A field of tall yellow grass swayed gently in the wind as the morning sun began to creep over the horizon, casting a golden hue across the land. Through the center of this tranquil scene ran a narrow dirt road, stretching for miles and connecting Huan’s home to the nearby town. The town was a small settlement, housing no more than 300 people. It lay beside a modest river, its lifeblood, responsible for sustaining the livelihoods of nearly half the townsfolk.
But this morning, the calm was broken by the sound of quick footsteps. Huan was running—his breath as uneven as the rough ground beneath his feet, his small frame darting alongside the road that he knew so well.
Ever since he began to collect qi, Huan had felt a new strength coursing through his body. For a boy his age and size, his performance was extraordinary. He could run faster and longer with less rest.
Over the past few months, his training had become a daily routine: after spending hours cultivating under the midnight moon, he would run to town, complete a strenuous workout, and return home—all before the sun had fully risen.
Today, however, was different. He had lingered longer in town, distracted by the arrival of a large boat that had docked at the river. It was unlike anything he had ever seen, in either this life or his past one. But with no clear reason for its presence and his tardiness, he was forced to dismiss it as the arrival of tax collectors or conscription officers.
He wasn’t particularly worried about either possibilities. His father was getting on in years, and Huan himself had yet to attract any undue attention. As he ran at personal record speed, he estimated he wouldn’t be late by too large a margin. His unsteady breathing bothered him though, so he secluded himself in his mind library, searching for some way to improve his running technique. Surely Taoists had a better way to run than the army, Huan thought.
Within his knowledge of cultivation, he couldn’t find any direct method of running, but the most repeated knowledge was circulation. Whether it be qi, elements, or the balance of yin and yang, most things were circulated either within or through the body. Perhaps this could be applied to his feet while running, which would allow his body to have a better balance and obtain a higher speed.
This was his train of thought before he tried his new technique, promptly tangling his legs beneath him. He skidded across the ground, rolling through the grass and kicking up dirt. He stood up shaking the dirt off of him and clicking his tongue at a newly formed stain on his already stained ragged clothing.
“Welp, something to try when I’m not running, I guess,” he noted to himself before picking back up to speed.
Huan ran through multiple fields and grazing pastures as he made his way back, with his father’s ranch being one of the furthest from the town. When he finally got home, the sun was just barely peaking over the horizon and his father had already finished attaching a cart to his horse, ready to head into town with their produce.
“I’m heading into town, make sure you give the sheep and chickens their feed. I’ll be back by dinner,” his father said.
Huan nodded, his breath already steady. He watched his father set off, the horse’s hooves clopping steadily on the dirt road.
Before his father was out of sight, Huan set to work, completing his morning chores with the efficiency born from repetition. He fed, watered, and groomed the animals, then turned his attention to maintaining their enclosures.
By midday, he had finished his outdoor tasks and retreated inside. There was still more to be done—sewing his worn clothes, a task that his mother would have done if she were still alive. Huan had learned to sew in his past life, a skill picked up in the army camps, though he had never particularly enjoyed it.
However, his discovery of cultivation changed his opinion on it, since it was one of the activities he could actively do while cultivating. Perhaps it was the similarity of the task to guiding and weaving the stream of qi into his dantian, or it could simply be the tranquility of the action, but Huan was able to perform both at the same time.
As he sewed, he circulated qi from outside his body against the blockage in his meridian. He was close to opening it: he could feel it. The thought of opening one of his qi meridians filled him with anticipation. According to the manual he had found, there were nine meridians, and unlocking them all would allow him to break through into the qi-refining stage. The thought of growing stronger, of finally surpassing the limitations of his new, small body, drove him to focus even harder.
The sound of his father’s rolling cart broke Huan’s meditation, his hands still working on the new shirt he was sewing for his father.
As his father walked in, Huan asked him how it went, something he would normally do whenever his father came back, but a question he never expected an exciting answer to.
“Was a damn long wait. A group of cultivators had set up near the square, testing the local children. Looking for talent, they said.”
Huan’s hands stilled, the needle hovering above the cloth. He didn’t look up. “Cultivators?” he repeated, keeping his voice even. Inside, his heart quickened.
His father nodded, “Mm. A strange sight for our little town. I suppose they must be shorthanded at their sect or whatever.”
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“I want to go,” Huan said abruptly, setting the needle and cloth down. He stood up, meeting his father’s gaze with a steadiness that belied the storm within him.
His father’s face remained unreadable, but his eyes darkened, “Huan, our life here... it's enough. We don’t need to chase after things that could lead to trouble.”
“I’m not chasing trouble,” Huan replied, his voice firm, “I need to do this. It’s not something I can ignore.”
His father sighed as he turned away, busying himself with routine—putting up his riding gloves and grabbing a bucket to fetch water, “Huan, I just want you to be safe. There’s danger in that path, we have all we need here, don’t we?”
Huan’s gaze didn’t waver, “I’m going to go, Father. You won’t stop me.” His tone was not defiant, but resolute, a quiet determination that would entertain no argument.
For a moment, his father said nothing. The air in the room grew thick with unspoken words.
