The world hung suspended in an endless void, a perfect disc floating amid a sea of stars. Its edges caught the light of distant constellations, creating a shimmering halo that outlined the curved rim of this pocket universe. The atmosphere, a masterwork of qi manipulation, wrapped the floating realm in a protective embrace, transforming what should have been an airless void into a paradise of cultivation.
Alsyian sat cross-legged beside an intricate fountain in the central courtyard, watching in wonder as crystal-clear water danced and spiraled upward, catching rainbow lights from the sect buildings that surrounded them. The structures seemed to be grown rather than built, their crystalline surfaces rising from the ground in elegant spires and sweeping arches. As the sun moved across the sky, the crystal walls shifted through a spectrum of colors, from the soft pink of dawn to the deep purples of dusk, creating an ever-changing display of light and shadow.
The seven-year-old boy's attention shifted to his father, Foridmirn, who sat serenely across from him. The Immortal Cultivator's presence filled the courtyard with a subtle pressure, like the weight of an ocean held in perfect balance. His robes, woven from materials beyond mortal understanding, rippled with patterns that seemed to move of their own accord, reflecting the same ethereal beauty as their surroundings.
"Father," Alsyian began, his young voice carrying the precise diction of one raised among immortals, "I've been studying the common cultivation methods from your library." He paused, gathering his thoughts as a gentle breeze carried the sweet scent of blooming spirit flowers from the nearby garden. "They all begin with body reinforcement by strengthening bones, muscles, and skin. But we haven't done any of that. Why?"
Foridmirn's lips curved into a subtle smile, pride gleaming in his ancient eyes. His son never failed to ask the right questions, probing deeper than most cultivators ten times his age. "Tell me, little one, when you build a house, do you start with the roof?"
Alsyian's brow furrowed in concentration. "No, you need a foundation first." He glanced at the crystalline buildings around them, their rainbow-hued surfaces pulsing gently with qi. "And supports to hold everything up."
"Precisely." Foridmirn raised his hand, and the water from the fountain rose into the air, forming a detailed image of the human body. "Most sects focus on the martial applications of cultivation. They see the body as a weapon to be hardened, a tool to be sharpened. But in doing so, they work against the natural order of things."
The water shifted, highlighting different internal systems as Foridmirn spoke. "The true path begins with the core systems: lungs to breathe in qi, heart to circulate it, blood vessels to carry it, kidneys and other organs to process and refine it. These are your foundation, your support structure."
"But Father," Alsyian interjected, leaning forward to study the floating diagram, "wouldn't stronger bones and muscles help us gather qi faster? The texts say—"
"The texts were written by those who see only the surface," Foridmirn interrupted gently. "Think of it like this: imagine trying to fill a cracked jar with water. No matter how quickly you pour, the water will leak out. But if you repair the jar first..."
"The water stays where it should," Alsyian finished, his eyes widening with understanding. "So by strengthening our internal organs first..."
"We create a perfect vessel for qi," Foridmirn nodded. "But there's even more at stake than mere efficiency." He waved his hand, and the water diagram shifted to show a human body gradually deteriorating. "The mortal body is an imperfect medium for qi manipulation. Think of it as trying to channel lightning through a rope made of straw; without proper preparation, the rope will burn and fray."
Alsyian leaned forward, his eyes fixed on the dissolving form. "Is this why some cultivators' bodies fail them? I read about this in the texts."
"Indeed," Foridmirn replied gravely. "Many cultivators who rush their advancement find their bodies breaking down, their vessels unable to contain the power they've gathered. Each step of purification removes the imperfections that would otherwise cause our bodies to crumble under the strain of qi manipulation." The water construct shifted to show a stronger, more refined form. "We're transforming that straw rope into steel wire, creating a perfect conductor for power."
The display changed again, showing the contrast between a normal human's cellular structure and that of a cultivator. "See how the purified body's very essence is transformed? Each cell becomes more perfect, more durable. This is also why cultivators live so much longer than mortals. A purified body doesn't just channel qi better; it resists the ravages of time itself."
"So the order matters not just for efficiency, but for survival," Alsyian said thoughtfully.
"Precisely. When we strengthen the lungs, every breath draws in more qi. When we reinforce the heart and blood vessels, qi circulates more efficiently. When we purify the organs, they process and utilize qi more effectively. Then, when we finally turn our attention to bones, muscles, and skin, the process is not only easier but far more thorough."
