The dim light of dusk filtered through the wide-open windows of the bedchamber. Shadows danced on the polished wooden floors as a faint breeze stirred the edges of hanging tapestries. Xianlu sat cross-legged in the center of the room, his posture deliberate and unwavering. His arms were folded in an intricate hand seal, and his breathing was steady, measured, a rhythmic rise and fall like the tide lapping against the shore.
The pose was part of a cultivation technique he had been trying to master for days. Vein-Weaving required absolute precision—not only in movement but also in intent. Every breath, every shift in focus, sent Spiritual Qi coursing through his veins like molten streams, knitting the fragile threads of power into a delicate tapestry within his body. It was both art and science, and Xianlu prided himself on excelling at both.
But today, something was wrong.
Xianlu's brow furrowed. A strange sensation pooled in his chest, spreading outward like ink in water. The energy wasn't flowing correctly; it felt jagged and erratic, refusing to respond to his will. No matter how much he adjusted his breathing, the discomfort remained, gnawing at him like a stubborn thorn lodged under the skin.
"This doesn't feel right," he muttered, breaking the silence. His voice echoed faintly in the empty hall, a stark contrast to the stillness surrounding him.
For the first time in years, doubt crept into his mind. Should he ask for help? The thought lingered, unwelcome and uncomfortable. His grandfather, Daiten, was a seasoned cultivator before his fall from grace, an 80% Resonance Bloodline Awakener in his own right. Surely, he would have answers. And then there was also Uncle Yuhen, always ready with advice, though his methods tended to be full of riddles.
But Xianlu hesitated.
Years ago, when he was just a child, neither Daiten nor Yuhen had taught him anything about cultivation. Back then, he had been a mere mortal, with no cultivation aptitude or talent to speak of. They had avoided the subject entirely, tiptoeing around it like it was some fragile thing that might shatter under scrutiny. Conversations about cultivation were always hushed or quickly redirected whenever he was in the room. It was as if they feared the topic might remind him of what he lacked, as if they thought him too fragile to handle the truth.
He clenched his jaw at the memory.
But things were different now. He was no longer the helpless mortal child trailing behind his elders, watching Vein-Weavers perform feats he could only dream of. He was a Vein-Weaver now, a cultivator in his own right. He had achieved an opportunity to get to this, enduring the constant bullying and disappointment towards him. His current dilemma should have been trivial.
And yet, it wasn't.
Xianlu opened his eyes, his gaze fixing on the faint outlines of his reflection in the window. The face staring back at him was calm, composed—but beneath the surface, frustration simmered.
"Why can't I figure this out?" he thought, the words echoing in his mind like a challenge.
He prided himself on being independent. It was a core part of who he was, a trait he had cultivated as fiercely as any skill. If a problem arose, he tackled it head-on, refusing to rely on others unless absolutely necessary. Asking for help felt like admitting defeat, and defeat was something Xianlu had never handled well.
So far, this mindset had served him well. His natural comprehension and meticulous attention to detail had allowed him to excel in nearly everything he attempted. Whether it was mastering a new book theory, deciphering texts, or crafting intricate tea blends, Xianlu approached each challenge with unwavering focus and determination. His high comprehension level and perfectionist tendencies had always been his greatest assets.
But today was different.
The energy within him refused to cooperate, no matter how much he concentrated. It felt wild, unpredictable, as though it had a will of its own. Each failed attempt only added to his frustration, the sting of inadequacy biting deeper with every passing moment.
Xianlu closed his eyes again, trying to regain his focus. He began the technique from the beginning, carefully aligning his breathing with the flow of his spiritual qi. For a brief moment, it seemed to work. The energy moved smoothly, like a river carving its way through a valley. But just as he started to relax, the jagged sensation returned, breaking the flow and sending a jolt of discomfort through his body.
"Bummer!" he hissed, his composure slipping.
He lowered his hands and exhaled sharply, the sound filled with irritation.
"Am I really this useless?" The thought came unbidden, and he immediately pushed it away. It wasn't like him to entertain such doubts. But no matter how hard he tried to shake it off, the question lingered, a dark cloud casting a shadow over his usually unshakable confidence.
He rose to his feet, pacing the length of the hall. His movements were fluid, almost restless, like a caged tiger searching for an escape.
"Maybe I'm overthinking this," he muttered to himself. But even as he said it, he knew it wasn't true. Overthinking wasn't the problem—if anything, he thrived on overthinking. It was what allowed him to notice the tiniest details, to see patterns where others saw only chaos.