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The town was bustling with activity as Huan approached the square, walking away from his father who still sat on his horse, where a small crowd had gathered. Three cultivators stood at the center, their light blue robes pristine and imposing on the humble town. The one in charge was a rotund middle-aged man with a jovial air, standing slightly apart from the others, watching the proceedings with mild interest. A sharp-faced young man in his early twenties was the one conducting the tests, his gaze focused intently on each child that stepped forward. Beside him, a young girl, around Huan’s age, observed the tests with a fierce determination that mirrored his own.
Huan joined the line, his heart pounding in his chest. The other children whispered excitedly among themselves like he had done back when he had joined the army in his past life. He knew exactly what they thought this was: some way to show off and be special. They had no clue what cultivation was beyond it being what all the strong people were able to do.
But Huan knew. This wasn’t just some army recruitment. This was the first step on his path that would change everything.
The sharp-faced cultivator beckoned him forward, and Huan stepped up, his breath steady, his mind clear. This was the chance he had been waiting for.
Huan stepped forward, feeling the importance of the moment pressing against him. The sharp-faced cultivator extended a hand towards him, his face devoid of emotion. The cultivator pressed his hand against Huan’s chest.
For a moment, nothing happened. The cultivator’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he pulled his hand away.
The cultivator frowned, his sharp features tightening in displeasure. He glanced at Huan then sighed and shook his head.
“You have a broken core,” the cultivator said flatly, withdrawing his hand. “Your dantian is fractured. You won’t be able to cultivate. You’re useless.”
Huan’s heart palpitated. He refused to believe it. He had felt the qi within him. He had used it in his training. He knew his body, and he knew that the cultivator was wrong.
“I already have cultivated,” Huan said, his voice firm. The three cultivators exchanged glances, and then the rotund man let out a hearty laugh.
“You?” the older man chuckled, his round belly shaking with mirth. “A child with a broken core, claiming to cultivate? I’ve heard many things in my time, but this is a new one.”
The young girl, who had been silent until now, raised an eyebrow but remained quiet, her eyes flickering with interest. The sharp-faced cultivator, however, was less amused. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features.
“Don’t waste our time, boy,” he said coldly. “You have no potential. Be grateful we let you leave with your face intact.”
Huan clenched his fists, determination burning within him.
“I can show you,” he insisted, raising his hand.
The cultivators exchanged another glance, and this time, the older man’s laughter died down to a chuckle. A smirk played on his lips as he considered the boy. “Very well,” the man said, his tone laced with amusement. “Show us, then. Let’s see what a boy with a broken core can do.”
Huan closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He focused inward, feeling for the flow of qi he had nurtured in his daily practice. He guided it and began to channel it through his body.
The air around him seemed to thin faintly, a consequence of pulling in qi from the surroundings. Slowly, a small, wavering orb of light formed above his palm, glowing softly in the dim light of the afternoon. It was weak, barely visible, but it was there. Huan’s heart swelled with pride as he held the orb up for the cultivators to see.
The cultivators stared at the orb, their expressions shifting from amusement to surprise. The sharp-faced man’s eyes widened, the irritation in his gaze giving way to reluctant acknowledgment.
“You... You can cultivate,” he muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief. “But how... with a broken core...”
The young girl’s fierce gaze softened, her eyes locking onto Huan’s. There was no mockery in her expression, only curiosity and something else—something Huan couldn’t quite place.
“Well, well,” the older man chuckled, clapping his hands together. “It seems the boy wasn’t entirely lying after all. But this… this is nothing more than a parlor trick. A child’s game.”
The young cultivator shook his head, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I suppose you can cultivate. Since you’ve done such great things by yourself, I shall allow you to continue by yourself, then,” he said dismissively, already turning to the next child in line. “We have more important things to attend to than someone with no potential.”
But before Huan could retort back, the rotund man raised a hand, halting the young cultivator’s actions. “No, no,” the older man said, his voice tinged with amusement. “I think I’ll take him.”
The sharp-faced cultivator looked at him in surprise, as did the young girl, but the older man simply grinned, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous light. “It’ll be fun to watch him try harder than any of you ever would,” the man continued, his tone almost mocking, “And still fail.”
Huan’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or insulted. The older man’s words stung, but the opportunity was undeniable. He would have a chance—no matter how slim—to prove himself, to cultivate properly, and to grow stronger. He wasn’t about to let it slip away.
“Thank you,” Huan said, a determined smile spreading across his face, “Though I might disappoint you if you expect me to fail.”
The older man’s grin widened, and he nodded, “We’ll see, boy. We’ll see.”
Meanwhile, the sharp-faced young cultivator’s expression soured slightly at the older man’s comment. His lips pressed into a thin line, the insult to his work ethic evident in the way his eyes narrowed. He exchanged a glance with the young girl, who seemed equally displeased, though she hid it better behind a calm exterior. Still, they quickly turned their attention back to the line of children waiting to be tested, their focus shifting away from Huan as if he were already a forgotten afterthought.
Huan, however, didn’t care. As he stepped behind the cultivators, he walked with confidence, his heart racing not with fear or doubt, but with anticipation. The future was uncertain, but for the first time, it felt like it was in his hands.