"How could you have formed your dantian!?"
'Wait… what did I just hear?!'
Geonu, stationed silently near the doorway, froze instantly. His body stiffened like a drawn bow, and his eyes widened as if the words themselves could strike him. He leaned forward, straining, as though sheer effort could help him catch every syllable. The atmosphere in the room became thick, oppressive, pressing down with a weight that made breathing seem laborious.
Doctor Guyang, however, was completely still, as though the very act of moving had been stripped from him. His gaze burned into me, wide, unblinking, disbelief and horror intertwining in every line of his face. He had always been calm, rational, a man who prided himself on understanding life and death. Yet now, he looked as if the universe itself had twisted under his eyes.
A dantian… forming naturally… in a body like mine?
His breathing quickened, subtle yet unmistakable, each inhale and exhale trembling with tension. Every second that passed as he stared seemed to deepen his disbelief. Doctor Guyang's hands twitched, fingers flexing slightly, betraying a fear he could not conceal. Then, almost instinctively, his gaze flicked to me, searching for some rationale, some miracle that could make sense of what he was witnessing.
'Impossible! Absolutely impossible! There's no way to form a dantian except… relying on Those methods…'
The mention of Those methods made my pulse skip. Forbidden, whispered about, legendary in their danger and cost—they were a last resort, a tool of desperation. Temporary solutions, yes, but at a permanent, terrifying cost. If I had relied on them… no, I couldn't have.
I let him stew in disbelief. There was no reason to correct him, no reason to reveal the painstaking truth of my own cultivation just yet. I kept my expression neutral, calm, even cheerful, as if forming a dantian was the most natural occurrence in the world.
"I do?! Did you say I have a dantian!? This is great—" I said, trying to sound thrilled, even though my heart raced beneath the calm facade.
"How can that be?! I knew your body would never be able to cultivate, that's simply how your body is! But how could this happen?! It doesn't make any sense!!"
Doctor Guyang's words collided with one another, tumbling in frantic bursts. He muttered to himself, fragments of disbelief leaking from his lips: "No… it can't… blocked… impossible…" His gaze flicked back to me intermittently, searching, questioning, almost pleading silently for some impossible explanation.
I remained still. My mind, however, raced. In my previous life, countless failures had proven my body's incapability of cultivation. My dantian could never form, and I had stubbornly refused to accept that truth. Each attempt, each failure, had left scars on my spirit.
But now… everything was different. My body responded, my dantian had formed. The proof was undeniable. I could cultivate. And no one had ever explicitly told me otherwise. That omission had driven my relentless pursuit of the martial path, and now, here I was, facing disbelief and fear.
"What do you mean by that, Doctor Guyang?" My voice remained calm, but my mind raced, anticipation and dread tangling within me.
"?!!... I-I…"
The hesitation was immediate. His words caught in his throat, each breath shallow and uneven. The tension radiated like heat from a fire, making my stomach twist in anxious anticipation.
"I… Hah… perhaps it's about time I finally tell you this. To be honest, I should have told you a long time ago," he admitted, voice low, weighted with years of restraint.
"Gulp… Tell me what?"
I swallowed hard, dry throat aching. What secret had he carried for so long? Had he feared I could not endure the truth? Or had he believed ignorance was my only safeguard? My pulse thrummed violently as I braced for his revelation.
"What I've been hiding from you since the moment I discovered it… is that… that…"
He hesitated. The pause was agonizing, stretching time into a taut wire, each second threatening to snap. But I would not shrink. I needed the truth, no matter its weight.
"Before that, I must ask you a couple of questions. First: do you know the basic principle of cultivation?"
"Basic principle of cultivation?"
I frowned, puzzled. Perhaps he was testing me, seeing if I was ready for the truth. Of course I knew the principle: to absorb life energy from the surroundings, circulate it through the body to strengthen muscles, refine the blood, and extend one's lifespan. That was the foundation. Immortality and immense power were beyond, but the core was clear.
"Yes, I know," I said firmly.
