The midday sun was high, casting harsh shadows across the flea market. The gentle hum of people moving between stalls filled the air, though the heat made it hard to enjoy. October in the valley was supposed to be cooler, but record highs were still clinging to life, and I could already feel the sweat prickling beneath my shirt. It probably didn't help that I'd been continuously activating that subtle charm throughout the day, pushing my mana outward, trying to sway the minds of anyone who passed by—it was getting exhausting.

I couldn't help but want to sell that last picture frame before I left. I had already made $337 today, but call it a sense of completionism—like trying to find the last hidden trophy in a game so I could finally earn the platinum full-clear award. The handful of keychains I had left were another matter altogether. They were just bits of plastic I'd printed ages ago, but this tablet was my last "big-ticket item," and I had subconsciously set selling them all today as my goal.

Suddenly, I noticed an old man walking toward my stall—a small figure, hunched slightly with age, wearing an unassuming beige shirt with khakis. It was the kind of outfit so plain that it actually drew your eye to it. I focused, gathering my energy, trying to charm him just as I had with all the others who passed by.

But he kept walking, seemingly unfazed by my efforts. Perhaps subconsciously, since my first customer was an older woman, I wanted to end the day by selling this last tablet to this old man. It resonated with me, falling in line with my ever-growing fixation on the cyclical nature of the world. Or maybe I was just hot, tired, and ready to get out of this heat since I hadn't been smart enough to bring any kind of shade with me.

I furrowed my brow in concentration, pushing more mana into my aura. This time I imagined my charm settling over him like a gentle cloud, inviting and warm. The old man slowed as he neared my stall, but he didn't glance at the keychains or the tablet—he stared straight into my eyes. For a moment, his eyes seemed to twinkle with amusement, and then he smiled—a gentle, knowing smile.

"You're about ten years too early to be trying that half-assed charm magic on me, kid," he said, his voice soft but carrying a weight that echoed in the space between us.

I blinked, the shock evident on my face. My mind raced, trying to make sense of what he'd just said. How did he know? Is he also a...?

The old man chuckled, clearly enjoying my bewilderment. "You must be completely new to this, huh? A self-cultivator, if I had to guess," he continued, his tone not mocking but almost... fatherly. "You didn't think you were the only one out there, did you?"

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. Of course, I wouldn't be the only one out there—how could I have been so stupid? With as many stories as there are online, and even before that, all the ancient Chinese literature these stories were based on—of course someone else had tried this before me. If cultivation is real, people must have been doing this for hundreds of years now, maybe thousands. What's that old saying again? There's no smoke without fire. So, of course, if there are stories, there has to be at least a kernel of truth to them.

The old man stepped closer, taking a seat on the folding chair I had brought with me, as if he belonged there. He gestured to the assortment of items spread out on the table. "Not a bad way to practice, I suppose," he mused, "but you've got a long way to go."

His gaze shifted back to me, piercing but not unkind. "Let me guess—you somehow discovered the practice of cultivation, and even though you initially wrote it off, curiosity got the better of you. You actually sat down and tried to meditate, only to discover it was real. After some minor success in circulating this energy, you decided to see what you could do with it?" He didn't wait for me to confirm. "Happens to all of us sooner or later, but don't get too ahead of yourself. Charm magic—or any kind of external technique—requires a foundation. You're leaking qi like a sieve. That'll burn you out faster than you realize."

I felt my mouth go dry. Burnout? I hadn't even considered that. Sure, I'd felt tired after a long day of practice, but wasn't that normal?

"You need control," the old man continued, his voice patient but firm. He reached for one of the keychains on the table and began to stack them, one atop the other, slowly and carefully. "It's like trying to write with a broken pen. You'll never get clean lines that way. First, you need to strengthen your Sea of Qi and bring equilibrium to all your meridians." Each movement was deliberate, his hands steady as the stack grew taller. "Without a strong base, everything you build is fragile," he said, gesturing to the sturdy stack.

