The passage of time inside the cave was difficult to measure. Days blended into nights without distinction, marked only by the faint changes in the air and the subtle shifts in Ren's body as it adapted to a reality far removed from the one he had known on Earth. The outside world continued on without him, sects clashing, clans scheming, and the Murim turning endlessly, yet within the narrow confines of stone and shadow, something far more delicate and dangerous was unfolding.
Ren sat cross legged on the cold stone floor, his posture steady despite the tremors that occasionally rippled through his limbs. His breathing was slow and deliberate, guided by instinct more than instruction, and each inhale drew more than air into his body. He could feel it now, the omnipresent flow of qi in the environment, thin and scattered yet undeniably present, slipping into his pores and settling within him as naturally as breath itself. It was a sensation that still felt foreign, but no longer frightening.
Three months had passed since the night his life had nearly ended.
Three months since corrupted qi had flooded his meridians like poison, threatening to erase his mind and body alike.
Three months since Mao had forced Heavenly Qi into him at the cost of her own vitality.
Ren did not think of those events lightly. Even now, fragments of that pain surfaced whenever he guided qi through his body, memories of burning veins and tearing flesh lingering like phantom wounds. He understood, perhaps more clearly than anyone his age ever should, that power gained without restraint always demanded a price.
Behind him, Mao lay resting against the stone wall, her massive form far less radiant than it once had been. The gentle glow that had once surrounded her was now subdued, restrained, as though she were deliberately conserving every remaining trace of strength. Her breathing was slow and measured, yet Ren could sense the instability beneath it, the gradual erosion of a lifespan that had already stretched across thousands of years.
Bao remained curled beside her, small and quiet, her chest rising and falling in an even rhythm that stood in stark contrast to the storm Ren carried within himself. At times, Ren found himself watching her simply to remind himself that not everything in this cave was bound to collapse under the weight of qi and fate.
He closed his eyes again and turned his focus inward.
Within his dantian, three distinct presences coexisted uneasily. The first was familiar, the natural qi that every living being possessed, circulating steadily through his meridians and responding easily to his intent. The second was Heavenly Qi, refined and pure, lingering like a calm, watchful flame that resisted domination yet responded willingly when guided with care. The third was far more dangerous, a dark, oppressive mass that pulsed with hunger and malice, corrupted qi that did not belong in any mortal vessel.
Even now, Ren could feel it pressing against his consciousness, testing his resolve, searching for weakness.
"So this is what they meant," he thought, his awareness brushing lightly against the boundary between the three energies. "Power that doesn't obey unless you make it."
Xuan's presence stirred faintly within his mental world, not fully manifesting, but attentive nonetheless. Since the initial struggle, the ancient being had grown quieter, intervening only when Ren's control faltered dangerously. Whether this restraint came from caution or calculation, Ren could not yet tell, but he did not mistake silence for absence.
"You are stabilizing faster than expected," Xuan finally remarked, his voice echoing with its usual cold detachment. "Most vessels would have collapsed within days."
Ren did not stop his breathing or open his eyes as he responded. "I don't feel stable. I feel like I'm standing on thin ice, and the only reason it hasn't cracked yet is because I'm moving carefully."
Mao's voice followed soon after, softer, layered with fatigue but no less firm. "That feeling will not disappear, Ren. Balance is not comfort. It is vigilance."
Ren nodded slightly, accepting the truth of her words. He had read enough stories in his previous life to know how often protagonists treated power as something to be seized without consequence. Living through it was an entirely different matter. Every circulation cycle demanded focus, every lapse in concentration risking disaster.
During the first weeks of seclusion, Ren had focused solely on survival, guided step by step as Mao infused him with small amounts of Heavenly Qi to counteract the corruption. Those sessions had been excruciating, his body rejecting the influx at first, struggling to comprehend an energy that mortals were never meant to command. Yet, as days turned into weeks, something within him adapted.
No, not adapted.
Learned.