So why couldn't he see the solution now?
The idea of asking for help resurfaced, more insistent this time. He could already picture the scene: going to his grandfather, explaining the problem, and watching as the old man solved it in a matter of moments. The thought made his pride flare, a stubborn resistance rising within him. And asking for help also would require him to let his Grandfather know that he was a Vein-Weaver.
"Hah… I don't need help," he muttered, his voice firm, though it sounded more like an attempt to convince himself than a declaration of confidence. His fingers flexed against his knees as he took a deep breath, trying to steady the turmoil inside.
He wanted to prove himself first, to achieve something tangible before telling his grandfather the truth—that he was no longer the mortal child they had tiptoed around, but a Vein-Weaver now, capable of shaping the flow of energy within him. Until then, he would keep this secret close, burying it deep until he had something meaningful to show.
But even as he said it, doubt crept in. Was it really so terrible to admit that he didn't have all the answers? His grandfather and uncle had years of experience, far more than he could hope to match at his current level. Surely, seeking their guidance wasn't a sign of weakness—it was simply pragmatic.
And yet, the thought of doing so still felt like an admission of failure.
Xianlu stopped pacing and took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He returned to his original position, sitting cross-legged on the floor.
"This time will be different," he told himself, his tone resolute. "I just need to focus."
He closed his eyes and began the technique once more, his mind honing in on the flow of energy within him. He visualized it as a river, smooth and unbroken, carving its path through his body. For a moment, it seemed to work. The discomfort faded, replaced by a sense of calm and clarity.
But then, without warning, the jagged sensation returned, shattering his concentration and leaving him gasping for breath.
Xianlu's eyes snapped open, frustration etched into every line of his face.
"Maybe this is what failure feels like," he thought bitterly. It was an unfamiliar feeling, one he wasn't sure how to handle. He had always prided himself on his ability to overcome any obstacle, to rise to any challenge. But now, for the first time, he felt truly stumped.
His pride stung, a sharp and bitter wound that refused to heal.
"Am I really going to let this defeat me?" he asked himself, his voice barely above a whisper.
The silence that followed felt heavy, oppressive.
Xianlu clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. The answer was obvious, even if he didn't want to admit it. He couldn't solve this on his own. No matter how much he hated the idea, he needed help.
His grandfather's words echoed in his mind, a memory from years ago: "Strength doesn't come from doing everything alone, Xianlu. True strength lies in knowing when to rely on others."
At the time, he had dismissed the sentiment as sentimental nonsense. But now, standing on the precipice of failure, he couldn't help but wonder if there was truth in those words.
With a reluctant sigh, Xianlu rose to his feet. He glanced toward the door, where the faint light of the setting sun cast long shadows across the floor.
"I'll ask him," he said, his voice steady but tinged with resignation. "But I have to find a way to keep my cultivation hidden, but how..."
Even as he made the decision, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was betraying some fundamental part of himself. But deep down, he knew it was the right choice.
...
The warm aroma of Black Leaves tea filled the small Tea shop, mingling with the faint scent of sawdust and earth. Grandfather Daiten sat in his usual spot, a simple wooden chair by the window, sipping his tea infused with Veinroot. The dark, herbal blend had become part of his daily routine, and its effects were unmistakable. His health had improved remarkably in the past weeks, and the faint traces of his younger, more vigorous self began to resurface.
Even the clan old aunties couldn't help but notice.
"You've been glowing lately, Master Daiten," one of them teased with a sly grin as she picked up her parcel of herbs. "What's your secret? Found the elixir of youth, have you?"
Daiten chuckled, his deep voice carrying the confidence of a man who had once been the talk of the town. "Just tea and good habits," he replied, though there was a twinkle in his eye.
In his prime, Daiten had been a strikingly handsome man with a valiant spirit, always ready to take on challenges with unwavering determination. That spark hadn't left him, and now, as he regained his health, those who had known him in his younger days couldn't help but reminisce.
Meanwhile, the tea shop door creaked open, and a familiar figure stepped inside.
It was Kai, his clothes lightly dusted with sawdust, and his hands roughened from days of work. For the past week, he had been training under one of Daiten's carpenter friends, learning the intricate art of mending and crafting. Despite his humble background, Kai had shown a natural talent for the craft, earning the admiration of the older artisans.
"Ah, young boy," Daiten greeted, setting his teacup down. "Back from your lessons already?"
