Morning in the mountains did not arrive gently.
Li Qingshan woke to cold.
Not the mild chill of dawn in Clear River Village, but a sharp, penetrating cold that slipped through cloth and skin alike, gnawing straight at the bones. His eyes snapped open, breath fogging in the dim light, heart pounding as instinct surged before memory caught up.
Forest.
Mountains.
The stranger.
He sat up too quickly and paid for it at once. The world tilted, his stomach lurched, and he had to brace a hand against the damp earth to keep from retching. The air felt different here. Thinner, yet heavier at the same time, like breathing water that refused to behave like water.
A quiet chuckle drifted from nearby.
"You should not move so abruptly," the stranger said. "Your body is still adjusting."
Qingshan turned his head.
The man sat cross-legged beside a small fire that gave off little heat but steady light. He looked exactly as he had the day before, robes unwrinkled, posture relaxed, eyes half-lidded as if he had been awake for hours. A kettle hovered above the flames without support, suspended as naturally as a leaf caught in still air.
Qingshan stared.
The kettle rotated slowly, pouring hot water into two cups with delicate precision. Not a drop spilled.
"That…" Qingshan began, then stopped. He swallowed. "That wasn't a trick."
"No," the man agreed. "It was not."
He handed one of the cups to Qingshan. The porcelain was warm, comforting in a way that felt almost indecent in this wild place.
"Drink," the man said. "Your meridians are tense. Heat will help."
Qingshan accepted the cup with both hands. His fingers brushed the man's for a brief instant. There was no jolt, no shock, yet something resonated, like a plucked string deep inside him.
He drank.
The warmth slid down his throat and spread through his chest, loosening something knotted and tight. He exhaled slowly, unaware he had been holding his breath.
"What did you do to me?" Qingshan asked quietly.
"Nothing permanent," the man replied. "I guided a trace of ambient Qi through you last night. Enough to keep the beasts away. Enough to wake your senses."
"Beasts," Qingshan echoed.
As if summoned by the word, a distant howl rolled through the forest. Low. Resonant. Too controlled to belong to any ordinary animal.
Qingshan's grip tightened on the cup.
"That was not a wolf," he said.
"No."
The man finally opened his eyes fully and looked at him. In the firelight, they seemed deeper than before, reflecting not flame but depth, like wells that had never known the sun.
"This is why I allowed you to follow," he said. "You listen when the world speaks."
Qingshan hesitated, then asked the question that had been clawing at him since dawn.
"What are you?"
The man smiled faintly.
"My name is Shen Yao," he said. "I am a cultivator who has not yet decided whether he wishes to remain one."
Qingshan did not understand that answer, but he sensed it was the only one he would get.
Shen Yao rose smoothly to his feet. The fire died at once, as if it had never existed. The kettle settled onto the ground, empty and cool.
"Come," Shen Yao said. "If you truly wish to step onto this path, you must begin today. Hesitation is a luxury for those who plan to die on time."
They climbed higher.
The forest thinned as they ascended, trees giving way to jagged stone and patches of stubborn grass clinging to cracks in the mountain. The air grew colder, sharper. Qingshan's lungs burned, yet beneath the fatigue, something else stirred.
Awareness.
He began to notice patterns he had never seen before. The way mist gathered more densely in certain hollows. How the wind curved around stone rather than striking it head-on. The faint, shimmering threads in the air that tugged gently at his skin when he passed through them.
"Qi," Shen Yao said, when Qingshan finally voiced the observation. "Ambient spiritual energy. Mortals inhale it their entire lives without realizing it."
"Then why don't they change?" Qingshan asked.
Shen Yao stopped beside a sheer cliff face veined with pale crystal. He placed a hand against the stone, eyes distant.
"Because the body is a locked door," he said. "And the key is pain."
Qingshan frowned.
Shen Yao withdrew his hand and turned. "Sit."
Qingshan obeyed, lowering himself onto the cold stone. His legs trembled, not just from exertion but from anticipation. He sensed that something irreversible hovered close.
"This is where most fail," Shen Yao said. "Body Tempering. The first realm. The act of forcing your flesh to endure more than it was designed to."
He crouched before Qingshan and placed two fingers against Qingshan's chest, just above the heart.
"You have Heaven-Scarred Roots," Shen Yao continued calmly. "Your meridians are narrow, uneven, and partially sealed. If you attempt conventional cultivation, your Qi will stagnate, rot, and kill you."
Qingshan's mouth went dry. "Then why bring me here?"
"Because scars can be widened," Shen Yao said. "And broken doors can be torn open."
Before Qingshan could respond, Shen Yao struck.
Not hard. Not fast. Just precise.
Two fingers tapped Qingshan's chest.
The world exploded.
Pain erupted from the point of contact, not outward, but inward. It felt as though his ribs had turned to glass and shattered inward toward his heart. Qingshan screamed, the sound torn from him without permission, and collapsed onto the stone.
He convulsed as heat flooded his veins, searing, invasive, alive. His vision blurred, colors smearing together as if the world were melting.
"Breathe," Shen Yao said, voice distant but steady. "If you faint, the Qi will burn you from the inside."
Qingshan tried.
Every breath felt like inhaling fire. His muscles spasmed violently, tearing and rebuilding in the same instant. He felt bones grinding, blood surging, organs screaming in protest.
He wanted to beg Shen Yao to stop.
He wanted to die.
And beneath it all, beneath the agony, something else emerged.
Strength.
Not the crude strength of muscle, but a deeper solidity. As if his body were learning, cell by cell, that it could endure more. That it must.
Time lost meaning.
At some point, the pain receded from an all-consuming inferno to a dull, throbbing presence. Qingshan lay gasping on the stone, sweat soaking his clothes, skin flushed and steaming in the cold air.
Shen Yao withdrew his hand.
"It is done," he said.
Qingshan laughed weakly. Or sobbed. He was not sure which.
"That was… just the first step?" he croaked.
Shen Yao nodded. "One of many. Body Tempering must be repeated. Daily. Each time deeper. Each time closer to death."
Qingshan closed his eyes.
In his mind, he saw the leaking roof. The empty house. The tablet by the door.
"I'll do it," he said hoarsely.
Shen Yao regarded him for a long moment.
"Good," he said. "Then you may live."
They did not go far after that.
Shen Yao led Qingshan to a narrow cave half-hidden by stone and lichen. Inside, the air was dry, still, and faintly warm. Strange markings lined the walls, worn by time and something else Qingshan could not name.
"You will stay here for three days," Shen Yao said. "Eat little. Drink sparingly. Focus inward."
"And you?" Qingshan asked.
Shen Yao paused at the cave mouth. "I have something to retrieve."
He hesitated, then added, "If I do not return… this cave will collapse in seven days. Leave before then."
With that, he turned and vanished into the mist, footsteps soundless against stone.
Qingshan lay back against the cave wall, exhaustion pulling him toward unconsciousness. His body ached in unfamiliar ways. Every heartbeat felt heavier, louder.
Yet beneath the pain, beneath the fatigue, something hummed.
A rhythm.
His own.
For the first time in his life, Li Qingshan felt truly present within his body. Not as a tool to be used up by labor and time, but as a vessel being prepared for something vast.
Outside, the mountain wind howled.
Far away, something ancient shifted, as if sensing a new spark struggling to stay lit.
And deep within the cave, a mortal took his first unsteady step toward the heavens, unaware that the path ahead would demand not just blood, but memory, mercy, and everything he thought he was.
The Dao did not care.
But it had noticed him.