Ren began to recognize patterns, subtle shifts in how Heavenly Qi responded to emotion and intent, how it gathered not through force but through resonance. Mao had explained it patiently, emphasizing that Heavenly Qi could not be seized like demonic power nor cultivated like normal qi. Each individual who wielded it had to discover their own method of alignment, a process that often took decades.
Ren had grasped the foundation in months.
That realization unsettled him more than it reassured him.
"I still don't feel like I've reached my limit," Ren admitted quietly, directing another controlled stream of qi through his meridians. "Every time I think I'm close, it feels like something deeper opens up."
"That is because you have not yet touched the boundaries of this body," Mao replied. "Its potential is abnormal even by Murim standards. Your thoughts are sharper. Your reactions faster. Even your comprehension exceeds what should be possible at your age."
Xuan scoffed faintly. "Calling it abnormal is generous. This vessel was designed for excess."
Ren frowned at that, though he did not interrupt his training. He had sensed it too, the ease with which techniques and concepts settled into his mind, the way his body responded instinctively even without prior instruction. His memories from Earth remained intact, yet filtered through a body that seemed eager to exceed its own limits.
"The memories of this body," Ren said after a moment, "they feel incomplete. I can recall the fields, the farm, the work, but whenever I try to remember the family name, it slips away."
Mao's expression darkened slightly. "That is no coincidence. A bloodline erased so thoroughly that even inherited memory cannot retain it is exceedingly rare."
"Or exceedingly dangerous," Xuan added. "Someone feared what that lineage could become."
Ren absorbed that silently. He had already decided not to dwell on the missing past. Names, clans, and legacies mattered little compared to survival, and right now, his priority remained the same.
Control.
Stability.
Foundation.
As his breathing cycle completed, Ren opened his eyes slowly, the faint circulation of qi around his body settling into stillness. His muscles ached, his meridians felt strained, yet beneath the fatigue lay a sense of steady growth, something tangible and real.
Three months into seclusion, and he was no longer merely holding the balance.
He was learning to refine it.
If this pace continued, Ren knew with quiet certainty that the child who would emerge from this cave years later would no longer resemble the boy who had been dragged into a demonic ritual by chance. What he would become remained uncertain, but one thing was clear.
This seclusion was not an escape from the world.
It was preparation for it.
As the days continued to pass, Ren gradually realized that qi cultivation alone was not enough. Stability prevented collapse, but it did not prepare the body to endure conflict, nor did it sharpen the instincts required to survive in Murim. Power without application was fragile, and Ren had no intention of becoming fragile again.
He began with what his body remembered.
The movements came at first as fragments, incomplete impressions buried beneath years of neglect and trauma, yet when Ren stood and allowed his body to move naturally, the fragments connected. His feet adjusted their stance without conscious thought, weight shifting smoothly from heel to toe as his arms traced familiar paths through the air. Even without weapons, the essence of Arnis surfaced, not as rigid forms but as principles of motion, distance, and timing.
Ren's brows furrowed as he continued, stepping forward, pivoting, striking at invisible targets while maintaining steady circulation of normal qi. Each movement carried intent, every strike calculated not for elegance but for efficiency. His body responded eagerly, muscles tightening and releasing with precision that felt far beyond what a nine year old should possess.
"So it really didn't disappear," Ren muttered to himself, adjusting his stance as he recalled his father's relentless discipline. Painful memories surfaced unbidden, bruised arms, aching joints, the sharp sting of correction delivered without mercy. At the time, he had resented it. Now, he understood the value of those lessons.
Mao watched from her resting place, eyes half lidded but attentive. "Your martial foundation is unorthodox," she remarked. "Yet it is solid. You do not move like a Murim disciple."
"I didn't learn to fight to look impressive," Ren replied as he flowed into another sequence, imagining blades in his hands. "I learned to survive."
Xuan's presence stirred faintly, interest edging into his tone. "Efficiency over form. A dangerous philosophy in this world. Sect disciples will underestimate you."
Ren exhaled sharply, completing the sequence before returning to a neutral stance. "That's fine. I don't plan on advertising my strength."