Kai bowed deeply, his respect evident in every movement. "Yes, Grandmaster. I wanted to clean the shop before tending to my other tasks."
Without another word, Kai grabbed a broom and set to work, his movements precise and practiced. Diligence was second nature to him, a trait that had endeared him to Daiten and the other customers. For Kai, every small act was a step toward repaying the debt of gratitude he felt toward Xianlu for taking him in.
As Kai cleaned, Daiten continued to chat with a customer about the latest batch of herbs. It was during this conversation that Xianlu entered, balancing a tray of teacups with practiced ease. He moved with quiet confidence, his focus on serving the shop's patrons.
Xianlu approached his grandfather and offered a cup of freshly brewed tea. "Here, Grandpa," he said softly, setting the cup down before pouring for the others.
Daiten smiled warmly at him. "Thank you, Xian-Xian."
Xianlu didn't reply, but his gaze lingered on his grandfather for a moment longer than usual. He couldn't help but feel a surge of relief and happiness at seeing Daiten's improving health. The lines of fatigue and illness that had once marred his face were fading, replaced by a vitality that reminded Xianlu of the man who had raised him.
But Xianlu's mind was elsewhere. As he worked, an idea began to form. His eyes drifted to Kai, who was meticulously stacking wooden boxes near the counter.
"Kai," Xianlu called, his voice calm but commanding.
Kai immediately straightened and set down the box he was holding. "Yes, Master?"
"Come with me to the back," Xianlu said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Kai nodded and followed him without hesitation.
In the small, quiet space at the back of the shop, Xianlu turned to Kai.
"I need you to do something for me," Xianlu began, his expression unreadable.
"Anything, Master," Kai replied earnestly.
Xianlu gestured for Kai to sit, then demonstrated a series of body postures and breathing exercises. "Copy me," he instructed.
Kai tilted his head, confusion flickering in his eyes, but he obeyed. The postures were unfamiliar, yet they carried a certain rhythm that felt oddly natural. As he mimicked Xianlu's movements, he felt his breathing align with the flow of his bloodline qi, subtle and unforced.
"Good," Xianlu said, nodding in approval. "Now, keep practicing until it feels natural."
Kai did as he was told, his determination evident in the furrow of his brow.
After a while, Xianlu leaned closer and said, "We're going to approach my grandfather. When we do, I want you to ask him for tips on this technique. Be respectful, but don't hesitate to ask questions. He'll take a liking to your interest."
Kai's eyes widened. "You want me to ask the Grandmaster about cultivation?"
Xianlu's lips curved into a small smile. "Exactly. He won't refuse you."
Kai hesitated for a moment but then nodded. "I'll do my best." He said and thought, 'Is this another one of Master's plot?'
The two returned to the shop, where Daiten was finishing his conversation with a customer. Xianlu gestured for Kai to step forward.
"Grandmaster," Kai began, bowing deeply. "I've been practicing a breathing technique, but I'm struggling to understand the flow. Could you offer me some guidance?"
Daiten raised an eyebrow, his gaze flickering to Xianlu for a brief moment before settling on Kai. It was surprising to hear Kai ask about cultivation techniques, especially since Daiten knew the boy had no formal access to such knowledge. For a moment, he considered the possibility that Xianlu had something to do with this. But he brushed the thought aside; Kai was an eager learner, and it wasn't entirely unthinkable for him to stumble across fragments of techniques through observation or experimentation.
"Show me what you've been practicing," Daiten said, leaning forward slightly.
Kai nodded respectfully and dropped into a stance. He adjusted his posture carefully, recalling the exact positions Xianlu had taught him earlier. Then he began the breathing exercises, his movements deliberate, almost mechanical.
Daiten watched in silence, his keen eyes taking in every shift of muscle and every breath Kai drew. After a minute, he spoke. "Stop."
Kai froze immediately, looking at Daiten with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.
"Your form is decent," Daiten began, his voice measured, "but there's a fundamental issue. Try again."
Kai nodded and resumed the exercise. As he moved through the motions, Daiten stood and circled him like a hawk, his sharp gaze catching every minor flaw. "Your posture here is too rigid," he said, tapping Kai's shoulder. "And here, your breathing falters—too shallow. But the biggest issue…" He stepped back, arms crossed, "…is that you're trying too hard."
Kai blinked, confused. "Trying too hard, Grandmaster?" Xianlu also raised an eyebrow subtly.