"Good. That makes explaining things easier. Then another question: if there is life energy, what is its opposite?"
I paused. Life's opposite was death, naturally. The energy opposing creation and vitality… death energy. Always present, balanced against life, a constant force.
"That is death energy," I said, steady, confident.
"Correct. As you know, death energy is the opposite of the life energy used in cultivation to enhance one's health, body, and more."
"Yes, I already know that. So please, get to the point, sir," I pressed, trying to mask the impatience rising in me.
"Alright, I will… in just a moment. Since cultivation relies on life energy… what if, instead of using life energy, we used death energy?"
"Cultivation using death energy?!"
The words were absurd, almost laughable. But beneath the surface, dread gnawed at my stomach. Death energy was lethal—mere proximity could kill a frail person. Using it to cultivate was suicide. The very idea defied reason. Not even my past reckless self would attempt it.
"Wouldn't that defeat the whole purpose of cultivation?! A person would just die from being near large amounts of it!" I shouted.
"That's right," he said solemnly, voice flat, eyes heavy with a gravity I had never seen before.
"Then why are we talking about this? How does this relate to what you're hiding?!"
"Be patient, Young Lord. I promised you that you needed to understand this before I tell you the truth."
The word "patience" barely softened the dread clawing at my chest. The implications were terrifying. I forced myself to stay calm; arguing would only delay the inevitable.
"Fine… please proceed," I said, tight-lipped, anticipation coiling in my chest.
"Then, Young Master, allow me to ask one more thing, this time regarding your cultivation," he continued.
"Yes, you may ask," I replied.
This was already the third question. A "couple," he had said. Clearly, his definition differed. Still, I answered patiently, waiting for the truth he would eventually reveal.
"Alright then, Young Master… haven't you always felt, when cultivating, that your qi flows roughly and heavily through your meridians, as if being pushed back?"
"Come to think of it… yes," I replied slowly. Every attempt at cultivation had been a struggle, energy fighting its way through blocked paths. Only the reverse qi flow method had allowed the energy to cooperate, to move smoothly, almost effortlessly.
"The reason for that is because cultivation, for you, was never supposed to work that way."
"Never supposed to…? Why?"
"Because of your meridians," Doctor Guyang said, his voice heavy, deliberate.
"My meridians…? What's wrong with them?"
His gaze was sharp now, almost piercing, but tinged with a sadness I hadn't noticed before. The air around him seemed to carry the weight of years of restrained knowledge, of secrets too dangerous to speak aloud.
"The thing is, Young Lord… your meridians' functions are naturally reversed from birth."
"WHAT?!"
Shock struck me with the force of a hammer. Every memory of failed cultivation attempts, every struggle I had endured, every method I had devised—all of it suddenly fell into a new context. My meridians were not flawed. My reverse qi flow method was not an innovation born of desperation—it was the correct, natural path for my body.
A part of me trembled with relief. Finally, the method I had painstakingly created, tested, and refined over years was not dangerous. It fit me perfectly. There were no hidden flaws in my design, no silent traps waiting to strike. And yet… unease still lingered. What did this have to do with death energy, with all the hints of doom Doctor Guyang had dropped?
"Wait, Doctor Guyang… what's so bad about that? Couldn't I just cultivate in reverse to fix it?"
"That's the thing. It's not that simple."
"Not simple?" I frowned, confusion mingling with rising apprehension. My method should have been enough, shouldn't it? Why the warning, why the secrecy?
"The truth is, Young Lord… we living beings naturally cultivate—even if we aren't fully aware of it."
"What?!"
"Yes. Even unconsciously, we circulate life energy with our surroundings. It happens constantly, from the moment we are born."
I froze. That made sense—so many people cultivated without even realizing it. That explained my weakness, my constant susceptibility to illness. My body, unlike theirs, could not cultivate unconsciously. It could not naturally draw life energy, and thus remained frail.
"But if I can cultivate consciously now… why does it matter?"
Doctor Guyang's eyes darkened. "The problem, Young Lord… is that your ability to cultivate is exactly the danger. You should never cultivate."
