Nightfall
Han Yu sat cross-legged in his courtyard, the moonlight casting a silver sheen over the mossy tiles. The faint hum of insects buzzed in the background, but within Han Yu's mind, a storm had begun to settle.
For days now, he had been cultivating Soul Qi in bursts—tugging at threads of wrath, pulling on sorrow, gathering surprise and joy, poking reverence out of gullible disciples, even suffering the occasional disgust from others. It had worked, yes. But not without consequence.
His Soul Sea had grown unruly.
It wasn't dangerous, not yet. But he had felt it—a jittery edge, a tension he couldn't explain. His thoughts had occasionally become foggy. His emotions would swing strangely when he cultivated. He chalked it up to overexertion… but now, with all eight types of emotional energy gathered in small but sufficient quantities, something clicked.
It began when he exhaled.
