The morning sun broke over the horizon, spilling golden light across the endless fields of wheat swaying gently in the wind. In the small village of Yanhe, nestled between low rolling hills and quiet forests, life moved slowly, predictably. Farmers rose before dawn to till their land, and their children followed in their footsteps. It was a place of simplicity, where ambition was reserved to more educated folk and nothing to do with a good harvest and a warm meal.

For Qin Xia, however, life was anything but simple.

Sweat dripped down his brow as he sat cross-legged on a dusty mat inside his family's small wooden house. His breath came in slow, measured cycles, just as the faded manual on his lap instructed. He inhaled deeply, trying to sense the mysterious flow of Qi the book claimed surrounded everything. His mind strained, his heart pounded, but there was nothing. No surge of power, no mystical energy coursing through his veins—only the sound of his own frustration.

With a groan, Qin Xia slumped forward, letting the old manual fall closed. The cover, worn smooth by years of handling, bore the faint title: "The Great Cycling." It was the only connection he had to the legends his mother's family used to tell him as a child. Tales of immortals who flew across the sky, wielded unimaginable power, and lived for centuries. But to Qin Xia, they felt as far away as the stars.

Qin Xia's struggle was made harder by his low count of Spirit Roots. With only seven Spirit Roots, his affinity for Qi was weak, making it incredibly difficult to sense, let alone cultivate. Most prodigies were born with far fewer Spirit Roots, their talent shining bright like beacons. For Qin Xia, his roots were scattered and unfocused, and every step forward felt like an uphill battle.

"Still at it, eh?" came a deep voice from the doorway.

Qin Xia turned to see his father, Qin Fang, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. His father's face was weathered, lined from years of labor under the sun, but his eyes held a softness that belied his stern tone.

"I almost had it this time," Qin Xia said, forcing a smile. "I think I'm close to sensing Qi."

Qin Fang sighed, stepping inside and lowering himself onto a nearby stool. He reached out, picking up the manual and flipping through its brittle pages. "Your mother's filled your head with too many stories. Cultivation isn't for people like us, son. We're farmers. The land provides for us, and we give back to it. That's the way it's always been."

"But what if it doesn't have to be that way?" Qin Xia argued. "What if I can…" He hesitated, the words feeling foolish even as they left his mouth. "What if I can reach immortality?"

Qin Fang shook his head, a sad smile on his lips. "Immortality?" he said, chuckling softly. "You can't even make it to the first stage of Qi Refining. Do you know how many people dream of cultivation and fail? It's not a matter of hard work, Qin Xia. It's about talent, and the heavens didn't bless us with much of that."

Qin Xia's shoulders slumped. He knew his father wasn't trying to be cruel. Qin Fang had always supported his dream in his own quiet way. He had allowed Qin Xia to spend his mornings meditating instead of tending to the fields, despite the extra burden it placed on the family. But deep down, Qin Xia knew his father wished he would give up and face reality.

"The land is waiting for you," Qin Fang continued, his voice softer now. "Your plot is ready. The wheat won't plant itself. And it's honest work. There's pride in that, son."

Qin Xia looked away, unable to meet his father's gaze. "I just need more time. Please."

Qin Fang studied his son for a long moment, then nodded. "Alright. One more season. After that, if you're still chasing shadows, we'll talk again."

"And," Qin Fang added, his tone softening further, "I've been thinking. Your grandfather's old lot—the one with the shack near the northern field—it's been abandoned for years. It's overrun now, but if you're serious about this, you can make it yours. Work the land, clean up the shack, and see what you can make of it. At the very least, it'll be a place of your own."

Qin Xia's eyes widened in surprise. The lot his father mentioned had once belonged to his grandfather, Qin Yuan, a man he had only heard about through stories. Qin Yuan had been a farmer like the rest of the family, but his fields were said to have always yielded the most bountiful harvests, and the shack had been his retreat. It was small and run-down now, but the idea of having a place to call his own filled Qin Xia with a flicker of excitement.

"Thank you, Father," Qin Xia said, bowing deeply. "I won't waste this opportunity."

Qin Fang smiled faintly and stood up. "Good. Just remember, the land will give back only what you're willing to put into it. That applies to more than farming."