The water diagram shifted again, showing the flow of qi through the body's systems. Alsyian watched, mesmerized, as golden threads of energy wove through the liquid representation of veins and organs. The display cast dancing shadows across the crystalline courtyard, creating an ethereal light show that mirrored the complexity of human anatomy.
"Father," Alsyian said, watching the swirling patterns of qi in the water diagram, "why does the qi in my dantian feel different from the chi around us? It's like..." he struggled to find the words, "like it's more pure somehow."
Foridmirn nodded approvingly. "What you're sensing is the difference between raw chi and cultivator's qi. When your dantian awakened, it gained the ability to transform chi into something more refined: your personal qi."
"But how?" Alsyian leaned forward, fascinated by the shifting patterns.
"Think of it as a kind of purification," Foridmirn explained, adjusting the water diagram to show the process. "Your dantian balances yin and yang energies, harmonizing body and spirit to create a steady flow of pure energy. At this stage, the cycling techniques deliberately unaspect the chi by stripping away its elemental affiliations and natural fluctuations because your body can only safely handle pure, unaspected qi during initial body reinforcement."
"Is that why we can't use techniques yet? Because our qi isn't aspected?"
"Precisely." Foridmirn's eyes gleamed with pride at his son's insight. "Your current body reinforcement can only withstand unaspected qi. It won't be until you reach foundation building that you'll begin the process of body fortification using aspected chi, gradually conditioning your body to handle and channel these more powerful energies. Only then can you safely begin learning external techniques. Though once you complete your basic body reinforcement, you can start practicing internal techniques to support your training. For now, focus on creating the purest qi possible. A strong foundation of pure qi will make everything else easier later."
After a moment of contemplation, Alsyian asked, "Why do we leave the nervous system for last? Isn't the brain important for everything we do?"
Foridmirn's smile broadened. He gestured, and the water diagram transformed once more, highlighting the intricate network of nerves threading throughout the body. "The nervous system is not just important, my son; it is crucial. It is the bridge between body, mind, and spirit. Think of it as the administrator of a great city. Before we enhance its power, shouldn't all the systems it oversees be in perfect order?"
Around them, the crystal buildings caught the light of the setting sun, sending rainbow refractions dancing across the courtyard. A distant wind chime sang with a pure, clear note that seemed to resonate with the very qi in the air.
"The brain coordinates everything," Foridmirn continued, "from the simplest movement to the most complex cultivation technique. When we enhance the nervous system, we are not just strengthening a part of the body; we are expanding the very foundation of our consciousness. But this can only be done properly when every other system is already perfected. Otherwise..."
"Otherwise, what?" Alsyian asked, caught between curiosity and concern.
"Otherwise, it would be like giving a child the power of an immortal. Without the proper foundation, without perfect control and understanding, such power would be dangerous, perhaps even fatal." Foridmirn waved his hand, and the water diagram collapsed back into the fountain with a musical splash. "This is why patience and proper order are essential in cultivation. We build from the inside out, from the foundation up, creating a perfect harmony of systems that will support us on our path to immortality."
Alsyian nodded solemnly, his young face serious as he absorbed this wisdom. Above them, the first stars began to appear in the perpetual twilight of their pocket world, their light reflecting off the crystal spires in a dazzling display of cosmic beauty. The boy's eyes drifted to the distant mountains, their peaks wreathed in clouds that his father had crafted with the same care as everything else in this realm.
"I understand, Father," he said finally. "We must build properly from the beginning if we wish to reach the heavens."
Foridmirn reached out and ruffled his son's hair affectionately. "Yes, little one. And one day, you will create worlds of your own."
The stranger's eyes snapped open, his father's words still echoing in his mind. The dark stone ceiling of his cell was a harsh contrast to the crystal courtyards of his dream.
He lay there for a moment, processing the vivid images still dancing through his consciousness. My dreams are like must see TV, he smirked. The level of detail was staggering, every lesson aligning precisely with the fragments of cultivation knowledge already floating in his mind.
His spiritual sense turned inward, examining his dantian. The familiar warmth greeted him, the sphere nearly full once again with wisps of gaseous qi swirling like clouds. Hmm, or maybe like cotton candy. In its current state, the energy was too diffuse to be truly powerful—it would need to be condensed, compressed into a more potent form before it could be wielded effectively. Normally, a cultivator at this stage wouldn't even be able to project qi beyond their body.
But his situation was far from normal.
