Morning light squeezed through the gaps in the window shutter, and Lu Yuan opened his eyes.
After three cycles of “Tide” breathing, the warm current in his chest grew distinctly clearer.
Good.
He got up, dressed, and walked over to the old locust tree in the corner of the courtyard.
Standing firm, he separated his feet shoulder-width apart, bent his knees slightly, and held his hands loosely in front of his abdomen.
This was the “Embracing the Origin Stance,” a variation of a health-nourishing method from his database designed to stabilize the core.
Closing his eyes, his breathing slowed.
His legs began to ache, and his back grew stiff.
He endured it, using his weak soul power to coordinate with his breathing cycle.
A quarter of an hour later, the hinges of the main house door creaked open.
Lu Yuan withdrew his posture and turned around.
His mother, Lin Xiu, stepped out carrying a wooden basin, freezing for a moment.
“Little Yuan, why are you up so early?” “Just stretching.” He walked over to help carry the water.
“Where’s Dad?” “Chopping firewood behind the house.” Lu Yuan circled around to the backyard.
Lu Qinghe was facing away from him, swinging an axe up and down with mechanical, dull thuds.
He didn’t call out, merely standing to the side to watch.
After chopping a few logs, Lu Qinghe wiped away his sweat, turned around, and saw his son.
“What brings you out here?” “Dad,” Lu Yuan spoke in a calm tone, “when you cultivate, does your soul power always get stuck when it reaches the Level 19 node?
You can’t break through, your chest feels tight, and there’s a dull, shooting pain behind your right shoulder.” The axe froze mid-air.
Lu Qinghe stared at him, the wrinkles on his face seemingly frozen solid.
Confusion, disbelief, and finally a deep, heavy bewilderment settled on his features.
“…How do you know that?” “From watching you chop wood.” Lu Yuan pointed at the subtle recoil in his right shoulder as he pulled back the axe.
“Also, when you smoke at night, your left hand always presses three inches below your left ribs.
That’s a soul power congestion point.” Lu Qinghe opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
He put down the axe, sat on a wooden stump, and reached for his pipe.
His hands trembled, taking two attempts just to pack the tobacco leaves.
Lighting it, he took a deep draw.
Through the rising smoke, his gaze at his son was immensely complex.
“Don’t overthink things, kid,” he said softly.
“You don’t understand.” “I don’t understand,” Lu Yuan stooped down and picked up a thin twig, “but what I see isn’t necessarily wrong.” The twig began to draw on the dirt ground.
The lines were crooked, but the structure was clear.
A circle, several lines.
At a certain node, he jabbed a heavy dot and drew an X.
“This is the general path of your soul power circulation,” Lu Yuan said.
“It’s crude and inefficient.
The node where you’re stuck is the intersection between the Arm Greater Yin Lung Meridian and the main soul power channel.
The transition of your technique is too sharp here.
Coupled with your years of using your right arm, there’s chronic strain in the meridian.
The combination of both creates a bottleneck.” Lu Qinghe stared at the drawing on the ground, forgetting to puff his pipe.
It was too specific.
The dull pain in his right shoulder, the sluggishness during cultivation, the tightness under his left ribs…
every single detail was hit right on the head.
“You…” His throat tightened.
“Where did you learn this?” “There were a few torn pages tucked inside that old literacy primer,” Lu Yuan said without batting an eye.
“I read them and guessed.” Lu Qinghe fell silent.
The tobacco burned out, and he tapped the ashes against the stump.
“Even if that’s true…
what of it?” His voice betrayed a deep weariness.
“The spirit master in town said Level 19 is my limit for life.
That’s just my fate.” “Fate is fixed,” Lu Yuan said, “but paths are walked by people.” He tossed the twig aside.
“If the technique is crude, it can be adjusted.
If the meridian is congested, soul power can nourish and unblock it.
It doesn’t require rare treasures; it just needs small tweaks to a few operational details and a change in habit.” Lu Qinghe looked at him as if looking at a stranger.
