and pink, Old Man Chen finally called an end to the day's labor. Lin Feng's fellow workers trudged back to the village, their shoulders slumped with exhaustion. But Lin Feng felt invigorated, eager to return to his hut and continue his exploration of this new world that had opened up to him.
"Lin Feng," Old Man Chen called out as the young man was about to leave. "A moment."
Anxiety gripped Lin Feng as he approached the old farmer. Had he noticed something amiss? "Yes, Old Man Chen?"
The old man's rheumy eyes studied him intently. "You worked well today, boy. Better than usual. Keep it up, and there might be a future for you beyond these fields."
Relief washed over Lin Feng. "Thank you, Old Man Chen. I'll do my best."
As he walked back to his hut, Lin Feng's mind whirled with possibilities. A future beyond the fields—once, that had seemed like an impossible dream. But now, with the power of qi at his fingertips, who knew what heights he might reach?
The village was alive with the sounds of evening—children laughing as they played in the dusty streets, the clang of pots and pans as families prepared their meager suppers, the low murmur of conversation as neighbors gathered to share the day's gossip. It all felt so familiar, yet somehow foreign, as if Lin Feng was seeing his home through new eyes.
He paused at the village well, drawing a bucket of cool, clear water. As he drank deeply, slaking his thirst, a commotion near the village entrance caught his attention. A small crowd had gathered, their excited whispers carrying on the evening breeze.
Curiosity piqued, Lin Feng made his way over to the group. At its center stood a man unlike any Lin Feng had ever seen. Tall and imposing, with long black hair tied back in a topknot, the stranger wore robes of fine silk embroidered with intricate patterns. But it was his eyes that truly set him apart—they seemed to glow with an inner light, hinting at power beyond mortal ken.
"A cultivator," someone whispered in awe, and Lin Feng felt his heart skip a beat.
The stranger's gaze swept over the villagers, a bemused smile playing at his lips. When his eyes met Lin Feng's, the young man felt a jolt, as if the cultivator could see right through him, perceiving the newly awakened qi that coursed through his veins.
For a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, their gazes remained locked. Then the cultivator's smile widened almost imperceptibly, and he inclined his head in the barest hint of a nod before turning away.
As the crowd dispersed, buzzing with excitement at this rare visit, Lin Feng remained rooted to the spot, his mind awhirl. Had the cultivator sensed something in him? And if so, what did it mean?
With effort, Lin Feng shook off his daze and hurried back to his hut. As he closed the rickety door behind him, shutting out the world, a sense of anticipation filled him. He had taken the first step on an incredible journey, and while the path ahead was shrouded in uncertainty, he knew one thing for certain—his life would never be the same.
Settling into a cross-legged position on the floor, Lin Feng closed his eyes and reached for the qi within him. As the energy responded to his call, flowing through his meridians with growing strength, a smile played across his lips. The path of cultivation stretched out before him, fraught with peril and promise in equal measure.
And Lin Feng was ready to walk it, no matter the cost.