A chill ran through me. "What?! Why?!"
He leaned closer, voice heavy with a sorrow I had never encountered before. "Young Lord… have you considered that your inability to cultivate might have been preserving your life?"
"Huh? Preserving my life? What do you mean?!"
His words sliced through me, sharp and cold. Could it be true? That all my longing, all my desperate attempts to unlock my body's potential, had been leading me into peril instead of triumph? My frustration flared, burning through my chest. How could the thing I had desired most—cultivation—be my death sentence?
"Remember your qi blockages," he said. "They prevented death energy from entering your body. That was the only reason you survived all these years. Every moment of unconscious circulation, every attempt at natural cultivation, was stopped by those blockages."
I couldn't believe it. The very thing I had despised, the reason I had been considered unable to cultivate, had been my safeguard. My failures, my weakness, my suffering—they had protected me.
"But now," Doctor Guyang continued, voice low, weighted, "your blockages are gone. Somehow, you removed them. Now, every time you cultivate, consciously or unconsciously, you draw death energy instead of life energy."
A cold terror gripped me. "No… that can't be! I survived fifteen years of unconscious circulation… how did I…?"
"There's no simple answer," he said. "You've been extraordinarily lucky. But luck alone cannot last forever."
My fists clenched. My dantian… my carefully nurtured dantian… could not contain the tide of death energy I was now drawing in. The walls of my inner world, once my sanctuary, were now a conduit for destruction.
"The act of cultivating itself… is slowly killing you," he said, voice weighted with sorrow.
"!!!!"
It was impossible to describe the mixture of anger, fear, and disbelief that surged through me. Every struggle, every victory, every step forward—it was all laced with the poison of death energy. My heart pounded, mind racing, trying to calculate, to understand, to find a loophole. Could my dantian adapt? Could I somehow store or convert the death energy? But even as I thought, the answer became clear: the danger was intrinsic, unavoidable.
"Doctor Guyang…" I said, my voice trembling slightly despite my efforts, "why… why tell me this now?"
He sighed, heavy and worn, as if he carried the weight of my entire fate on his shoulders. "Because you needed to know. You could have continued blindly, drawing death energy into your body, each step accelerating the end. Now you have a chance to understand, to adapt… to survive."
I swallowed hard, the truth settling in like a stone in my chest. I had thought that mastering cultivation was the pinnacle, the solution to all weakness. But now, the pinnacle itself was a double-edged sword. Every breath I drew while cultivating brought me closer to death. Every moment I had spent practicing, building strength, had been a gamble.
Silence stretched in the room. Geonu, still frozen at the doorway, dared not breathe too loudly. The gravity of the revelation pressed down on everything. Even the air felt heavier, charged with a sense of inevitability, of destiny twisted into a cruel reflection of my desires.
I exhaled slowly, trying to calm the whirlwind in my mind. "So… all this time… the very thing I sought… was dangerous." My hands tightened into fists, nails digging into my palms. I had spent a lifetime dreaming of this power, only to discover it was a curse in disguise.
Doctor Guyang nodded solemnly. "Yes. And now… with the blockages gone, you are exposed. Every step forward in cultivation brings risk… but if controlled, if carefully managed, there is a path. But it is narrow, fraught with danger, and only someone who understands the balance of life and death can navigate it."
I swallowed again, the weight of his words settling fully. The thrill of discovery, the pride in my newly formed dantian, was tainted by fear. Every decision now carried consequences beyond anything I had imagined. My path forward was no longer about strength or glory—it was a delicate balance between survival and power.
I clenched my jaw, determination mingling with the dread. I would adapt. I would find a way to harness this dangerous energy without succumbing to it. Death energy or life energy, my body would endure. I would survive.
But the revelation had changed everything. Every victory now had a shadow. Every breath now carried risk. And as I stared at Doctor Guyang, I realized the truth: cultivation was no longer a simple path. It was a battlefield, and I had been handed the most dangerous weapon without knowing it.