The sun was low on the horizon, painting the mountain in shades of orange and gold. Ming sat cross-legged in the courtyard, his breath slow, his eyes half-closed. Since stepping into the first level of Body Tempering, every breath felt alive—his chest expanded deeper, his heartbeat sounded louder, and the world around him pulsed with hidden rhythm.
The teacher watched in silence for a while, his gaze steady, before finally speaking.
"Ming, today I will tell you of something that lies deeper than muscle and bone—the seven acupoints of the human body."
Ming opened his eyes, curiosity burning instantly. "Acupoints?" he repeated. "Teacher… are they gates? Hidden veins? Or… something else?"
The elder's robe fluttered faintly in the breeze as he answered.
"They are not gates. They are not rules written by heaven. They are simply choices. Seven points within the human body where qi and life meet most strongly. To open them is to invite harmony. To ignore them is to walk with rougher steps."
Ming tilted his head, frowning slightly. "So… if someone doesn't open them, can they still cultivate?"
The teacher smiled faintly.
"Yes. Cultivation has no single road. One may climb the mountain barefoot or with sandals—both can reach the peak. But the one who opens acupoints finds the air clearer, the path smoother. The one who does not will breathe heavier, and stumble more often. Both arrive, but one bears more weight."
Ming's eyes glimmered with thought. He was never one to take words without questioning.
"Then… why wouldn't everyone open them? If it makes the path easier, why not all choose sandals?"
The teacher's voice deepened, carrying the weight of years.
"Because opening an acupoint is not without risk. Each point is tied to the body's life force. If one forces it recklessly, the body weakens instead of strengthens. Some cultivators fear that. Others… simply do not care. Power can be forged even without harmony, so long as one is willing to endure the imbalance."
Ming fell silent. He thought of the mortals in the village—farmers carrying heavy loads, blacksmiths hammering iron, women balancing baskets. Some bore burdens with ease, others strained with every step.
At last, he whispered: "So… the seven acupoints are like balance. Open them, and the body and qi walk together. Ignore them, and they pull against each other."
The teacher's eyes softened.
"Exactly."
The Seven Acupoints, Introduced
The elder raised his hand, and with a faint motion of qi, he traced seven glowing dots across the air in front of Ming. Each one pulsed faintly, like stars scattered on a black canvas.
"One at the brow, between the eyes.
One at the throat.
One at the chest, over the heart.
One at the navel.
One below the navel.
And two more… one at each palm."
The seven points shimmered, forming a faint human silhouette.
"These," the teacher continued, "are where the body listens most closely to life's rhythm. When opened, qi flows not only through veins, but sings with the body's core. Each one you open will awaken something—clearer hearing, sharper vision, steadier breath, or stronger pulse."
Ming stared, wide-eyed. His heart pounded.
"Teacher… if I open them all, will I become… invincible?"
The elder chuckled softly, shaking his head.
"No. Opening them makes your vessel strong, but it does not give you wisdom. It does not teach you patience. It does not erase fear. Remember this, Ming—power without clarity is a blade without a sheath. It cuts its own wielder first."
Ming lowered his gaze, chewing on those words.
As the sun dipped lower, shadows stretching across the courtyard, Ming pressed a hand over his chest. He could almost feel something beneath the surface—a faint pulse, not his heartbeat, but something quieter, hidden.
He looked up suddenly. "Teacher… I think I feel one of them. Here. Like… a door, but too heavy to move."
The elder's gaze sharpened slightly. "Good. That is your heart acupoint. Do not try to open it yet. Feel it first. Understand it. Too many cultivators rush, tearing open what should be nurtured. They grow strong quickly, but they break just as fast."
Ming frowned. "But… what if I want to try? What if my body can bear it?"
The teacher's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Ming, listen well. The path of cultivation is not a race. You are clever, but cleverness can burn brighter than wisdom. Learn patience, and you will not regret it. The seven acupoints are not walls to be broken—they are friends to be persuaded. Push them, and they resist. Respect them, and they open willingly."
Ming sighed, leaning back on his hands, staring at the glowing dots still floating in the air. His lips curled into a small smile. "Friends… huh? Even my own body doesn't listen unless I treat it kindly."
The elder gave no answer, but his eyes glinted with quiet approval.
By the time the stars appeared, Ming was still sitting, tracing invisible circles on his chest, brow, and navel with his finger. His mind spun with endless questions.
He finally asked one last, softly: "Teacher… have you opened all seven?"
The elder looked up at the stars. His silence lingered long enough that the cicadas in the forest filled the gap.
At last, he replied in a low voice:
"Some doors are meant to be left closed."
Ming's eyes widened, but his teacher spoke no more.
The boy's curiosity burned hotter than ever. Seven acupoints… choices, not rules. But if even his teacher had not opened them all, what did that mean?
He did not yet know. But he vowed he would find out.