Daiten nodded. "Cultivation isn't something you force into place," he explained, his tone firm but patient. "It's not about bending your body or bloodline qi to your will as if they're tools to be manipulated. Instead of thinking too much about it, feel the flow with your heart and soul. Cultivation is not about perfecting postures; it's about finding the right flow and current to lead you, like a river finding the right veins to reach the ocean."
Kai furrowed his brow, his determination evident as he tried to process the advice. "But how do I feel the flow, Grandmaster? It's difficult to grasp something so intangible." Kai asked, Xianlu was internally surprised to hear the question because he was also thinking the same thing. His evaluation of Kai's aptitude was raised by a bit.
Daiten smiled faintly. "You've spent time learning carpentry, haven't you?"
"Yes, Grandmaster."
"When you carve wood, do you force the grain to bend to your will?"
Kai shook his head. "No, I follow the natural grain, or the wood will split."
"Exactly," Daiten said, his voice carrying a note of approval. "The same principle applies to cultivation. Your energy has its own flow, its own grain. You must learn to follow it, not force it. Relax, young boy. Stop trying to be perfect and start trying to understand."
Kai inhaled deeply and tried again, this time letting go of the tension in his body and mind. His movements softened, and his breathing began to sync with the rhythm of his energy.
Daiten watched him for a few moments before nodding. "Better. Now, close your eyes and focus inward. Feel, don't think."
Kai obeyed, and this time, his movements carried a newfound fluidity. It wasn't perfect, but it was natural, unforced.
Xianlu observed and was internally impressed, he knew that Mutated Bloodlines have unpredictable talents but to see such high aptitude from one, Xianlu was shocked.
"Good," Daiten said, a trace of pride in his voice. He glanced briefly at Xianlu, who stood nearby, his expression carefully neutral. But Daiten noticed the glint in Xianlu's eyes—a spark of interest that betrayed his otherwise indifferent demeanor.
Daiten couldn't help but feel a pang of concern. He had always avoided discussing cultivation in front of Xianlu, fearing it might remind his grandson of what he believed was an unattainable path. To him, Xianlu was still a mortal—a bright, capable mortal, but a mortal nonetheless.
He paused for a moment upon realization, studying his grandson. Was this really Kai's question, or was it Xianlu's? The thought lingered, but Daiten chose not to voice it. Whatever Xianlu was up to, it was harmless for now.
With renewed enthusiasm, he delved deeper into his explanation, sharing insights and techniques he had learned during his own youth. His voice carried the weight of years of experience, each word painting a vivid picture of the intricate art of cultivation.
By the time he finished, Daiten leaned back in his chair, his breath slightly ragged from the effort. "That's enough for now. Practice what I've shared, and remember—cultivation is a journey, not a race."
Kai bowed deeply. "Thank you, Grandmaster. Your guidance is invaluable."
Daiten nodded, his gaze shifting to Xianlu. "And you, Xian-Xian. Don't overwork yourself, hm?"
Xianlu simply nodded, his face unreadable as he ushered Kai back to the quarters they shared.
Later that evening, Xianlu sat cross-legged in his room, the faint glow of moonlight streaming through the window. He replayed his grandfather's words in his mind, analyzing every detail, every nuance. Across from him, Kai mirrored his posture, practicing the same breathing technique.
"You're improving," Xianlu said, his tone matter-of-fact.
"Thank you, Master," Kai replied, his voice filled with genuine gratitude.
Xianlu studied him for a moment. Kai's progress was impressive, especially considering his background. Growing up in a small, isolated tribe, Kai had never received formal education. His cultivation abilities stemmed from a mutated bloodline and the Veinroot he had consumed as a child. Yet, despite these unorthodox beginnings, Kai's dedication and eagerness to learn were unparalleled.
"You'll refine your skills faster if you practice alongside me," Xianlu said. "Consider yourself my mirror. Watch my movements, understand them, and reflect them back to me."
Kai's eyes widened, a mix of awe and gratitude flooding his expression. "I'll do my best, Master. I promise."
As the two continued their practice, a quiet sense of determination filled the room. For Xianlu, Kai was more than a follower—he was a tool to sharpen his own understanding, a reflection that would help him see his own flaws and strengths more clearly.
For Kai, Xianlu was the moon—his guiding light in the darkness. The gratitude he felt for his Master was immeasurable, a weight he carried in his heart with quiet determination. He vowed silently to repay it someday, though the path to doing so remained a mystery to him.
But did he wish for this debt to end? Did he long for freedom from this unspoken bond? That, even he could not yet answer.