The injustice of his situation struck him anew as he lay there in the dim cell. Here he was, awakened into a world of cultivation and mystical powers—a world that should have filled him with wonder and possibility. Instead, he found himself trapped in a system of slavery and exploitation. The irony was bitter. In his fragmented memories, he recalled learning about how civilizations progressed, how humanity had fought wars and undergone revolutions to establish fundamental rights and democratic principles. Yet here was a world that could manipulate the very essence of reality, create pocket dimensions and defy the laws of physics... and they still relied on slave labor? It seemed absurd, barbaric even. The advancement of their supernatural abilities had apparently outpaced their social evolution. Or perhaps power simply corrupted in any world, whether that power came from wealth, political influence, or the ability to shoot fire from your fingertips.
But philosophical musings wouldn't break his chains—cultivation might. The soft blue glow of the alchemical lights offered no hint of the time, but it hardly mattered. If these dreams were indeed showing him the path forward, he couldn't afford to waste any opportunity. The next step was clear: qi reinforcement and body purification. The dream had outlined the process with pristine clarity—start with the core systems, build the foundation properly.
He stripped off his clothes, laying them carefully aside. Instinctually he knew the purification process would force impurities from his body through his skin, and he couldn't risk damaging his only set of familiar garments. Though, the mining hadn't seemed to hurt his clothes at all—they looked just as they had appeared to him yesterday. The cell's cool air raised goosebumps on his skin as he sat cross-legged on his sleeping mat.
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Closing his eyes, he began directing threads of qi into his lungs. The sensation was strange but not uncomfortable—like breathing in a warm mist that slowly permeated the tissue. He could feel the energy spreading through the organ, seeking out imperfections and impurities, beginning the gradual process of transformation.
He had just shifted his focus to his heart, watching with fascination as the qi began weaving through the powerful muscle, when a familiar sensation pulsed through his body. The Leash's wake-up call rippled through his mental nodes, its artificial rhythm a reminder of his captivity.
The stranger opened his eyes, a mix of frustration and satisfaction coursing through him. He hadn't finished as much as he'd hoped, but it was a start. Looking down at his body, he was surprised to find only a light sheen of dark oil coating his skin, rather than the thick, black filth he had expected from purifying two organs. He moved to the wash formation, quickly cleaning away the residue before donning his clothes again.
As the door swung open, he allowed himself a small smile. One more day in the chi mines beckoned, but now he had purpose—and perhaps, a way forward.
* * *
The cafeteria buzzed with its usual morning activity, the clink of bowls and murmur of conversations filling the vast chamber. The stranger made his way through the serving line, accepting his portion of gruel from the blank-faced server. After two days, he'd learned the rhythm of this place—about a half hour to eat, every movement guided by the subtle push of the Leash.
He settled into his usual spot beside Shunmin, noting how the other prisoners instinctively arranged themselves in familiar groupings. Despite the Leash's constant presence, these brief meals offered their only chance for real conversation.
"—biggest noble house in the Eastern Territories," an older prisoner named Wei was saying, his weathered face grave. "The Huang clan's been around since before the Demon Wars, they say."
"They control more than just mines," another prisoner added, lowering his voice. "My cousin worked in one of their spirit herb gardens before... well, before. Said they supply half the cultivation resources in the empire."
Shunmin snorted softly. "And now they own us. Nobles playing their games while we die in their mines."
"Better the Huang than some others," Wei countered. "At least they're efficient. You hear stories about the Xi family's mines..." He shuddered. "They work their slaves until they drop, then feed the bodies to their spirit beasts."
The stranger listened quietly, absorbing the information while he ate. The gruel was the same as yesterday—surprisingly palatable despite its appearance. He could feel the qi in it now, subtle but present, an alchemical concoction probably meant to help them withstand the mines' toxic environment. And perhaps to increase productivity too, he mused darkly. The food would steadily replenish their qi, ensuring a constant supply even if they couldn't circulate it properly. Efficient and pragmatic—just like everything else about this operation.
This spiritual sense was incredible—like having a whole new set of eyes that could peer beneath the surface of reality. What else could he learn by examining his surroundings this way? He made a silent vow to start using it more actively, to study everything he encountered. Each formation, every object, even the people around him might reveal new secrets under spiritual scrutiny. The thought energized him despite his circumstances—here was something concrete he could work on, a tool he could sharpen.
A sudden hush fell over their section of the table. A thin young man with desperate eyes stood clutching his tray, staring at the stranger with an intensity that made others shift uncomfortably. Without warning, the man set his tray down and dropped to his knees, attempting to kowtow despite the awkward space between the benches.
