Volume One: The First Breath of Qi
He woke up to the sound of his own stomach crying.
Not pain.
Not fear.
Hunger.
A deep, humiliating hunger that told him this body had gone too long without food—and too long without hope.
As he stared at the cracked ceiling above him, one thought surfaced clearly in his mind:
If I stay like this… this family will die.
This was not his room.
The last thing he remembered was Earth.
Then pain exploded inside his head, and memories that were not his own flooded in.
A boy collapsing from hunger.
A mother tearing her own meal in half.
A father lowering his head, unable to provide.
When the pain faded, the truth became unavoidable.
He had come to another world.
He forced himself to sit up. His body felt light, weak, as if even breathing demanded effort. The blanket beside him was thin, patched so many times its original color was long gone.
He stepped outside the small room.
There they were.
A woman with tired eyes forcing a gentle smile.
A man whose back was bent not by age, but by responsibility.
And a small child clutching an empty bowl, staring at him with hopeful eyes.
They had waited for this boy to wake up.
And he was the one who did.
Guilt crushed his chest.
I took his place…
If he had not come here—would the boy still be alive?
The child smiled at him.
That fragile smile broke something inside him.
He clenched his fists.
If I've taken this body, he thought, then this family is now my responsibility.
From that moment on, he made a silent vow.
He would not let them starve.
Morning came without warmth.
Three bowls sat on the table.
All empty.
"I saved this for you," his little sister said softly, pushing one of the bowls toward him.
Saved.
An empty bowl.
He turned away before they could see his expression.
This could not continue.
That day, he left the house to search for work and food.
Instead, he found a path.
At the market, a wooden notice board caught his eye.
Azure Leaf Sect Recruiting New Disciples.
Those with Spiritual Roots may apply.
Even Low-grade roots will be accepted.
Those without roots need not apply.
Cultivation.
His heart pounded.
This world truly walked a different road.
He joined the line for testing.
One by one, results were announced.
"Medium-grade!"
"No spiritual root—rejected."
A boy standing beside him spoke.
"I haven't seen you before. Are you new?"
"No," he replied. "I just don't leave my house much."
The boy smiled. "Name's Rick."
Rick tested first.
The crystal shone steadily.
"Medium-grade Spiritual Root. Core disciple candidate."
Applause followed.
Then it was his turn.
The crystal flickered weakly.
"Low-grade Spiritual Root," the examiner said flatly.
"Outsider disciple."
The difference was immediate.
Rick was led inside.
He was sent outside.
The sect gates closed behind them.
That was where they separated.
Rick walked the inner path, wide and clean.
He followed a narrow road of dirt and weeds.
At first, they still spoke.
Then less.
Then barely at all.
Rick trained under elders.
He carried water.
Rick wore clean robes.
He cleaned halls.
Rick walked a road prepared for him.
He carved his from bare ground.
Outsiders trained at night.
No guidance.
No proper techniques.
Only exhaustion.
He sat cross-legged on cold ground, hunger twisting his stomach, the thin breathing manual resting on his knees.
Breathe. Calm the mind. Sense Qi.
He breathed.
Nothing happened.
Minutes passed.
Then hours.
Pain bloomed behind his eyes. His legs burned. A thin line of blood ran from his nose.
Still, he stayed.
On Earth, he had learned something important.
Progress was not loud.
It was quiet.
Daily.
Relentless.
In exhaustion, something shifted.
Not warmth.
Pressure.
A faint presence brushed against him and vanished.
"Don't panic," he whispered.
He tried again.
Slower.
Carefully.
Before dawn, a fragile thread of Qi settled in his lower abdomen—unstable, weak, but real.
He collapsed forward, palms against the dirt.
Tears blurred his vision.
Not joy.
Relief.
Qi Refinement Realm — Level One.
He was not gifted.
He was not special.
But he was no longer empty.
The next morning, Elder Han watched the outsiders train.
Most were restless.
Distracted.
Empty.
Then his gaze stopped.
The boy sat too calmly.
Too steady.
Elder Han extended his spiritual sense.
Weak circulation.
But unmistakable.
Qi Refinement—Level One.
In a single day.
Low-grade spiritual root.
Even Rick, with a medium-grade root, had not crossed that threshold yet.
Later, another elder questioned him.
"How could someone with such poor roots advance so quickly?"
Elder Han replied calmly,
"Never judge a cultivator by spiritual roots alone.
Roots decide how much Qi one can hold.
Will decides how far one can go.
Talent creates confidence.
Confidence creates pride.
And pride dulls the mind.
Someone who knows he lacks talent…"
"…grasps every breath as if it were his last."
He turned away.
"Cultivation does not favor arrogance," he said.
"It favors understanding."
The boy never knew he had been watched.
He only knew that if he relaxed, the Qi would disappear.
So he endured.
He was still an outsider.
Still burdened with a low-grade spiritual root.
Still standing at the very bottom of the cultivation world.
But now—
He had taken the first step.
Eight levels remained in Qi Refinement.
Then another realm.
Then another.
He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing.
Slow is fine, he thought.
As long as I don't stop.
In a world that worshipped talent,
he chose endurance.
And he would keep moving forward—
one breath at a time.