The day passed in a blur of familiar chores. Though Qin Xia spent the morning meditating, by afternoon he was back in the fields, tending to his small plot of land. The soil was dry, and the tools he used were old and worn, but he worked with a determination born of necessity. His arms ached, his back protested, but he pressed on, just as his father had taught him.

As he worked, his mind wandered back to the legends that had captivated him as a child. He imagined himself soaring through the sky, a sword of light in hand, vanquishing evil and protecting the weak. He saw himself standing atop a mountain, bathed in celestial light, his name whispered in awe by those below.

"Qin Xia! Stop daydreaming and focus," his father's voice snapped, pulling him back to reality. Qin Fang stood at the edge of the field, a frown on his face but no real anger in his tone. "The weeds won't pull themselves."

"Yes, Father," Qin Xia replied, returning to his task.

That night, as the village fell into a quiet slumber, Qin Xia sat alone under the stars. The manual lay open in his lap, and a single lantern cast flickering light across its pages. He traced the diagrams with his finger, muttering the instructions to himself.

"Sit cross-legged. Breathe in deeply. Imagine the flow of Qi entering your body and gathering in your dantian."

He closed his eyes and tried again. He inhaled slowly, his chest rising and falling in rhythm. He pictured the Qi as the manual described it—a river of energy flowing through the air, ready to be harnessed. He reached out with his mind, straining to feel even the faintest trace of it.

Nothing.

A sharp pang of frustration shot through him, but he forced it down. He had to stay calm. The manual said that impatience was the enemy of progress.

Minutes turned to hours, and still, he felt nothing. His legs grew numb, and his back ached from sitting upright. But he refused to move. He refused to give up.

Just as exhaustion began to overtake him, a strange sensation prickled at the edge of his awareness. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there—a whisper of something beyond the physical world. His eyes flew open, and he gasped, the moment lost.

"Was that… Qi?" he whispered to himself, his heart racing. For the first time, he felt a flicker of hope. It wasn't much, but it was something.

The week had passed in a blur of effort and frustration. The shack that had once been his grandfather's retreat now resembled more of a home, though it was far from perfect. Qin Xia had spent days clearing weeds, fixing broken shutters, and sweeping out years of dust and debris. His father often lent a hand when he could spare the time, though Qin Xia could tell the man was holding back his full approval, as if waiting to see whether his son would truly commit to this new life.

Qin Xia's training, however, had been far less productive. That brief, flickering sensation of Qi he had felt on the first night never returned, no matter how hard he tried. Each morning and evening, he would sit cross-legged on the mat he had brought from the main house, following the manual's instructions to the letter. He focused until his mind ached, until frustration bubbled up in his chest. But the Qi eluded him, like water slipping through his fingers.

Now, a week later, Qin Xia sat on the wooden floor of the shack, his back against the wall and the manual open on his lap. The sunlight streaming through the small window painted warm patterns across the page, but it brought him little comfort.

"Why won't it work?" he muttered, rubbing his temples. He closed the book with a frustrated sigh and pushed himself to his feet. The day's chores were done, and his father had already headed back to the main house. The woods beyond his small plot of land beckoned to him, their dark shapes promising adventure and distraction.

Qin Xia grabbed a small bag and tucked a wooden knife into it. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he stepped out into the afternoon light, taking a deep breath of the crisp air. The farm felt more like his own now, though there was still much to do. Perhaps exploring the woods would clear his mind and offer some inspiration—or at least give him something to take his mind off his failed training.

The woods were quiet as Qin Xia ventured deeper, the sounds of birds and rustling leaves surrounding him. The path faded quickly, replaced by uneven terrain and thick underbrush. He pushed forward, his wooden knife occasionally coming in handy to cut away stubborn vines or branches.

The farther he went, the less familiar the landscape became. The towering trees loomed above him, their gnarled branches casting long shadows on the forest floor. Qin Xia had never been much of an explorer; the fields and village had always been his world. But something about the woods intrigued him, pulling him further into their depths.

Time slipped away as he wandered, and soon he realized he had no idea where he was. The woods around him felt different now, darker and quieter, as if even the birds had fled. Anxiety prickled at the back of his neck. He turned in what he thought was the direction of his shack but found only more trees.

"Stay calm," he told himself, clutching the bag tightly. "Just find a landmark and head back."