"Please, Master," he whispered, his voice trembling with fervor. "When you leave this place... this humble one begs to follow in your footsteps."
The stranger froze, spoon halfway to his mouth. Around him, other prisoners exchanged worried glances.
"Get up, you fool," Shunmin muttered. "Do you want to cause a scene? The Leash doesn't take kindly to disruptions."
The man remained prostrated. "I heard what happened in the Eastern Processing center. My friend was there, saw it with his own eyes before they transferred me here."
"What's he talking about?" Wei asked, frowning.
The thin man finally raised his head, eyes bright with desperate hope. "They say he broke free during Processing. Black flames began bleeding from his skin, and then..." he shuddered, but there was awe in his voice. "Then the demons came. Not real demons, some kind of technique. Multiple shadows, each wielding darkness like blades. They cut through everyone—guards, cultivators, all of them."
"You're speaking nonsense," Shunmin scoffed. "Look at him. He's wearing the same slave garments as the rest of us."
The man shook his head violently. "No, no! Can't you see? The red and black cultivation robes, the patterns of power woven into them. The same robes my friend described..." His voice trailed off as he noticed the bewildered expressions around him.
"I think you're confused," Wei said. "We've never heard of any incident at Eastern Processing. And trust me, news like that would spread, even here."
The stranger studied the man carefully. "Your friend saw this himself?"
"Well..." the man faltered slightly, "he heard it from someone who heard it from—"
"So it's just a rumor," Shunmin interrupted. "Probably started by someone who spent too much time breathing chi dust."
Wei shook his head slowly. "Stories like that... they're dangerous. Give people hope when there isn't any. Best to accept what is and try to survive."
The stranger remained silent, his mind working through the implications. Black flames? Demon shadows? The description stirred something in his fractured memories, but like trying to grasp smoke, it slipped away before he could catch it.
"You don't understand," the thin man insisted, his voice dropping even lower. "The power they described... it was like nothing they'd ever seen. They say the shadows moved like living things, and the flames..." He swallowed hard. "The flames didn't just burn, they consumed. Left nothing behind."
Several prisoners shifted uncomfortably, putting distance between themselves and the stranger. Even those who clearly thought the story was nonsense seemed unwilling to sit too close.
A familiar sensation rippled through them—the Leash's signal that mealtime was ending. The thin man scrambled to his feet, nearly knocking over his untouched gruel. "Please," he whispered one last time. "Remember me when the time comes."
As they filed out of the cafeteria, the stranger could feel the weight of curious stares on his back. Shunmin fell into step beside him.
"That was... interesting," Shunmin said carefully. "Want to tell me what really happened?"
The stranger shook his head slightly. "Nothing happened. It's just a story."
But as they walked toward the mines, his mind raced. A rumor about an incident at another Processing center... like the mysterious girl who only he could see, this was another puzzle piece that didn't quite fit.
And why had the man seen him wearing cultivation robes that weren't there?
* * *
The trek back from the mines was always the hardest part of the day for most prisoners. While others shuffled along with aching muscles and lungs burning from the chi-saturated air, the stranger found himself surprisingly resilient. His morning's cultivation work on his lungs and heart, combined with his ability to cycle qi throughout the day, had kept the worst of the exhaustion at bay. Still, he maintained the appearance of fatigue, matching the weary pace of those around him.
A flicker of movement caught his eye—something darting behind an outcropping of limestone. He might have dismissed it as a trick of the alchemical lights, but there was something familiar about the motion. The stranger slowed his pace slightly, extended his spiritual sense outward as he walked.
While his range extended well beyond the immediate tunnel, focusing on specific details required intense concentration. Like trying to observe individual leaves while taking in an entire forest—the more he focused on one thing, the more everything else blurred into indistinct shapes and impressions.
Earlier in the day, when he had attempted to analyze another prisoner's cultivation state in detail, the rest of his surroundings had faded to mere shadows in his perception. The tunnel, other prisoners, even his own body's signals had become distant and indistinct as he concentrated on reading the intricate flows of qi through their meridians. Not very practical in an environment where broad awareness could mean survival.
But now he didn't need that level of detail. He let his spiritual sense wash out like a soft light, maintaining a general awareness of his surroundings while searching for that familiar presence.
There—a glint in the darkness. Eyes watching from behind the rock, reflecting the blue-tinged light like a cat's. He recognized that gaze immediately: the same girl from yesterday, the one no one else seemed to see.