Physical conditioning followed naturally. Ren pushed his body through grueling routines, guided partly by instinct and partly by trial and error. He ran within the confines of the cave until his legs burned, practiced controlled strikes against stone walls reinforced with qi to prevent injury, and trained his grip strength using uneven rock surfaces. Throughout it all, he circulated qi, learning how different intensities affected his stamina and recovery.
What surprised him most was how quickly his body adapted.
Fatigue that once lingered for hours faded within minutes. Micro tears in muscle repaired themselves almost as soon as they formed, aided by the gentle reinforcement of Heavenly Qi woven subtly into his circulation. Even the corrupted qi, though restrained, contributed in its own unsettling way, hardening his flesh and sharpening his instincts when he pushed himself near his limits.
"This doesn't make sense," Ren thought as he rested against the cave wall, sweat dripping down his back. "Even with talent, this pace is abnormal."
Xuan's voice echoed quietly. "Your body is not merely cultivating. It is refining itself. Each strain is absorbed, analyzed, and improved upon."
Mao nodded faintly. "That is the mark of a dormant bloodline awakening. Not through inheritance alone, but through adversity."
Ren clenched his fist slowly, feeling the dense strength beneath his skin. "Then if I keep pushing like this, how far can it go?"
Neither entity answered immediately.
When Mao finally spoke, her voice carried a note of solemn caution. "Far enough to draw attention you may not be ready to face."
That warning lingered with him as he resumed training, reminding Ren that strength in Murim was both a shield and a beacon. Already, he had resolved that when he eventually left this cave, he would conceal his true capabilities, relying only on normal and modified qi in public. The Heavenly and corrupted aspects would remain hidden, reserved for moments when survival demanded everything.
At night, when exhaustion forced him to rest, Ren often found himself drifting into long stretches of introspection. He reflected on the stories he had read back on Earth, on protagonists who surged ahead through enlightenment and luck, rarely burdened by consequence. Here, each gain felt earned, each step forward weighed against potential collapse.
"I'm not special because I'm lucky," he thought quietly. "I'm still alive because I didn't break."
Bao would occasionally stir during those moments, crawling closer to Ren and curling against his side, her warmth grounding him in the present. He would rest a hand against her soft fur, reminded that his choices now affected more than just himself.
Weeks turned into months, and as the third month of seclusion drew toward its end, Ren could feel a shift approaching. His qi circulation grew smoother, denser, and more responsive, his dantian gradually reshaping itself to accommodate the Middle Hell, Middle Heaven flow Mao had named. It was not complete, not yet refined, but the foundation was no longer unstable.
Ren opened his eyes one evening, gazing at the faint glow of qi drifting through the cave air.
"This is just the beginning," he murmured.
Xuan's voice echoed softly in response. "And beginnings determine endings."
Ren inhaled deeply, posture steady, resolve firm. He did not know how long this seclusion would last, nor what awaited him beyond the cave, but he understood one truth with absolute clarity.
If he survived these years of isolation, the Murim would not be prepared for what stepped into its light.
By the time Ren realized it, routine had replaced uncertainty.
Each day followed a rhythm shaped by necessity rather than comfort. He would wake before the cave brightened with ambient qi, his body already alert as if it no longer needed the sluggish transition between rest and action. The moment his eyes opened, circulation began, normal qi flowing first to warm his limbs before the more dangerous energies were carefully drawn into motion.
He had learned through trial and painful error that forcing balance too quickly invited backlash. The corrupted qi responded violently to haste, surging like a wounded beast whenever he attempted to assert dominance over it. Heavenly Qi, in contrast, withdrew when pushed, its presence thinning until Ren calmed his thoughts and steadied his breath.
So he adapted.
Ren approached cultivation the same way he approached combat, not by overwhelming the target but by understanding it. He spent hours simply observing the movement of qi within himself, eyes closed, mind quiet, tracking how each type reacted to emotion, fatigue, and intent. Anger sharpened corruption. Doubt weakened harmony. Focus, when properly grounded, allowed all three to coexist without conflict.
