The day dragged on endlessly, each moment endless as Cheng toiled in the herb fields. His small hands were raw from pulling weeds, and his back ached from bending over rows of medicinal plants. Yet for once, his mind wasn't on the pain or exhaustion. The weight of the cloth pouch against his chest occupied his every thought.

As the setting sun painted the western sky in hues of orange and crimson, the bell finally rang, signaling the end of the day's labor. Cheng's feet carried him swiftly across the outer sect's grounds, to his shabby dwelling on the outermost ring of disciples' quarters.

His cabin, if one could dignify it with such a name, was little more than a shack. A single room with a straw mat for sleeping, a wooden stool, and a small table that wobbled on uneven legs.

The roof leaked when it rained, and drafts whistled through gaps in the walls during windy nights. But tonight, it felt like a palace.

Cheng secured the flimsy door with its crude wooden latch and drew the tattered cloth that served as a curtain across the single window. Privacy, such as it was, secured.

His hands trembled slightly as he reached into his robes and withdrew the small cloth pouch. The Gathering Pill seemed to pulse with possibility as it rolled into his palm. Gray and unassuming, yet to Cheng's eyes, it might as well have been made of pure gold.

"One chance," he whispered to himself. "Don't waste it."

He glanced around his sparse dwelling, considering. Wu Jinhai had said nothing about proper methods or techniques, only that the pill would help him sense spiritual energy. Should he lie down? Stand? Close his eyes?

Without conscious decision, his body moved. Cheng sat on the floor, legs crossing naturally into what would be recognized as a lotus position, guided by his weird set of memories. For some reason, he was half convinced this ewas the proper way to sit.

His back straightened, hands resting on his knees, palms upward. It felt right, somehow. As if his body remembered something his conscious mind did not.

"Here goes nothing," he muttered, then placed the pill on his tongue.

It dissolved almost instantly down his throat, a subtle coolness spreading from his stomach. For a moment, nothing happened, and disappointment began to creep in. Had he done something wrong? Was there some secret technique he should have—

And then it hit him.

The world... expanded. Or perhaps it was his perception that changed. The air, which moments ago had been merely air, invisible and unremarkable, suddenly became something else entirely. Tiny motes of light—no, not light exactly, but something his eyes could somehow perceive despite their invisibility—floated all around him.

"Spiritual energy." he breathed shocked, and gleefull.

These were the very same energies he had been straining to feel during his previous attempts at cultivation. The whispers he could never quite hear, the presence he could never quite grasp. Now they revealed themselves as countless particles, drifting like dust in the air of his cabin.

Cheng's breathing slowed naturally as he observed these particles with wonder, using his perception, his eyes already closed subcontiously. They moved with air currents, swirling around his small cabin in patterns both chaotic and strangely ordered.

Without knowing how, he found himself drawing them toward him.

Not physically—he didn't move a muscle—but with something inside him. His intent, perhaps, or some newly awakened sense. The particles responded, drifting toward him like iron filings to a magnet.

As they touched his skin, Cheng felt a subtle warmth. Some of the particles seemed to seep directly into his flesh, spreading a pleasant tingling sensation wherever they entered. Others traveled further, following channels he hadn't known existed within his body, paths that felt ancient and familiar all at once.

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And strangest of all, some of the particles disappeared somewhere deeper, beyond his physical form. They vanished into a space he could sense but not locate, like watching something fall into a well so deep its bottom remained unseen. This mysterious place felt... empty. Vast. Waiting to be filled.

"The dantian." he whispered, the term rising unbidden from somewhere in his fractured memories. For all he knew, its name was completely different. but something in him screamed that. that was the name. Dantian.

For what felt like hours but might have been minutes, Cheng sat entranced, feeling the flow of spiritual energy.

Each particle he drew in felt like a tiny victory, a minuscule step on an immeasurably long road. But a step nonetheless.

The sensation was intoxicating. After weeks of work, of straining to feel what remained stubbornly imperceptible, Almost mocking him as he toiled with the axe, or cleaned with the heavy mop.

This clarity was like an oasis for the desert traveled Chen. He could finally see what he was meant to be doing.

As the pill's effects began to fade, the particles growing dimmer in his perception, Cheng clung desperately to the sensation, trying to memorize every aspect of it. The way the energy moved, how it felt as it entered his body, the paths it followed within him, the mysterious space where some of it pooled.

Even as the last visible traces slipped from his awareness, something had changed. A door once opened couldn't be completely closed again. Though faint, he could still sense... something. The barest whisper of spiritual energy, like trying to see stars after the sun had risen.

Exhaustion washed over him suddenly. His small body slumped, the rigid lotus position giving way as his muscles relaxed all at once. Sweat drenched his simple clothes, though he hadn't noticed its formation during his trance-like state.

Cheng barely managed to drag himself to his sleeping mat before consciousness fled entirely.

The morning came, as it always did, but today Cheng could feel something different. The haze of sleep slowly lifted from his mind, replaced by an awareness that he hadn’t had before. His limbs felt heavier, but at the same time, there was a faint, exhilarating current running through him—a buzz, a subtle flow that pulsed just beneath his skin. He didn’t fully understand it yet, but it was there. The Qi, or whatever it was, was still with him, lingering from the night before.

Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes and took a moment to process the changes. The cabin, the same as it had always been—rundown, sparse, and cold—now seemed almost familiar, even comforting. The motes of Qi he’d seen last night, gone. Not one mote that he could feel around him.

As he stood, he felt a slight shift in the way his body moved. His muscles, though still sore from his labor in the fields, no longer felt as stiff as they usually did. His back was straighter, his movements less cumbersome. The ache in his joints was still there, but it was distant, softened by an undercurrent of energy that flowed like a subtle stream, refreshing and steady.

The days blended together in a blur, but Cheng could feel the changes. They were subtle, but they were there. Every morning, when he woke, the sensations of Qi seemed to intensify, as if his body were becoming more accustomed to its presence. The spaces between the moments when he felt the motes of energy brushing against his skin shortened, bit by bit, until they became almost constant.

At first, the work still felt like a chore—long days of bending and planting, picking and digging—but something inside him had changed. The repetitive motions didn’t seem as grueling, the heavy lifting a little less daunting. His hands, though still calloused, moved with more precision. His breath came easier, his mind clearer. He could almost sense the flow of energy in the air as he worked, and somehow, without trying, it became easier to draw that energy into his body, letting it flow through him and ease the weariness of his muscles.

By the end of the first month, Cheng realized that something had shifted deep inside him. The world didn’t seem as heavy anymore, and he didn’t just feel stronger physically. It was more than that. His connection to the world around him, to the Qi that had once seemed so distant and elusive, was beginning to form into something tangible. Something he could touch, if only with the slightest focus.

The end of the month arrived like a soft breeze, unremarkable yet profound. Cheng could tell that he had made progress. The days had stretched endlessly, yet he now knew that each one had brought him closer to something. The work, though still demanding, didn’t feel as impossible as it had when he first arrived. It was just a little easier. The subtle warmth that he felt when the motes of Qi entered his body was like a gentle reminder that, while his journey was far from over, he was moving in the right direction.

Cheng stood at the edge of the herb fields that evening, watching the setting sun cast long shadows over the rows of plants, rubbing the dirt off his face, and on his robes. The sky was painted in the same fiery colors as the evening before, but the sight no longer filled him with yearning. Instead, it filled him with a quiet sense of purpose.

Tomorrow, was the next stipend. and he couldn't wait to get his hands on another gathering pill.