Their eyes met across the tunnel. For a moment, everything else seemed to fade away—the shuffling of feet, the distant sounds of mining, even the ever-present hum of the alchemical lights. Just those eyes, wide and filled with an emotion he couldn't quite name. Recognition? Fear? Hope?
Then, like yesterday, she bolted. Her form was little more than a shadow as she disappeared down a side tunnel, the soft pat of her footsteps swallowed by the greater echoes of the mine. But this time, he only caught a glimpse of her: the same blue-black hair, the same brown tunic, moving with a grace that seemed at odds with their harsh surroundings. His spiritual sense tracked her retreat until she passed beyond its range, her qi signature fading like a dying ember.
"Did you see—" he began to ask, turning to the prisoner beside him, but stopped himself. He already knew the answer. Like before, no one else had noticed anything unusual. The line of prisoners continued their weary march, their eyes focused on the ground or staring blankly ahead.
The stranger turned back to where the girl had been, questions churning in his mind. Why could only he see her? What was a foundation building cultivator doing here, seemingly invisible to everyone else? And why did she keep watching him?
But the shadows held no answers, and the Leash's persistent urging kept him moving forward, away from yet another mystery in this maze of stone and secrets. His head throbbed from the extended use of his spiritual sense—another limitation he would need to overcome. Like so many aspects of cultivation, it would take time and practice to develop properly. Time he wasn't sure he had.
* * *
The thick door slid closed behind him with a soft hiss. The stranger paused mid-step, a thought popping into his mind. Turning back toward the door, he studied its surface with newfound purpose. Until now, he'd accepted these barriers without question—but maybe that was a mistake.
He moved closer, placing one hand on the door's cool surface and another on the adjacent wall. Closing his eyes, he extended his spiritual sense into the structure. At first, there was only a strange haziness, like peering through a veil of shifting mist. Without thinking, he mentally brushed it aside as if parting a gossamer curtain, the gesture as natural as sweeping cobwebs from his path. The formations within revealed themselves like glowing threads in darkness, an intricate tapestry of power and purpose woven into the very stone.
The base layer appeared deceptively simple—a standard locking mechanism enhanced with spiritual energy. But as he probed deeper, more complex patterns emerged. Security formations branched out like neural networks, each cluster designed to detect and respond to different types of interference. Alarm triggers were nested within seemingly innocuous power flows. Subtle redirect formations would shunt any external qi away from vulnerable points.
The stranger's brow furrowed in concentration as he traced each formation's path. The complexity was staggering. Every time he thought he'd mapped one system, another layer would reveal itself. The formations weren't just layered—they were interwoven, each supporting and strengthening the others. Breaking one would likely trigger several more.
Some of the formations he recognized instantly: basic warding arrays, power dampening fields, structural reinforcement patterns. Others were entirely foreign, their purposes obscure despite his strange well of knowledge. A few seemed to pulse with a rhythm that suggested connection to larger systems beyond the door itself.
This isn't just a door, he realized. It's a node in a vast network.
The implications were both daunting and exciting. A network this sophisticated would require massive resources and expertise to maintain—but like any network, it might have vulnerabilities. Points where signals could be intercepted or redirected. Weak links in the chain.
His spiritual sense brushed against something that made him pause—a curious fluctuation in one of the deeper formation layers. It was subtle, easy to miss among the more obvious security measures. The energy there seemed to flow slightly out of sync with its surroundings, like an eddy in a stream. The sheer power required to maintain such complex formations would be staggering in most places, but here, surrounded by endless veins of chi stones, they had energy to burn.
The stranger focused on this anomaly, careful to maintain a light touch. Was this a flaw in the system? A deliberate trap? Or something else entirely? The formation's purpose remained frustratingly unclear, but he filed the information away for future reference. Even if he couldn't use it now, understanding how these systems worked might prove crucial later.
After several minutes of intense study, he reluctantly withdrew his spiritual sense. His head throbbed from the sustained concentration, and maintaining such precise awareness was becoming difficult. He'd learned more than expected, but also confirmed the formidable nature of his prison. Breaking out wouldn't be simple—but perhaps it wasn't impossible either.
He stepped back from the door, mind racing with possibilities. The formations were intricate but not flawless. With time and careful study, he might find a way to manipulate them. For now though, he needed to rest and process what he'd learned. Tomorrow would bring another opportunity to test his growing understanding against the walls of his cage.
A faint smile played across his lips as he turned away from the door. These formations might be complex, but they were still just code—and every system had its backdoor. Now I just need to learn how to hack magic, he thought with grim amusement.