The air in Xianfeng Valley was heavy with dust, the fields cracked and barren from years of relentless drought. A weary sun hung low in the sky, painting the horizon in muted hues of orange and red, its light barely disguising the despair that clung to the villagers like a second skin.

Liang stood barefoot at the edge of his family's small plot of land, a rusted hoe in hand. He stared at the parched earth, frustration gnawing at his chest. The seeds they'd planted weeks ago had failed to sprout, just like every year before. His parents were growing older, their backs bent from years of toil, and Liang felt helpless to change their fate.

"Liang!" his mother called from the house, her voice cracked and hoarse. "The water's running low. Bring the bucket to the well before sunset."

"Coming, Mother," Liang replied, setting the hoe aside. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, his skin smudged with dirt. His stomach growled, but the thought of another meal of watery porridge was enough to dull his hunger.

As he trudged to the well, he caught sight of his reflection in a puddle: a lean figure, tall for his age but wiry, with unkempt black hair and eyes that still carried a spark of defiance. The village boys often mocked him for his daydreams, calling him "the cloud chaser." But Liang couldn't let go of the stories—the tales of cultivators who could summon storms, split mountains, and bend the heavens to their will. What would it be like to have that kind of power? To rise above the earthbound struggles of a farmer's life?

He shook his head, forcing the thought away. Dreams didn't fill stomachs.

Later that evening, the villagers gathered around the elder's fire pit as the stars began to peek through the darkening sky. It was one of the few traditions that hadn't faded with the drought. The elder, a wiry old man with a long white beard, tapped his cane rhythmically against the ground, his voice steady despite his age.

"Do you know of the Azure Bloom?" he asked, his eyes scanning the circle of weary faces.

Liang's ears perked up. He'd heard the name whispered in passing, but no one ever told the full story. Tonight, it seemed, was different.

"The Azure Bloom," the elder began, "is no ordinary flower. It is said to grow where the heavens themselves touch the earth. Its petals shimmer like moonlight, and its scent can calm even the fiercest spirit beast. But its greatest gift lies in its power to choose."

"Choose?" a child asked, his voice filled with wonder.

The elder nodded. "Yes, child. The Azure Bloom is said to grant its chosen one immense power—a connection to the heavens, a chance to rewrite their fate. But such a gift comes with a price. Those unworthy are consumed by their own greed, leaving behind only whispers in the wind."

The villagers muttered among themselves. Liang sat silently, his fists clenched. The idea of being chosen by something so divine both thrilled and terrified him. Could a poor farmer's son like him ever be worthy?

That night, Liang dreamed.

He stood in an endless field of stars, the ground beneath his feet soft as clouds. In the distance, a faint blue light pulsed, drawing him closer. As he approached, he saw it: a single flower with glowing petals, its beauty indescribable. The air around it hummed with energy, a sound both soothing and commanding.

A voice echoed, deep and resonant, yet soft as a whisper. "Liang of Xianfeng Valley. Are you willing to endure pain, to grow beyond your roots, and reach for the heavens?"

"I am," Liang whispered, though his voice trembled.

The flower's light grew brighter, enveloping him. He felt a warmth spreading through his chest, a connection so profound it left him breathless. And then, just as quickly, the dream shattered.

Liang awoke with a start, his heart pounding. Moonlight streamed through the cracks in the wooden walls of his room. He rubbed his chest, half-expecting to find the warmth still there, but it was gone.

The dream wouldn't leave him, though. It felt too real, too vivid to be dismissed as imagination. Something deep within him urged him to act, to follow the pull he had felt in the dream.

Quietly, so as not to wake his parents, Liang slipped out of bed and into the night. The village was silent, the only sound the rustling of the wind through the trees. He made his way toward the valley's edge, his feet guided by an unseen force.

The farther he went, the stranger the world became. The air grew thick with energy, the kind he'd only heard of in stories. The trees seemed larger, their leaves glimmering faintly in the moonlight. Every step brought him closer to something ancient, something alive.

At last, he reached a clearing. At its center stood the flower from his dream, the Azure Bloom. Its petals glowed softly, casting the grove in a pale blue light.

Liang approached, his breath caught in his throat. As he extended a trembling hand, the flower's light surged, and a voice rang out: "The path of cultivation begins with a single bloom. Do you dare to walk it?"

"I do," Liang said, his voice steady this time.

The flower's light consumed him, and in that moment, his world changed forever.