"This is harder than any technique," Ren thought as sweat dampened his clothes despite his stillness. "There's no manual for this. No one to copy."
Xuan's presence drifted closer within his consciousness, a rare sign of approval hidden beneath indifference. "You are learning restraint before ambition. Many fail by reversing that order."
Ren allowed himself a faint smile at that. "Coming from you, I'll take that as praise."
A low huff of amusement echoed in response.
Mao, watching quietly, sensed the gradual change in him. Not merely in strength, but in temperament. Ren no longer chased progress with desperation. He moved with patience that felt unnatural for a child, measuring each gain against long term survival rather than immediate power.
One evening, as Ren concluded another session of internal observation, Mao stirred and beckoned him closer. Her movements were weaker now, the toll of her earlier sacrifices evident in every breath.
"Ren," she said softly, her voice brushing his mind like a fading breeze. "I will lend you more Heavenly Qi."
He stiffened immediately, concern tightening his chest. "You already gave too much. I can manage with what I have."
"You can stabilize," Mao replied gently. "But stabilization is not mastery. You must learn how to gather it yourself, or the flow will never be complete."
Ren hesitated, torn between need and guilt. "What will it cost you?"
Mao smiled, a warm and weary expression that carried centuries of quiet endurance. "Less than you fear, more than I wish. But this path was chosen the moment we met."
She pressed her paw lightly against his chest, and a thread of Heavenly Qi flowed into him, unlike before. This time it was slow, deliberate, woven carefully into his circulation rather than forced.
Ren's breath caught as sensation flooded him. The qi felt alive, responsive in a way normal qi never was, reacting subtly to thought and intent. Instinctively, he adjusted his breathing, mirroring the flow Mao guided.
"Feel how it resonates with you," Mao instructed. "Heavenly Qi is not seized. It is invited."
Ren focused, allowing the warmth to spread naturally, resisting the urge to accelerate the process. Slowly, something clicked. He sensed faint traces of Heavenly Qi in the environment, thin as mist, barely perceptible, yet undeniably present.
His eyes snapped open. "It's everywhere."
Mao nodded. "But only those who resonate with it can gather it. Remember this feeling. Make it your own."
The process was exhausting. By the time Mao withdrew her paw, her breathing had grown labored, her aura dimming noticeably. Ren immediately supported her, panic flickering through his composure.
"That was too much," he said, voice tight.
Mao shook her head weakly. "It was necessary."
That night, Ren barely slept. He sat beside Mao, Bao curled against his leg, and reflected on what he had learned. Heavenly Qi was not simply another resource, it was a dialogue between self and world, one that demanded clarity of mind and sincerity of intent.
Corrupted qi, by contrast, demanded dominance and suppression.
Normal qi required discipline.
Three paths, each pulling him in different directions.
"I really am walking something no one else has," Ren thought, not with pride, but with a growing sense of isolation. "If I fall, there's no one to catch me."
Xuan's voice surfaced quietly, less distant than usual. "Then do not fall."
Ren exhaled slowly, steadying himself. He resumed circulation, carefully incorporating what Mao had taught him, testing his ability to draw in Heavenly Qi in minute amounts. It was inefficient, clumsy, but it worked.
As the days passed, his control improved. The Middle Hell, Middle Heaven flow grew denser, more defined, no longer a fragile boundary but a structured circulation pattern anchored firmly in his dantian. His body responded in kind, bones strengthening, organs stabilizing, senses sharpening beyond what he remembered as human.
By the end of the third month, Ren could say with certainty that he was no longer merely surviving.
He was growing.
And with that growth came an unsettling realization.
"This pace…" Ren thought, eyes narrowing as he measured his internal state. "If I keep going like this, I won't just catch up to my generation."
Mao, sensing his thoughts, spoke softly. "Do not compare yourself yet. Power invites conflict. Timing determines victory."
Ren nodded, understanding the unspoken warning.
He was not ready to leave seclusion.
But the foundation was being laid for something far beyond it.