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Then, with a sudden shift, he grabbed another handful of keychains and began haphazardly stacking them, quickly and without care. The pile teetered after a few layers, and with a soft clatter, it collapsed. He gave me a pointed look. "Rushing ahead without a proper base..." He let the broken stack speak for itself. "And you might find everything collapsing around you."

"Who are you?" I finally asked, my voice hoarse with curiosity.

He still maintained that same smile, but this time, there was something deeper in his eyes—a hint of weariness, perhaps. "Someone who has been doing this for a long time. But that's not what's important right now. What's important is whether you're going to keep stumbling around in the dark, or if you're ready to learn."

The proposition hung in the air between us. Was he offering to teach me? To guide me?

"But why would you—"

"Why help you?" he finished for me. "I suppose you remind me of someone I used to know." A hint of sadness flitted across his eyes, but just as suddenly as it came, it was gone as if it was never there. "Someone who was stubborn and lost, but insisted on continuing down the path he set for himself, stumbling along in the dark, along a path he could barely even see."

"I'm not sure just how stubborn you are yet, but I can tell that you're lost. And more importantly, just like him, you have a good heart. You might be a bit reckless, running before you even learned how to walk, but you're certainly not malicious. Even as you doubled your efforts on me after failing the first time with your charm, you never turned hostile. Instead, you redoubled your efforts, trying to become even more inviting and warm—not forceful or demanding. That's why I stopped, actually. You can tell a lot about a person by how they act when under stress, and even when your charm wasn't working, you maintained a clear heart. You tried to win me over with kindness, not sheer power and force."

He leaned back in the chair, folding his arms across his chest. "Besides, if you keep going like this, you're going to attract attention you're not ready for. And trust me, kid, you don't want that kind of trouble."

A shiver ran down my spine at his words—trouble, huh. I should feel lucky that the first attention I attracted was from this old man—at least he doesn't seem to have any bad intentions. What if it had been someone else? Someone malicious? My mind flashed with thoughts of the world of cultivators described in those novels, of all the cruel and petty actions of those with great power.

Imagine if I had accidentally offended some cruel, powerful cultivator with my actions just then. Hell, I'm lucky that I didn't have any bad intentions toward this old man, or this could have gone a lot differently, and my journey would have been over before it even started.

I couldn't help but break out in a cold sweat at the realization of the danger I had inadvertently been putting myself in without thinking.

"So what do I do?" I asked probingly.

"First, go back and practice cultivating. Try to focus on removing those blockages throughout your body until you can circulate your Qi without any resistance," he said as he began to stand up. "Then we'll go from there."

"But how do I contact you?" I called out to his slowly departing back.

"Where you found me the first time," he said without turning around. "Come here again on the first Sunday of November, and I'll see if you're worth teaching," he replied, continuing to shuffle unhurriedly away.

"And don't go drawing any attention to yourself before you're ready to protect yourself," he added. Even though he was already over ten feet away, his voice rang clearly in my ear as if he were right in front of me, but strangely, no one else around even gave him a glance. I don't get it. If that wasn't a shout, then what was it—some sort of technique?

"He didn't even leave me his name," I muttered to myself. But I guess that's how all the wise old masters are in the books, aren't they? Mysteriousness seems to come part and parcel with this whole cultivation schtick.

Actually, now that I think about it, he called it my Sea of Qi, didn't he? That sounds straight out of some fantasy novel. I guess maybe I'm the odd one for calling it a core, but honestly, it already feels fantastical enough without labeling it a Sea of Qi. Still, if that's what he called it, maybe there's more to this than I understand.

He's right about one thing, though—I shouldn't keep drawing attention to myself before I'm able to protect myself. He might seem like a kind old man, but who knows if he has some sort of ulterior motive. He's still a stranger at the end of the day. I'd be stupid to put too much faith in him.

I should call it a day. I really did want to sell that last tablet, but I've already made plenty for today, and nothing good ever comes from being too greedy. I need to spend the rest of the day trying to break up those blockages throughout my body. Slowly but surely, like the old man said—I need to walk before I can run. I just need to take it one step at a time.