The cool night air seemed to hum with a residual, sacred energy. After declaring his stance against the binding threads of fate and destiny, the goddess Mayari had offered him a smile of pure, lunar gratification.
"Good," her voice had echoed, not in his ears, but within the very fabric of his soul. "Because the path you are destined to walk will require you to tear fate asunder."
She turned, her form woven from moonlight and starlight, and with a grace that defied the physical world, she dissolved into the lingering twilight, leaving behind only the scent of night-blooming jasmine and a profound silence.
Silak stood motionless, his gaze fixed on the spot where she had vanished. A whirlwind of complex thoughts and potent emotions churned within him. He hadn't received a clear answer as to why his cultivation will stall at the Qi Gathering stage, but the goddess's cryptic encouragement had ignited a spark of defiance in his heart. He would not passively accept his circumstances. He would fight!
'For now, I must focus on what I can control,' he resolved, steadying his mind. 'Master the Cosmic Meridian Flow technique. Understand its every nuance. The answers will come.'
He decided to approach his cultivation with patience and precision. With enough luck and perseverance, he might uncover the truth on his own. And if not, he had his family. He had his parents and the wisdom of Senior Gahumdagat to rely on.
Composing himself, Silak drew in a deep, cleansing breath, the night air cool against his lungs. He turned his back on the empty clearing and the lingering divine presence, his steps firm as he entered the warm, inviting light of his home.
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The next morning, the comforting aroma of garlic-fried rice and smoked fish filled their humble wooden house. Sunlight streamed through the open window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. As his parents laid out their simple but hearty breakfast, they began to ask him about his first official step into the world of cultivation.
"Son, how was your first day of trying to gather Qi yesterday? Did you encounter any troubles?" his father, Bayani, asked, his voice a gentle rumble as he passed a bowl of food to Silak.
Silak had tossed and turned the previous night, replaying the celestial encounter in his mind. He ultimately decided to keep the conversation with the goddess Mayari a secret.
'To see and speak directly with a goddess… is that normal? Or is it another sign that I am different?' he wondered, stirring his food. 'I cannot burden them with worries about a future that is still unwritten. They deserve peace.' He pushed the thought aside and focused on a more practical question.
"Father, Mother," he began, "I was wondering… how long does it usually take a cultivator to advance from the Qi Gathering stage to Qi Refining? I've read all the scrolls in the tribe's library, but none of them mention a specific timeframe."
Bayani and Iskra exchanged a knowing glance, a silent conversation passing between them in an instant. His mother, Iskra, set down her bamboo chopsticks and answered, her tone patient and instructive. "There is no single answer to that question, my son. It is different for everyone."
She gestured to the large water barrel standing in the corner of their kitchen. "Let me explain it this way. Think of that barrel as your Dantian—your body's core. The water you pour into it is the Qi of the world. How quickly that barrel fills depend on three crucial things."
She held up a finger. "(1) The Barrel Itself – Its size, its depth, and the quality of the wood it's made from. This represents your physical body, the vessel for your power."
She held up a second. "(2) The Method of Collecting Water – Are you using a tiny cup or a large bucket? This is your Cultivation Technique."
And a third. "(3) The Water Source – Are you collecting from a slow-trickling stream or a raging river? This represents your environment and any external resources you use, like spiritual herbs, beast cores, or alchemical pills."
Iskra leaned forward, her eyes earnest. "These three factors, working in harmony or in conflict, will determine the speed of your cultivation."
Silak's mind raced, processing the analogy. He pictured the concepts, fitting them together like a puzzle. "So," he said slowly, "if my physical body—my barrel—is exceptionally large and strong, but my cultivation technique is like using a small cup, my progress will be painfully slow. But I could speed it up by finding a better water source, like potent herbs or pills to supplement the process. Is that correct?"
"Exactly," Iskra affirmed with a proud smile, pleased with his quick grasp of the concept. "But keep in mind, that despite supplementing it with your source. You are still using a small cup. So, there might be improvements, but it won't be significant enough"
"And…" Bayani interjected, his expression turning serious. The warmth in his eyes was replaced by the hardened steel of a veteran warrior. He set his own chopsticks down with a deliberate click. "I must warn you, Silak. Speed is a siren's call. It tempts you toward the rocks of ruin. True strength, lasting power, is built upon an unshakeable foundation."
He leaned his powerful frame forward, his voice dropping to a low, resonant tone that seemed to vibrate in Silak's very bones. "Cultivation is an act of rebellion against the heavens. You are building a staircase, not to reach the heavens, but to climb beyond them. If your steps are hastily laid with weak materials, they will crumble under the first gale. The storms of higher realms will shatter your path and cast you back down into dust."
Bayani's warning struck Silak like a physical blow. In his eagerness to overcome his stagnation, to grow stronger as fast as possible, he had overlooked the most critical principle. He saw the wisdom in his father's words; a lesson forged in experience and hardship.
'Father is right. What good is a tall tower if it is built on sand?' The realization settled deep within him, a profound sense of gratitude washing over him. Having parents who genuinely cared, who guided him with wisdom and love, was a blessing greater than any divine gift.
After a moment of quiet contemplation, a new resolve solidifying in his heart, Silak met their gazes. "Father, Mother, your wisdom clears the fog from my mind. I was successful in sensing Qi yesterday and guiding a few strands into my body. My goal is no longer to be the fastest. I want to build the greatest foundation possible. Is there a way for me to temper and strengthen my foundation even at this initial Qi Gathering stage?"
He had said it so calmly, so matter-of-factly, that the true weight of his words took a moment to land. When they did, the quiet breakfast scene shattered.
Iskra's hand, which was reaching for her teacup, froze mid-air. Bayani's eyes widened, his disciplined composure cracking for the first time that morning. The sentence echoed in the sudden, ringing silence of the room: '…I was successful in sensing Qi yesterday and guiding a few strands into my body.'
On his first day.
"Wait," Bayani's voice was a hoarse whisper, disbelief warring with shock on his face. "Did you just say… you succeeded? Yesterday?"
Silak scratched the back of his head, a flush of embarrassment rising to his cheeks. "Yes, Father. I did." He quickly added, "But it must have been because of Senior Gahumdagat's blood essence and the herbs in Mother's potion! They must have made my body more sensitive to Qi."
He deflected the praise onto the external aids, unwilling to appear like some freakish prodigy. He was already the subject of the tribe's gossip, a "blessed child." He didn't want that admiration to curdle into alienation. These people were his family, his community.
Bayani and Iskra stared at each other, a torrent of unspoken emotions in their eyes—shock, pride, and a sliver of fear. As his parents, they saw through his humble excuse. They understood their son's heart.
Despite being blessed by their Goddess, possessing a talent that could shake the very foundations of their world, he remained grounded, kind, and considerate. He was the boy who treated his elders with respect and looked after the younger children, earning the title of "big brother" from kids even older than him. He carried his gifts not as a crown, but as a responsibility. And for that, their pride in him was boundless.