After dinner, Lu Qinghe didn’t go to the door to smoke.
He paced around the room twice before stopping.
“Now?” Lu Yuan nodded.
“Backyard.” Lin Xiu leaned against the kitchen doorframe, her fingers twisting the edge of her apron, not following them out.
Dusk hung heavy over the backyard.
Lu Qinghe stood rigid beside the chopping stump.
“How do we start?” “Cross your legs.
Don’t put your hands on your knees.” Lu Yuan looked up at him.
“Rest your wrists on your thighs, palms facing up, relaxed.” Lu Qinghe obeyed, his back straight as a ramrod.
“Don’t force it.” Lu Yuan pressed his pinky against the area below Lu Qinghe’s right shoulder blade.
“Here.
Relax it.” Only after several attempts did the muscle grudgingly comply.
“Breathing,” Lu Yuan said calmly.
“Inhale, sink it down to your abdomen.
Pause a moment, then exhale slowly.
Inhale…
pause…
exhale…” The heavy breathing gradually slowed down.
The yard grew quiet.
“Feel that cluster of soul power in your stomach,” Lu Yuan said.
“Don’t force it.
Just match your breathing to its rhythm.” Lu Qinghe’s brow knit together.
This method was too strange.
Cultivating soul power by feeling it, rather than pushing it?
His mind drifted.
“Dad,” Lu Yuan noticed immediately.
Lu Qinghe’s Adam’s apple rolled, and he refocused.
Night fell completely.
Dim yellow light spilled from the house, outlining the silhouettes of father and son.
Lin Xiu stole a quick glance from the doorway before quietly returning inside.
After a long time, Lu Qinghe suddenly gasped in surprise.
He opened his eyes, looking somewhat bewildered.
“That lump of warmth…
rose up a little on its own?” “Normal,” Lu Yuan said.
“Now, use your intent to visualize a small vortex two inches below your chest.
You don’t need to force it clean; just holding the thought of rotation is enough.” Lu Qinghe tried hard to visualize it.
But as soon as he put force into the thought, it turned into a blockage.
After trying several times, sweat broke out on his forehead.
“No rush,” Lu Yuan said.
“Today is just for getting the feel of it.
Remember to breathe and relax.
Practice for half an hour every day, and ignore the soul power for the first three days.” “What about the ‘vortex’?” “We’ll talk about that after three days.” Lu Qinghe stood up, his legs numb enough to make him stagger.
After half a day of cultivation, his soul power hadn’t increased, yet he felt exhausted.
The tiny spark in his heart flickered uncertainly.
Lu Yuan squatted on the ground, using a twig to scratch out markings by the light.
“Little Yuan,” Lu Qinghe couldn’t help asking, “is this method…
really going to work?” Lu Yuan didn’t look up.
“Does your right shoulder still hurt?” Lu Qinghe paused, moving his shoulder slightly.
“It seems…
not?” “Mm.” Lu Yuan made a mark in the dirt.
“Go back inside.
We’ll continue tomorrow.” The second day, the third day, exactly the same.
After dinner, the backyard, half an hour.
Dully repetitive.
Lu Qinghe felt like a fool.
That warm current of soul power spun sluggishly, and the barrier at Level 19 remained unmoved.
On the third night, he lost his patience.
“What’s the point of just breathing?” He opened his eyes, growing anxious.
“The soul power hasn’t moved at all!” Lu Yuan was making notes on the ground with his twig.
“Dad, in the past decade or so of daily cultivation, did your soul power move?” Lu Qinghe choked on his words.
“It didn’t,” Lu Yuan answered for him.
“And it hurt, and felt suffocating.
What about now?” “…It doesn’t hurt.
Nor is it suffocating.” “That is progress.” Lu Yuan kept writing without raising his head.
“Your body was accustomed to the wrong way; now we are correcting it.
Correcting is harder than building fresh, so take it slow.” He spoke with calm logic.
Lu Qinghe’s anxiety dissipated somewhat.
Fine, slowly it is.
On the fourth day, the intent of the “vortex” was introduced.
It was even harder.
If the thought was too heavy, soul power stalled; if too light, nothing happened.
Lu Qinghe strained until veins bulged on his forehead.
On the fifth day, the sixth day, still the same.
Progress was miniscule.
The bottleneck remained like a lump of iron, welded shut.
Lin Xiu couldn’t hide her worry anymore.
On the night of the sixth day, while Lu Qinghe was soaking his feet, she spoke softly: “Dear…
how about we forget it?” Lu Qinghe stayed silent.
“Little Yuan means well,” Lin Xiu’s voice sank lower.
“But you’ve been worn out these past few days.
That method…
looks fishy to me.” Her eyes reddened slightly.
“Let me just accept our lot.
Raising Little Yuan well is better than anything else.
Don’t torment yourself anymore.” Lu Qinghe stared at the sloshing water in the basin.
He suddenly recalled the soul power circulation diagram his son had drawn—so complex and clear.
Where did the boy learn that?
And that look in his eyes.
Not like a child’s, but like a calculating accountant—terrifyingly calm.
He lifted his dripping feet and stepped onto the drying cloth.
“One more day.” His voice was hoarse.
Lin Xiu sighed, picked up the basin, and went out.
On the evening of the seventh day, nothing seemed different.
The sunset faded.
Lu Qinghe sat down, closed his eyes, his breathing steady.
Six days of repetition had formed a habit.
The warm current of soul power circulated slowly, and as it approached the bottleneck node, he gently cast the thought of “rotation.” Extremely gentle, like a feather.
There had been no response for six days.
Today would probably be the same.
Forget it, I won’t practice tomorrow…
The moment the thought surfaced.
Suddenly.
The instant the warm soul power touched the intent of “rotation,” it shivered ever so slightly.
An inward-pulling drag.
As if water passing through a small whirlpool was lightly swept into half a turn, and then— Its flow sped up by a hair.
The bottleneck node that had remained unyielding for fifteen years transmitted a faint, nearly imperceptible sound as this focused, accelerated soul power current passed through…
*Clack.* Like the first crack splitting frozen soil.
Lu Qinghe’s entire body stiffened violently.
He opened his eyes.
Dusk was dark.
He stared into empty air, pupils dilated, breath held.
His right hand began to tremble.
From his fingers, spreading to his wrist, his forearm.
He raised his heavy, calloused hand, gazing at it in the dim light.
Trembling violently.
From inside the house came Lin Xiu’s anxious voice: “Dear?
What is it?” Lu Qinghe didn’t answer.
He turned his head slowly to look at Lu Yuan by the vegetable patch.
The child sat against the light, his face obscured.
Only his eyes shone with incredible brilliance in the dusk.
Lu Qinghe opened his mouth, a rasping sound in his throat.
It took a long moment to squeeze out a broken, trembling sentence: “Just…
just now…” Lu Yuan walked over, squatted down, and looked up.
“Did you feel it?” Lu Qinghe nodded heavily, rapidly and urgently.
He wanted to speak of that *clack*, of that inward pull, of the fifteen years…
but all words stuck in his throat, turning into ragged gasps and the scalding wetness welling in his eyes.
He raised his trembling hand and wiped his face hard.
Lu Yuan didn’t speak.
He reached out his small hand and pressed gently against the back of his father’s rough hand.
Then he turned to the dense cluster of symbols drawn in the dirt, neatly inscribing the seventh day’s mark at the very bottom.
Beside it, he added two words: “Initial Proof.” The night breeze brushed through the backyard with a chill.
In the distance, scattered lights flared in the town.
This sliver of faint light, struggling to sprout from the poorest soil, finally illuminated the starting point of that long, treacherous, yet genuinely existing path.