As he walked, the distant sound of running water reached his ears. Relief flooded through him. A river. If he could find the river, he could follow it back to familiar ground.

The river wasn't far. It was wide and shallow, its surface sparkling in the afternoon sun. Qin Xia stepped onto the rocky bank and began walking upstream, hoping it would lead him back toward his land. But as the minutes turned to hours, the landscape refused to change. The forest seemed endless, the shadows growing longer as the sun dipped lower in the sky.

The tension in Qin Xia's chest grew. He was a farmer, not a woodsman, and the thought of spending the night lost in the forest made his stomach twist. He pressed on, trying to ignore the ache in his legs and the creeping sense of unease.

Then he saw it. A broken tree, its trunk splintered as if by a great force. The ground around it was torn up, the soil gouged and scattered. Qin Xia froze, his heart pounding in his chest. Something had happened here, something violent.

He took a cautious step closer, his eyes scanning the area. Further ahead, he spotted more signs of destruction—deep claw marks in another tree, patches of scorched earth, and… blood. Dark stains marked the ground, trailing off into the forest like a gruesome path.

"What happened here?" he whispered, clutching the strap of his bag. His instincts screamed at him to turn back, but curiosity and fear drove him forward. The forest was silent now, the air thick with an eerie stillness.

The trail of blood led him to a small clearing, and the sight before him made his breath catch. A man lay crumpled on the ground, his body surrounded by a pool of blood. His clothes were torn, and his face was pale, but his chest still rose and fell faintly. Around him were the corpses of two massive beasts—Greenback Earth Pounding Bears. Their hulking forms were unmistakable, their fur a mottled green and their paws like fleshy stone. The ground around them was torn and battered, evidence of a fierce battle.

Qin Xia's legs felt rooted to the spot as he took in the scene. The man's wounds were severe, his blood staining the dirt beneath him. The bears, though dead, still radiated an aura of menace, their lifeless eyes staring into the void.

"What do I do?" Qin Xia whispered, his voice barely audible. He had never seen magical beasts this close before, let alone something like this. The man's shallow breathing was a harsh contrast to the stillness of the bears, and a flicker of guilt twisted in Qin Xia's gut. He couldn't just leave him here, right?

Qin Xia hesitated before taking a cautious step forward. As he neared the man, faint mumbling reached his ears. The words were incoherent, but they carried a weight that made his skin prickle. He knelt beside the man, his hands trembling as he tried to hear what he was saying.

"Sir? Are you okay?" Qin Xia asked, his voice shaking.

The man's eyes snapped open, and in an instant, he jerked upright. Qin Xia stumbled backward, his heart pounding as their gazes locked. For a fleeting moment, an unexplainable sense of familiarity surged between them, a feeling as though they had known each other for lifetimes. Neither could place the reason, but the intensity of the connection froze them both.

Then the moment broke. The man coughed violently, blood spilling from his lips as he collapsed back onto the ground. Qin Xia scrambled closer, panic overriding his fear.

The man's voice was raspy and weak, but his words were clear. "All my life… I wondered why. Why I fought, why I pushed myself. I couldn't… understand. But now…" He let out a wet chuckle, his eyes locking onto Qin Xia's. "Now, I see… I'm glad… to know this. Even if it's the end."

"No, don't say that!" Qin Xia said, his voice rising in desperation. "I can help you! Just hold on…"

The man's body tensed, and an oppressive aura rolled off him like a dying flame flaring one last time. The air around them grew heavy, pressing down on Qin Xia's chest. Before he could react, the man moved. It was so fast that Qin Xia didn't even see him strike. Pain exploded in his chest, and when he looked down, the man's bloodied fist was buried in his heart.

Qin Xia gasped, his vision swimming as the world tilted around him. The man's voice was a whisper now, filled with something between regret and resolve. "I hope… you understand someday too."

The man smiled, blood staining his teeth, and then the oppressive aura vanished. Qin Xia's legs buckled, and he collapsed to the ground. The pain was overwhelming, a searing agony that consumed his every thought. He tried to speak, to scream, but no sound came out.

As darkness crept into the edges of his vision, the last thing he saw was the man's bloodied smile, still hauntingly calm as his own world faded away.