The garden was silent save for the soft rustle of bamboo leaves and the rhythmic sound of water dripping from a hollow reed into the koi pond.
Qin Lian sat perfectly still atop the wide meditation stone, her small form tucked into a neat lotus position. The sleeves of her pale green robe fell around her like folded leaves, and her breathing—so often shallow and restless—was now steady.
In.
Out.
Again.
Each breath became longer than the last. The sounds of the world began to slip further away, until all that remained was the space between the breaths, like the quiet pause before a bell rings.
I can do this, she thought. Just breathe. Just be.
She had tried for three mornings now. Three mornings of stiff legs, twitching thoughts, and sleepy yawns. But every time she wavered, her grandfather's voice—gentle, steady as a stream—would remind her:
"Be still. Let the world come to you."
And so, she waited.
And today… something stirred.
It began with the faintest sensation—like a cool mist brushing against the inside of her skin. Her fingers tingled, and the tips of her ears buzzed softly. The wind no longer felt like something outside of her. It felt… present. Breathing. Alive.
Not wind, she realized. Spiritual energy. This… is what they call spiritual energy.
Her eyes fluttered open.
A veil of sunlight lit the edges of the plum trees. The koi swam lazily in the still pond. Nothing had changed—and yet everything had.
"I feel it," she whispered, voice breathless with wonder. "Grandpa—I feel it. The spiritual energy… it's around me."
Not far away, Yan Zhenwu sat with his eyes closed under the shade of a flowering tree. His eyes opened slowly, like a lake roused by wind. He smiled—not wide, but deep.
"Good," he said. "Very good."
He stood, hands folded behind his back as he stepped onto the meditation stone with her.
"What you sense now is Heaven and Earth Spiritual Energy—the natural qi of the world. It is the breath of all living things, the thread that weaves mountains and seas, blood and bone."
She nodded, unable to stop smiling.
He gently tapped a knuckle against her brow. "But sensing is only the first step. To walk further, you must learn to draw it in. Refine it. Circulate it through your body."
She tilted her head. "But… how?"
"With a cultivation method."
⸻
They began walking slowly along the garden path, her footsteps soft beside his. Yun the rabbit hopped lazily behind them like a fluffy shadow, ears twitching in the morning breeze.
Yan Zhenwu's voice was calm, but carried the weight of iron wrapped in silk.
"A cultivation method is more than a technique. It is a philosophy. A guide. A map of the soul. It teaches you to guide qi into your meridians, to temper your bones and blood, to open your dantian. Without one, spiritual energy will simply pass through you—felt, but never held."
She furrowed her brow. "So even if I can feel qi now… I can't actually use it?"
"Not yet," he said. "But you're ready to begin."
They paused beside a pavilion overlooking a waterfall. The cliff face before them shimmered with sunlight, and the falling water roared like a soft dragon's breath.
Yan Zhenwu pointed to the cascade.
"That waterfall flows with grace—but only because the mountain carved its path for centuries. In the same way, a cultivation method shapes your inner flow. Without shape, there is no power."
He turned to her, eyes bright beneath his calm expression.
"There are five main grades of cultivation methods: Mortal, Earth, Heaven, Mystic, and Divine."
Qin Lian's eyes widened. "Five?"
He nodded.
"Most sects can only offer Mortal- or Earth-grade methods. A few blessed ones possess a single Heaven-grade technique. As for Mystic-grade… only the Ten Great Sects possess them."
"And Divine-grade?" she asked softly.
Yan Zhenwu chuckled.
"No sect claims to own one. If they do, they keep it sealed, buried, or lost. Divine-grade techniques are remnants of a past when immortals walked the earth. They are stories. Songs. Legends."
"Mostly," he added, "they are myths."
They resumed walking.
"Our Verdant Sky Sect houses two Mystic-grade cultivation methods. That, Lian'er, is one of the three reasons why we are ranked third among the Ten Great Sects."
Qin Lian blinked in amazement. "Only two?"
He smiled faintly. "And even those are heavily restricted. Only inner disciples, personal heirs, or direct disciples of the Peak Masters may touch them."
She lowered her gaze, the excitement in her chest slowly weighed down by reality.
"Can I… learn one of them?" she asked softly.
Yan Zhenwu stopped walking.
He looked at her—not just with warmth, but with that deep, mountain-like stillness that always made her feel like she was standing in front of a sacred bell.
"I have other plans for you," he said with a quiet smile.
She tilted her head, confused.
"Lian'er," he asked, "do you know why I stand at the top of the cultivation world?"
She blinked. "Because… you're the Sword Saint?"
He laughed, voice light with amusement. "That's only part of it. But mostly—it is because of what I cultivate."
Her breath caught.
Yan Zhenwu lifted his hand, and in it appeared a small jade slip, carved with ancient runes that glimmered faintly with spiritual intent.
"I cultivate a Mystic-grade cultivation method," he said.
Qin Lian stared, stunned. "You… you do?"
He chuckled again at her expression. "Like your Senior Brother and Senior Sister, I will also pass this technique to you."
She stood still, eyes wide, words caught in her throat.
"I…" she bowed deeply. "Thank you, Grandpa."
He lifted her gently by the shoulder.
"Don't thank me. Honor it. Every method is the legacy of a cultivator who once stared at the heavens and decided to climb."
⸻
They returned to the inner courtyard, the sun now reaching high over the peak. Petals fell like drifting snow across the stone paths.
Yan Zhenwu sat beneath the plum tree and held the jade slip between his fingers.
"The technique is called the Soul Armament Sutra," he said, his voice quieter now—almost reverent. "I found it when I was no older than Yun Wen, deep within a forgotten ruin belonging to the Heaven Forge Sect—a sect that vanished long before our time."
Qin Lian lowered herself across from him, knees pressed together, listening intently.
"The Soul Armament Sutra teaches the fusion of weapon and spirit. Instead of merely wielding a sword, you nurture it, like a companion. You embed it into your very dantian, allowing it to grow with your cultivation. It becomes part of your soul."
She swallowed. "Is… is it dangerous?"
He nodded. "Yes. If done wrong, it can damage the mind. Destroy the spirit. But if done right… it allows one to ascend with blade and soul as one. A cultivator and their weapon—united."
He looked at her seriously.
"This method is not easy. But I believe in you. I would not offer it otherwise."
Qin Lian looked down at the jade slip as he passed it to her. She cupped it in her palms like it was made of starlight.
A blade that grows with my soul… A sword that walks with me forever…
The idea of such a thing burned softly in her chest like an ember.
She pressed the jade slip to her forehead and bowed deeply. "I will not let you down."
"I know," he said.
⸻
That night, back in her room, she sat in silence.
Yun snored lightly from his cushion, one ear twitching in dreams. Outside, the moon was bright and full.
Qin Lian held the jade slip in her hands again.
Soul Armament Sutra.
She hadn't activated it yet. Not yet. Not tonight.
For now, she just… stared.
The weight of it pressed softly against her thoughts—not heavy like a burden, but dense like a promise.
A cultivation method unlike any other. A path meant for her, and no one else.
She closed her eyes and listened—to the wind brushing past the willows, to the water dripping from the pond's edge, to the beating of her own heart.
It was all there. Waiting.
She would begin tomorrow.
But tonight, she simply sat.
Quiet. Still.
Feeling the mountain breathe with her.
And when she finally opened her eyes, the wind was still.
But something inside her had begun to move.