Dawn broke over Star-Hollow, spilling pale light across the terraces. Mist hung low in the valley, clinging to the rice paddies like a silken veil. The villagers moved quietly, their steps careful, as if disturbing the fog might awaken something unseen.
Lan Gu rose before the sun. He had not slept well, his thoughts still dancing with the memory of the pillar of light he had seen during the Star Ceremony. The Eighth Star—so close to the heavens, yet impossibly far. Its radiance had imprinted itself on his mind. A spark had ignited there, one he did not yet fully understand.
His mother was already preparing breakfast, steam rising from the clay pots. She glanced at him as he tied his shoes.
"Father says you must practice today with the elder," she said. "He watches all children who glimpsed their stars."
Lan Gu nodded. Words felt insufficient to express the restless energy inside him. Every movement of the clouds, every shift in the wind, seemed to pulse with meaning. The world was speaking, if only he could learn to listen.
The village elder, Master Chen, waited at the base of the shrine. Even from a distance, his presence carried weight. Wrinkled hands folded over a staff carved with glyphs, his eyes sharp and assessing beneath thick brows.
"Lan Gu," he said, voice low but firm, "come forward."
The boy walked toward him, careful and deliberate. Every step was measured, as if counting vibrations in the earth beneath his feet.
"You saw the flame yesterday," Master Chen said, a statement rather than a question.
"Yes," Lan Gu replied simply. "I saw the road it traced."
The elder's eyes narrowed slightly. Few children spoke like this. Most babbled or bowed, afraid to speak before adults. Lan Gu's calm precision set him apart already, though he had only begun his journey.
"Very well," Master Chen said. "Today you will learn your first lesson in cultivation. Not the stars themselves, but the foundation upon which they move: the body and the spirit."
He gestured to a small stone courtyard at the foot of the shrine. The space was open to the sky, surrounded by pillars etched with faint star-maps. Here, every movement had meaning, every breath could be refined into energy.
"Sit," the elder instructed. Lan Gu obeyed, crossing his legs and placing his hands gently on his knees. The elder circled him slowly.
"Close your eyes," Master Chen said. "Do not think of the stars. Think of yourself. Feel your blood, your breath, the rhythm of your heart. Understand the vessel that carries your spirit. Before one can touch the stars, one must master the body that contains them."
Lan Gu closed his eyes. The courtyard fell silent, save for the distant gurgle of the river. He focused. Every sound, every shift in air, every vibration in the ground, became perceptible. He felt the pulse of life around him—slower than the river, faster than the leaves, steady in the oxen grazing nearby.
Master Chen watched intently. "Most children cannot sense this until their tenth year. Yet you…" His voice trailed off as Lan Gu inhaled and exhaled in perfect rhythm, aligning his heartbeat to the pulse of the valley itself.
A faint glow shimmered behind Lan Gu's closed eyelids. It was weak, barely perceptible, but it was there: the first trace of star essence stirring within his soul.
"Not bad," Master Chen said. "Most would collapse under the effort. You are… unusual, child."
Lan Gu did not answer. He could sense the energy, feel its weight, and measure its flow. It was methodical, predictable—but it was not random. Every pulse, every surge, followed a path.
He noticed something else, though he did not yet have words for it. The flow of energy around him seemed constrained. There was resistance, subtle and almost imperceptible, like the tug of an unseen hand. His brow furrowed.
"The world resists those who move too quickly," Master Chen said, reading the movement in the boy's expression. "Do not worry. That resistance is normal. Your first task is to recognize it and work within it."
Lan Gu opened his eyes. "Work within it?" he asked.
"Yes," the elder replied. "The stars are not yours to claim. They respond to those who are prepared. If you force the flow, it will break, and you will learn nothing. Patience, observation, and practice are the path to strength."
Lan Gu considered this carefully. He was accustomed to solving problems by thinking through them, finding patterns, and acting decisively. Yet here, even the simplest movements required restraint. Even observation required patience.
He knelt again, breathing slowly. This time, he allowed himself to feel the pulse of the courtyard without trying to shape it. He let the energy move around him as water might flow around a rock. A soft warmth began to gather at the center of his chest, almost imperceptible, but undeniable.
"That is good," Master Chen said. "Very good. Your body listens. That is the first step to controlling the stars."
Lan Gu frowned. It was satisfying to have succeeded, yet he felt a nagging emptiness. The pillar of light he had seen yesterday, the beam splitting the sky—he had touched nothing yet. How could he move toward that road if even the courtyard resisted him so easily?
The elder noticed his expression. "Ambition can be dangerous," he warned. "You will find that the closer you walk toward the stars, the more the world pushes back. Patience, observation, practice. One day, the path will reveal itself."
Lan Gu's lips pressed into a thin line. "I will wait," he said, though in truth he had no intention of simply waiting. He would observe, learn, and calculate. Every detail, every nuance of energy, every pattern in the resistance—he would memorize it all. And then, when the stars were within reach, he would know exactly how to step forward.
The rest of the morning passed in silent practice. The other children stumbled and gasped, their energy flickering weakly and collapsing. Lan Gu remained steady, watching, breathing, feeling every shift around him. When the elder finally called them to rest, the boy had not broken concentration once.
As they walked back to the village, the mist lifting to reveal the rising sun, Lan Gu thought again of the light in the east—the rare, magnificent breakthrough to the Eighth Star. That light had not merely shown power; it had demanded attention, a call to walk a road few dared approach.
He would follow it. Not because anyone told him to, not because the stars had decreed it, but because he could see the path and knew the logic behind it.
For now, he was small, and the Nine-Star Road seemed impossibly long. But even a child could count steps. Even a child could observe patterns.
And Lan Gu had already begun.
One day, he promised himself, I will reach that light. And when I do, I will know the way forward.