Rong Ling was six months old now. He played with his rattle while the adults stood around him and spoke. He didn’t understand their words, yet tried to copy the noises anyway. He knew they were important, but he didn’t know why. Of course, this was all instinctual. He was far from actively thinking such thoughts.

“It is still very early to test the spirit root of the boy, my lord.” A man said. He was old, had a long beard that Rong Ling desperately wanted to pull at, and seemed very calm, unlike his father.

“I care not. I need to know the strength of the child. If he will not be a cultivator, I will not waste more resources than needed on him.” Rong Bo told the man. He was red in the face, not from exertion but from simply breathing. The man was obese and weak, his only strength being his wallet.

“Of course, my lord. You do understand the dangers, yes? That there is a slight chance of damaging his spirit root, meridians, and dantin. The spirit roots and meridians can be fixed, of course, but the dantin cannot. It is either whole or shattered, and if shattered, it will never recover. Not unless a miracle happens.” The old man explained with more patience than even the kindest of grandfathers.

Rong Ling had no clue what any of these words meant, but he had heard his father talking a lot about them. They seemed very important. Apparently, his mother had a rare kind of spirit root, yet hers was small and weak. Rong Ling knew those words well, his father often called him that when drinking his spicy juice.

“Do it.” Rong Bo told the elderly man, rage seeping into his voice. The old man simply sighed and began pulling out some tools from the bag at his side.

The baby was very interested in this. Even his undeveloped mind could tell that there were too many items to be pulled out of the bag. They were too large and wouldn’t fit in the first place. Amazement held his attention on the old man as the tools of his trade were pulled from the bag.

First was a paintbrush, yet it was much longer than a normal one, with a single large hair on the end. Next was ink, yet instead of the usual black colour, it was bright blue. Then came strange paper seals of many kinds, some incense, and crystal ball. Rong Ling obviously didn’t know what any of these items were or what they were used for, but they held his attention nonetheless. They were new and strange, and he wanted to grab them.

His little arms reached out to grab the paintbrush. He wanted to stick the strange thick hair in his mouth and see what it tasted of. He wanted to know if it tasted better than the apple mush that his sitter gave him. Anything was better than that. It was bitter and icky.

The old man pulled out a strange ring of ice and put that in his hands instead. The baby grabbed hold with both hands and shoved the ring in his mouth right away. At first, the ice tasted odd. He had never had ice before. But the coolness on his gums was nice, and sucking on it made him strangely happy.

“That will keep him busy while I work.” The old man said with a slight smile. The old man then began the ritual. First was the incense. It was stuck around the baby and lit with a slight rub of the old man's fingers on the ends. The smell was sweet, like a peach. Soon, the room was filled with smoke.

The next step was drawing a circle around Rong Ling. The old man took great care, holding his wrist with his free hand to steady himself as he drew. The initial circle was simple, but runes and letters were written around the circle, making it more and more complex. Three circles of runes and letters were drawn around the circle, then surrounded by another circle.

Finally, the paper seals were attached. One was placed on the chest of the child, the rest were placed seemingly randomly around the circles. The orb was then placed above the head of the child. Everything was set up and ready.

“This is the last chance, my lord. If I continue from here, there is no backing out.” The old man said, placing the spare materials back into the bag.

“Yes. I need to know. Begin the ritual, Cultivator.” Rong Bo demanded. His voice lost its anger, instead, it was tense. Worry slipped into his voice, causing the baby to look at him and reach out with one hand.

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The old man, now known as a Cultivator, touched the paper attached to the baby. A pure blue energy travelled from the end of the man's finger to the paper, and from there bleed out to the other papers. The paper acted as a conduit, leading the energy into the formation around the child.

Then, the formation began to glow bright blue. The smoke in the room began to twist and turn. It flowed into the formation and made it change from blue to grey. The grey energy then flowed into the baby, who began to cry and squirm. He was clearly in pain. Rong Ling threw the ice circle to the side and balled his fists as he tried to escape the pain.

“The child is struggling against the formation. Give me a moment to make an adjustment.” The elderly cultivator said as he stuck another paper onto the forehead of the child. With a few taps on the child's body, his arms and legs went limp.

“You didn’t harm him, did you?” Rong Bo asked. The anger raised up again. The father was clearly easily enraged, his emotions a complete mess at the best of times.

“Of course not. Not yet anyway. You know the dangers. I can only minimise them. They will always be there. The body is too small to hold my Qi properly. It’s leaking out of him like a barrel with a hole in it.” The Cultivator told Rong Bo, his voice slowly becoming more and more strained.

Rong Ling screamed loudly, the Qi prodding his body. It reached into his dantin and seeped into his meridians. It invaded his body and poked at every part of his spiritual body. Finally, it found his spirit root, hidden away in the core of his dantin. It surrounded the spirit root, copied what it saw and projected it into the crystal ball.

What appeared was not a physical picture, but instead more of a feeling. Colours flash different shades and brightness. To those uninitiated, it was nonsense. But to those who knew the art, it read as clear as a book. The Cultivator hummed, while Rong Bo glanced between his son and the Cultivator.

“Well? What is his spirit root? Is it strong?” Rong Bo demanded. He took a step forward, towards the Cultivator. The old man simply glared at the merchant, who was beginning to overstep the bounds of what he was willing to accept.

The smoke began to recede, the glowing formation dimmed and the orb stopped flashing. The paper went up in a flash of flame and smoke, yet the baby was not burned in the slightest by the two papers attached to him.

“His spirit roots are small and underdeveloped. He can cultivate, but I doubt he will reach past the Body Cleaning stage, or the Body Strengthening stage if he is lucky. However, his element is strong. Pure Ying and Pure Yang Qi. Under the right circumstances, he may reach for the heavens. But it will be a long and difficult journey.” The old Cultivator told the merchant.

Rong Bo turned entirely red. His anger boiled over and he grabbed a nearby vase and threw it against a wall. It shattered into a million pieces, yet it didn’t bother the Cultivator at all. “GET OUT!” The fat merchant demanded, turning on the Cultivator.

The old man simply raised an eyebrow and turned to face Rong Bo. “I will need my payment first, as we agreed,” He said, his words slow and deliberate.

“WHY SHOULD I PAY YOU? A FOOL AND CHARLITAN WHO HAS CRIPPELD MY SON!” The merchant stepped into the face of the Cultivator. The merchant balled his fist and looked like he was about to throw a fist at the old man.

The Cultivator then released his aura. Blue energy flowed from him, invisible to the normal eye. The merchant fell to his knees, barely able to breathe. The child however had a bubble of soft blue energy around him, protecting him from the aura of the Cultivator.

“Careful Mortal. You overstep yourself. I will receive my payment, or I will take it from you.” The old man said. He did not raise his voice, or become angry. It wasn’t needed. Rong Bo was so far below him that it would be like a man squashing a bug if they fought.

The aura was then released. The merchant took a deep breath, able to breathe properly once again. A moment later, he stood, hand on his chest and hate in his eyes. He stalked over to a door and entered a side room. From there, a pair of slaves entered with a chest between them.

The Cultivator opened the chest, seeing it was filled to the brim with golden and silver bars. With a smile, the old man simply picked up the chest, something the pair of slaves struggled with, and put it in the bag as easily as a child would play with their rattle. Finally, the old man turned to the baby, now lying abandoned by their father.

“You will have a difficult life ahead of you, Rong Ling. But should you live up to your name, I’m sure you will make a fine Cultivator. The Dao gives many chances even for the lowliest of us to grow. You need only grasp them.”

With that, the Cultivator left. He walked out of the room much like a mortal would. After all, one who has lived for three hundred years does not rush.