That night, Hao Nhien did not sleep.
Not because of pain, and not because of worry. There was simply one thing he needed to confirm before dawn.
This body had once practiced the Body-Soul Fist Art. The inheritance had only been passed down orally, it was no longer complete, and after seventeen years the result had still been no more than the first layer of Qi Condensation. Even so, the meridians had traveled that path before, and the breath had already been guided according to that method.
It was the only thing he could use right now without having to ask anyone.
Hao Nhien sat cross-legged on the wooden bed. His hands rested lightly on his knees. His eyes were half closed.
He allowed his mind to settle little by little.
Then he began the breathing cultivation according to the oral formula Quan Bach had once passed down, preserved within the young man's memories.
Body-Soul Fist Art.
If the body is not steady, qi will not gather.
Before learning the fist, first learn to breathe.
Hao Nhien inhaled slowly.
The air passing through his nostrils felt slightly colder than the air he remembered breathing in his rented room in the old world. Yet within that coldness was something extraordinarily faint and clean, like morning mist that had not yet touched the earth.
He did not rush to name it.
He simply knew.
Breath entering.
Breath leaving.
According to Quan Bach's oral formula, he moved his awareness through the seven qi-entry points of the Body-Soul Fist Art: the crown of the head, the point between the brows, the throat, the chest, the lower abdomen, and the centers of both palms.
Each point responded differently.
Some felt cold.
Some warm.
Some trembled almost imperceptibly.
At others, it felt as though something had brushed lightly against him before dissolving.
If this had been the former Quan Hao Nhien, his mind would probably already have become impatient.
Wanting the spiritual qi to enter faster.
Wanting the sensations to become clearer.
Wanting proof that he was not useless.
But Hao Nhien did none of that.
He only observed.
When cold arose, he knew there was cold.
When warmth arose, he knew there was warmth.
When a faint vibration appeared between his brows, he simply knew it was there.
He did not pull.
He did not push.
He did not rush to give it a name.
And in that moment, Hao Nhien suddenly noticed something strange.
The breathing cultivation of cultivators and the breath observation he had practiced for three years in his old world appeared to be two entirely different paths.
Yet their starting points were unexpectedly close.
In his old world, he had learned how to remain with the breath.
When the breath came, he knew it came.
When the breath left, he knew it left.
No clinging.
No chasing.
No attempt to turn it into something special.
Spiritual qi seemed to be much the same.
The harder he tried to seize it, the more chaotic it became.
The more impatient he was, the more easily it scattered.
Only when the body was open enough and the mind still enough would it resemble a thin stream of water finding a crack in stone and flowing in by itself.
The corner of Hao Nhien's mouth moved faintly in the darkness.
Perhaps the inner path and the outer path were not as distant from one another as he had once thought.
Both began with contact.
Both began with knowing.
When something arrived, know that it had arrived.
When something left, do not force it to remain.
The instant that thought arose, Hao Nhien noticed that his mind had stirred.
The cool sensation in his right palm immediately faded.
He almost laughed inwardly.
Even a small insight could become an obstacle if he clung to it.
Hao Nhien let the thought go.
Then returned to the breath.
This time, the coolness in his palm no longer remained only on the surface of the skin.
A thread of spiritual qi seeped inward.
So slowly that it was almost impossible to notice.
It passed through the skin, touched the tiny vessels beneath his wrist, then followed a very narrow path into the meridian.
Cool.
Numb.
A faint sting.
Then weaker.
Hao Nhien did not hurry.
He continued moving his awareness through the seven qi-entry points.
At the crown of his head, the spiritual qi only brushed against him before disappearing.
At the point between his brows, the wound still ached faintly, but beneath that pain was a tiny vibration, like a drop of dew falling onto still water.
At the throat, his breathing had initially felt slightly blocked, but after several cycles it gradually became smoother.
When the spiritual qi reached his chest, a sense of heaviness immediately rose.
Too much was gathered there.
Anh Nhien.
Earth.
The Time Disc.
Quan Bach and his wife.
Tieu Lan's unease.
All of it seemed to weigh upon his chest, making it difficult for the qi to pass through.
Hao Nhien remained there longer.
He did not force it.
He only breathed.
One breath.
Two.
Three.
The heaviness remained, but within it, a narrow opening gradually appeared.
A cool trace of spiritual qi slipped through.
Extremely weak.
But it passed.
When it descended into his lower abdomen, it entered a region that felt cold and empty.
Hao Nhien did not know whether this was what Quan Bach had once called the Qi Sea. In the memories belonging to this body, the concept remained vague, like a name heard many times but never truly touched.
He simply kept his awareness there.
After a long while, a tiny point of warmth appeared within that cold emptiness.
No larger than an ember buried beneath ash.
Hao Nhien did not allow himself to become excited.
He knew this body was weak.
Its meridians were sluggish.
Its foundation was thin.
And it had only just begun recovering from injury.
If he became greedy now, the small progress he had made could immediately turn into damage.