Time lost its meaning inside the cave, not because the days blended together, but because Ren stopped measuring progress in hours and weeks. What mattered now was depth. How deeply he could sink into control. How thoroughly he could understand the body he inhabited and the energies that shaped it.
By the beginning of the fourth month, his routine had changed again.
Qi training came first, always. Before thought, before hunger, before even checking on Mao's condition, Ren would sit and circulate energy through his meridians with absolute focus. Normal qi moved smoothly now, no longer requiring conscious effort. Modified qi had begun to form naturally, subtle traces influenced by his movements and breathing patterns, not tied to any clan or technique but molded by his intent and martial foundation.
He did not name it.
Naming something too early gave it limits.
The corrupted qi remained dangerous, but no longer wild. It reacted when provoked, surged when his emotions wavered, yet it no longer attempted to dominate him. Xuan's presence acted as a constant pressure, a reminder of consequence, while the Heavenly Qi formed a stabilizing lattice around his core, preventing collapse.
Ren learned through pain.
When he pushed Heavenly Qi too far, his body rejected it, nausea and dizziness forcing him to stop. When he allowed corruption to rise unchecked, his thoughts sharpened dangerously, clarity twisting into cold detachment that frightened even him.
Balance was not peace. Balance was constant adjustment.
During the rare moments of rest, Ren trained his body. The space outside the cave became his practice ground, his movements precise and relentless. Arnis flowed naturally through him, no longer bound to sticks or blades but expressed through footwork, angles, and timing. He adapted it instinctively to this world, letting qi reinforce motion rather than dictate it.
Each strike was deliberate. Each step calculated.
Bao watched him often, eyes bright with curiosity, mimicking his movements in clumsy bursts before tumbling over herself. Those moments grounded Ren more than he expected. They reminded him that despite everything, something fragile still depended on him.
Mao noticed this too.
"You have not lost yourself," she said one evening, her voice faint but warm. "That matters more than strength."
Ren looked at her then, really looked, and saw how much weaker she had become. Her aura flickered constantly now, Heavenly Qi leaking like light through cracks in stone. Guilt settled heavy in his chest.
"You should rest more," he said quietly. "Stop helping me. I can manage."
Mao smiled, eyes gentle. "You already are managing. That is why I can let go."
The words struck deeper than she intended.
Ren's jaw tightened. "Let go of what."
She did not answer immediately. Instead, she reached out and placed her paw against his dantian. This time, she did not give qi. She listened.
Her expression shifted, something like awe passing through her fatigue. "You have stabilized the flow," she murmured. "Truly stabilized it. Middle Hell and Middle Heaven no longer clash. They coexist."
Xuan stirred faintly. "He has crossed the point of collapse. What remains is refinement."
Mao nodded. "Which means my role is almost finished."
Ren stood abruptly, denial sharp and immediate. "No. You're not dying. Not yet."
Mao's gaze softened. "Ren, mythical beasts do not fear death. We fear unfinished bonds."
She reached toward Bao, who waddled closer instinctively, pressing against her mother's side. Mao rested her head against the small cub, breathing in her presence as if memorizing it.
"When the time comes," Mao continued, "I will not disappear. I will remain with you, as Xuan does. But my body… it has reached its end."
The cave felt colder.
Ren wanted to argue, to reject the inevitability she spoke of so calmly, but he could feel it too. The Heavenly Qi she had given him was no longer replenished. Her presence was thinning, her life force slowly unraveling.
"What do I do," Ren asked finally, voice low and steady despite the weight behind it, "when that happens."
Mao lifted her head and met his eyes. "You keep walking. You protect Bao. You do not let the darkness decide who you become."
Silence followed, heavy but not empty.
That night, Ren did not cultivate.
He sat beside Mao and Bao, listening to the quiet pulse of the world beyond the cave, committing the moment to memory. Not as a tragedy, but as a turning point.
His seclusion was no longer about survival.
It was about preparation.
He would not emerge weak. He would not emerge reckless. And when he finally stepped into the world of Murim, he would do so carrying heaven, hell, and responsibility within him.
The path ahead was long.
But for the first time, Ren knew exactly where it led.