There are moments in a life that divide everything into before and after. I'd felt on the cusp of such a moment for weeks, the sense growing stronger with each passing day as I cultivated, as I counted, as I quietly guided a new world toward order and understanding. But nothing—no lesson, no invention—could prepare me for the transformation that waited in the stillness of a single afternoon.
It was after the sun had reached its zenith and begun its slow descent. The village, drowsy from the heat of late summer, had quieted. My brothers were out hunting; my father, as ever, bartering with a caravan in the square; my mother tending to chores with the steady rhythm that defined her. I found a private corner beneath the old oak, where the breeze smelled faintly of river and wildflowers, and sat cross-legged in the dappled light.
My mind stilled quickly. This, at least, had become second nature. With a steady breath, I began to circulate the energy—the spirit force I had learned to guide along the paths of my meridians. Eleven out of twelve channels were open, their presence as familiar to me as the lines of my own palm. But one remained: subtle, elusive, buried so deep it seemed to shift and hide as I drew near.
I centered myself, visualizing the network within. I could see the paths so clearly, feel the gentle current of energy flowing from my extremities inward, pooling in my dantian. I followed its course with patient attention, like a craftsman searching for a hairline crack in a treasured blade. The last meridian was there—a thin, twisting channel near the base of my spine, flickering at the edge of perception.
For two hours, I guided my energy with infinite care. I imagined it as a stream, soft and persistent, wearing down the barrier before it. My body tingled with effort; sweat pricked my brow. There were moments when frustration threatened to shake my focus, but I remembered the patience that had carried me through failure after failure in clockmaking and calendar-building.
Gradually, I felt the resistance begin to soften. The channel opened a fraction, then a little more, as if inviting me forward with each gentle nudge. I kept my breath slow and steady, keeping the energy focused, unwavering, gentle as the morning sun on a dew-laden field.
And then, as the afternoon slipped toward evening, it happened. The barrier crumbled—first a pinprick, then a flood. I gasped as my entire being was suffused with a wave of force unlike anything I'd ever known. The last meridian opened, connecting the webwork into a perfect, unbroken circuit.
I felt…whole. Rejuvenated. It was as if every part of my body had been lit from within by a warm, clear flame. My senses sharpened instantly. The distant sounds of the village—children playing, dogs barking, the clang of a smith's hammer—reached me with crystal clarity. I could feel the heartbeat of the earth beneath my palms, the slow pulse of energy in every living thing around me.
But I did not move. I stayed seated, letting the energy continue its circuit. Each breath brought more power, which flowed from my skin and breath, through the meridians, and into the dantian at my core. As I continued, I realized that something was changing—something deeper, more profound than simple physical strength.
The energy in my dantian grew denser, thicker, coiling upon itself like mist turning to rain. It was as if a dam had burst, and every drop of vitality that had trickled into me before now rushed inward in a mighty torrent. I recognized the feeling, distantly, from stories of "breakthroughs" in my previous life's novels—cultivators leaping from one level of being to the next. But this was not fantasy. This was as real as the earth beneath me.
Instinct urged me to keep going. For hours more, I circulated the energy, compressing and refining it in my core. The world outside faded to a distant hum; time lost its meaning as the rhythm of breath and spirit consumed me. Each round made the energy denser, more vibrant, more alive. The sensation was no longer a simple flow, but a rising tide.
Suddenly, with a jolt that made my eyes snap open, I felt something snap within—a boundary not of flesh, but of dimension. My awareness seemed to expand, stretching outward and inward at once. My body did not change, but I could sense the power rippling through me, a potential that dwarfed anything I'd ever known.
I stood, breathless, and the world seemed new. My muscles thrummed with strength; I felt that I could run faster than the fleetest deer, leap higher than any hunter. If ten men attacked, I could face them alone—and win. My mind raced, testing my limbs with slow, deliberate motion. Every movement felt effortless, perfectly controlled, charged with energy.
But the change was more than physical. I looked inward again and saw the dantian—now a dense, swirling pool of energy. Not just qi, not just vitality, but something more refined, more potent. Words came to me unbidden: spirit energy, soul energy. This, I knew instinctively, was the force that separated the legendary from the ordinary, the heroes of song and story from the simple villagers.
With my transcendent comprehension, I reviewed the process in detail. The opening of all twelve meridians was not merely a physical feat—it was a gateway. The circuit complete, energy flowed without resistance, pooling and refining itself in the dantian. Persistent cycling and compression had driven the energy to a new state, dense enough to change not just body but being. I realized that this was the true start of cultivation as I had read in ancient tales—a fundamental shift from the mundane to the extraordinary.
Darkness had fallen outside by the time my breathing slowed. I rose quietly, stretching each limb in turn, marveling at the smoothness and power in every motion. The world felt smaller now, its dangers less threatening, its possibilities vaster.
I returned home quietly, my thoughts racing as I prepared for sleep. I carefully recalled every detail—each sensation, each shift, each insight. Tomorrow, I would share my findings with my family. Perhaps in time, with care and guidance, they too could follow this path. Perhaps this discovery was not meant for me alone, but for all of humanity.
As I lay in bed, eyes wide open in the darkness, I reflected on the journey that had brought me here. From a lost child in a strange world, to the maker of clocks and calendars, to this—Ye Caiqian, the first to step into a new dimension of power.
I drifted into sleep, the dense spirit energy pulsing softly in my core, carrying me into dreams of a future that only now, at last, seemed truly possible.