His six-year-old son hadn’t seemed right since coming back yesterday.
He was too calm, and now he was saying things that sounded incomprehensible yet made total sense.
“Easier said than done,” he shook his head.
“I’ve practiced for over a decade and never figured out a way.” “Because you’ve been practicing the wrong way all along,” Lu Yuan said.
“It’s like chopping wood with a dull axe.
The harder you force it, the more damaged the blade becomes.
You need to sharpen the axe first.” He paused, observing his father’s expression.
Suspicion was still heavy, but deep down, something minuscule stirred.
Words alone were useless.
“Dad, try circulating your soul power right now until you reach that node,” Lu Yuan said.
“Don’t rush to push through.
Stop.
Feel whether the soul power splits into two streams.
One pushing forward, and one drilling into the fine meridian behind your right shoulder?” Lu Qinghe hesitated, then closed his eyes.
He slowly urged his soul power into motion.
Reaching that familiar spot, it blocked.
He did as told and stopped, sensing carefully.
After a few breaths, his brows furrowed.
It was real.
Behind the sensation of blockage, there were indeed two subtle forces pushing in different directions.
One forward, and one dispersing toward the back right.
He had never noticed it before; every time, he had simply mustered all his strength to brute-force it, leaving his chest tight and uncomfortable.
“Do you feel it?” Lu Yuan asked.
Lu Qinghe opened his eyes and nodded, his shock deepening.
“Forward is the main path; backward is the leakage,” Lu Yuan explained.
“Your technique lacks a ‘containment’ guidance here, causing soul power to stray into side paths.
Every time you try to break through, thirty to forty percent of your force dissipates.
It’d be a miracle if you could get past it.” “Then…
what should I do?” “Pull the scattered power back.” Lu Yuan gesticulated a rotation with his hands.
“Don’t use brute force.
Right before the soul power hits the node, just a moment prior, use your intent to visualize an inward-spinning ‘vortex.’ As soul power passes, it will be naturally contained and focused forward.” He paused again.
“At the same time, don’t keep your right arm so tense when cultivating.
Relax your right shoulder.
Imagine soul power flowing like water through it, not smashing into it like a stone.” Lu Qinghe listened with furrowed brows.
He had no concept of things like “intent” or “vortex,” but the problem was real.
After hesitating again and again, he couldn’t help asking, “Will this…
actually work?” “I don’t know,” Lu Yuan admitted candidly.
“The theory holds.
The actual effect needs to be tested.” Silence fell.
The morning light flooded the yard completely, illuminating everything.
In the distance, roosters crowed and dogs barked.
Lu Qinghe sat on the stump, looking at the drawing on the ground, then looking up at his son.
There was an innate certainty radiating from the boy’s bones.
Bizarre as it was, every word landed square on the truth.
Fifteen years.
Stuck at Level 19 for fifteen long years.
Aging from a robust young man into someone with a slightly stooped back and calloused hands.
He had given up hope long ago, accepting his fate.
But deep down in his heart, was there truly not a single spark left?
Now, that single spark had been gently stoked by his son using a twig and a few words.
Lu Qinghe’s Adam’s apple bobbed.
He set down his pipe and rubbed his rough, broad hands against his knees.
Raising his eyes, he looked at Lu Yuan.
His voice was raspy, dry, and weighted with desperation.
“…Give it a try?” Lu Yuan nodded.
“Not right now,” he said.
“You just finished physical labor, so your qi and blood are unsettled.
Wait until evening, after dinner, when your mind settles.
I’ll guide you.” He stood up and dusted off his pant legs.
“I’m going to drink my porridge now, Dad.
The wood is almost all chopped.” Turning around, he walked toward the front yard with steady steps.
Lu Qinghe sat motionless.
Lowering his head, he stared at the drawing on the ground once more.
After watching it for a long time, he extended his foot and slowly smoothed it over.
But some things could no longer be erased.