So he simply kept his breathing steady.
Spiritual qi continued to seep through the seven qi-entry points, a little at a time.
It was nothing like the dense torrents he had imagined while reading novels.
Nothing like a flood.
It was more like droplets of water falling onto dry earth, slowly seeping into every crack in the body.
Some places accepted it.
Some resisted.
Some hurt the moment it touched them.
Hao Nhien observed each reaction.
Gradually, he began to understand the problem with this body.
It was not that it completely lacked a cultivation foundation.
It was that it fell into disorder too easily.
Whenever spiritual qi encountered an obstruction, pain arose.
Pain frightened the mind.
Fear shortened the breath.
And once the breath became hurried, the spiritual qi that had just entered the body scattered before it could be retained.
Each failure then reinforced the cultivator's belief that he had failed again.
That had been Quan Hao Nhien's old circle.
But tonight, Hao Nhien did not follow it.
Pain was simply pain.
Numbness was numbness.
Heat was heat.
He did not turn them into failure.
He did not turn them into fear.
The more carefully he observed, the less chaotic the path of the qi became.
Not because it moved faster under force.
But because the body was gradually learning how to receive it.
Fine strands of spiritual qi entered through the seven qi-entry points, moved along the meridians, and slowly gathered around the small point of warmth in his lower abdomen.
At first, they were only spiritual qi from outside.
But once the body retained them, cycle after cycle of breathing cultivation, a tiny portion began to settle instead of dispersing with the breath.
Hao Nhien could feel the difference.
The energy that remained was no longer entirely the same as the spiritual qi outside.
It was more closely linked to his breathing.
More closely linked to his meridians.
More closely linked to this body itself.
Extremely faint.
Extremely weak.
But it belonged to him now.
True qi.
The term surfaced from Quan Bach's memories.
Hao Nhien did not rush to confirm it.
He simply continued to observe.
A thread of true qi remained within his lower abdomen, like warmth preserved beneath a layer of ash.
It could not yet be called strength.
But it no longer disappeared immediately.
After several more cycles of breathing cultivation, that thread of true qi began to show signs of circulating.
Very slowly.
Very weakly.
But it had a path.
His left shoulder felt lighter.
The heaviness in his chest eased.
The wounds on his skin had already absorbed the medicinal energy from the bath. Now, as the thin stream of true qi passed through, even the dry burning sensation faded further.
Hao Nhien felt as though a small amount of extraordinarily clean vitality had been poured into his body.
Not much.
But pure.
It reminded him of his old world after a truly deep sleep, after a good meditation session, or after one of those rare days when his body felt completely healthy.
It worked.
There was no doubt.
The moment that thought appeared, the flow of true qi trembled slightly.
Hao Nhien immediately settled his mind again.
Enough.
This body had only just begun to recover, and its meridians were still weak.
A faint pressure had already started appearing in several places.
If he continued, he might absorb a little more spiritual qi and retain a little more true qi.
But he might also damage meridians that were not yet capable of bearing more.
Knowing when to stop was also part of cultivation.
Hao Nhien slowly guided the small thread of true qi back toward his lower abdomen, allowing the warm point there to stabilize.
Then he exhaled a long breath.
The air left his chest, carrying away the remaining tension in his body.
He opened his eyes.
At some point, the oil lamp on the table had gone out.
The darkness inside the cabin was no longer as thick as before.
Through the narrow window, a faint blue trace of dawn was beginning to seep in.
Outside, the crowing of roosters drifted from the town, mingling with distant voices and the soft sound of oars moving through water.
Morning had come.
He had practiced breathing cultivation for the entire night.
Yet strangely, his body was not as exhausted as he had expected.
Instead, his mind felt clearer.
His breathing was deeper.
Even the wounds on his skin had improved noticeably.
The meridians in his body were still weak, but they were no longer completely obstructed.
The tiny point of warmth in his lower abdomen was still there.
Not spiritual qi from outside.
A faint thread of true qi that his body had managed to retain.
Like a flame so small that a strong gust of wind might extinguish it—
but at least it was truly burning.
Hao Nhien slowly stood.
This time, his body did not sway with dizziness as it had over the previous few days.
He rotated his wrist.
Raised his shoulder.
Drew in a deep breath.
The thread of true qi within him moved faintly in response to his intent.
It was not yet enough to produce any clear spiritual power.
Not enough to strike with.
Not enough to make him run faster.
Certainly not enough to be called strength.
But it was the first sign that this body had truly begun to respond to him.
Hao Nhien looked down at his hands.
They were still the thin hands of a seventeen-year-old boy.
Nothing earth-shattering had happened.
No miracle had taken place overnight.
But he knew the first step had been completed.
He had touched spiritual qi.
He had retained a thread of true qi.
And as long as he could retain it, he could learn how to guide it.
Learn how to nurture it.
And one day, learn how to turn it into spiritual power that truly belonged to him.
Hao Nhien stepped out of the cabin.