Chapter 2 – Awakening in the Mortal World
The first light of dawn seeped through the cracks of the wooden windows, painting Lin Feng's room in a soft golden glow. He stirred beneath the thin blanket, muscles aching and head pounding. Even in sleep, the memories of Tian Xian lingered—the betrayal, the blade of light, the falling into nothingness. But now, in this mortal body, the sensation of flesh and blood was foreign.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, wincing as weak knees protested. His body was fragile, a far cry from the immortal form he had once inhabited. Yet the mind, sharp as ever, analyzed every movement, every heartbeat, and every small spark of energy around him. The mortal world, he realized, was not without its advantages. Strength could be cultivated, and the limitations of flesh could be transcended—if one had patience.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
"Lin Feng, breakfast is ready," called his mother from the other side. Her voice was gentle but lined with worry. "You've been ill, and you must eat something. Otherwise, how can you grow strong?"
Lin Feng paused. The concern in her voice tugged at something deep within him. This life, though frail and bound to mortality, had warmth—a sense of family, of connection. It was so unlike the cold, treacherous halls of the Ninth Heaven, where alliances shifted like clouds and trust was a weapon. He took a deep breath, nodding.
"I'll be there," he said softly.
---
The kitchen was modest. Wooden tables bore simple dishes: steamed rice, pickled vegetables, and a bowl of thin broth. The aroma was humble, earthy, and strangely comforting. His mother placed a small portion in front of him, eyes lingering with concern.
"You must regain your strength, Lin Feng," she urged. "Even Father says your body is fragile, but if you eat well…"
Lin Feng's gaze softened. For a moment, he allowed himself to be just Lin Feng—the weak mortal boy, rather than Tian Xian, the betrayed immortal god. He nodded and began eating, savoring each bite, letting the warmth of the food fill his stomach.
But even as he ate, his mind wandered. He remembered the flow of Qi, the subtle currents of energy he had once wielded effortlessly. And he realized that this mortal body, though weak, still had the potential to harbor immense power.
> "A body may be fragile, but a mind… and a soul… cannot be broken so easily," he whispered.
---
After breakfast, Lin Feng ventured outside. The village was alive with the hum of early morning: farmers tending their fields, children laughing as they chased chickens, and the distant bark of a dog echoing across the hills. Life here was simple, yet every detail was alive with energy—the pulse of the earth, the flow of water in the streams, the wind whispering through the trees.
He closed his eyes and focused. The first attempt at sensing Qi was shaky. The streams of energy were faint, fragmented, and inconsistent. He felt the strength of the soil beneath his feet, the subtle warmth of the sun, and the life force of the plants around him. Even in this weak form, his godly perception allowed him to detect patterns invisible to ordinary mortals.
> "Patience," he reminded himself. "I may be reborn in flesh, but even flesh can become a weapon."
---
Hours passed. Lin Feng practiced basic breathing techniques, the simplest forms of Qi circulation. Each movement was deliberate, careful, and painfully slow. He fell more times than he could count, collapsing on the damp grass, panting, sweat stinging his eyes. But he rose again. And again. Every failure was a lesson. Every ache was a reminder that growth was possible, even in weakness.
By mid-morning, a faint glow began to form in his dantian. Not strong, not yet, but unmistakable—a spark of energy responding to his will. Lin Feng's eyes narrowed. This was the beginning. The mortal body could contain a fraction of his former power, but even a fraction of an immortal god's essence was formidable.
> "I will cultivate. I will grow stronger. I will master this world," he murmured.
---
Later that afternoon, he ventured deeper into the nearby forest. The village lay at the base of a mountain range, and the woods were dense with ancient trees, twisted vines, and hidden streams. For mortals, it was a place of simple hunting or gathering. For Lin Feng, it was a laboratory, a training ground, and a battlefield all in one.
He observed the movement of animals: a deer cautiously nibbling leaves, a fox slinking through the underbrush, birds darting between branches. Every motion carried information—patterns, instincts, and hidden potential. Lin Feng mirrored their movements, practicing agility, focus, and the control of his own body.
When night fell, he returned to the village exhausted but satisfied. Even in a weak body, he could feel the thrill of progress—the first signs of power returning.
---
The following days blended into one another: meditation at dawn, basic cultivation, observation of nature, and the occasional sparring with villagers who, unknowingly, tested his reflexes and agility. He began to understand the limits of his new form. Mortal flesh could be broken. Mortal bones could fracture. And yet, the mind and soul remained indomitable.
One evening, as he practiced near a quiet stream, a voice broke the silence.
"Most villagers would give up after the first month."
Lin Feng turned, narrowing his eyes. A figure emerged from the shadows: an old man, robes faded and patched, leaning on a gnarled staff. His presence radiated subtle power, enough to command respect without a word.
"You've been cultivating here alone?" the old man asked, voice calm but probing. "And you persist despite weakness?"
"I have no choice," Lin Feng replied, masking his true identity. "I must grow strong."
The old man's eyes gleamed. "Most would say strength is gained through talent, lineage, or sects. But you… you persist because of will. That is rare, indeed."
Lin Feng felt a twinge of recognition. Not divine, but perceptive. This man understood more than a normal mortal, perhaps even glimpsing the faint traces of his immortal essence. He chose his words carefully.
"I am Lin Feng," he said simply. "A weak youth, trying to survive."
The old man chuckled. "Weak, perhaps. But determination is a seed stronger than any mountain. I am Elder Han of the Hidden Bamboo Sect. If you wish, I can teach you proper cultivation techniques—ways to strengthen your body and refine your Qi. But it will not be easy."
Lin Feng's pulse quickened. This was opportunity—an entry into the cultivation world, a chance to grow beyond mortal limits. "I am ready," he said without hesitation.
Elder Han nodded. "Very well. But first, you must understand something: cultivation is not merely about power. It is about patience, observation, and harmony with the world around you. A blade cannot cut without balance, and Qi cannot flow without understanding."
Lin Feng listened intently. Every word resonated with the experience of Tian Xian, reminding him of the wisdom he had once held. Yet the mortal world required humility. He could not act as a god; he must act as a mortal.
Over the following weeks, Elder Han guided Lin Feng through the fundamentals of cultivation:
Proper breathing and Qi circulation
Alignment of body, mind, and spirit
Observation of natural energy currents in rivers, rocks, and trees
Basic combat forms integrated with Qi
Each lesson was grueling. Lin Feng's body ached constantly, and exhaustion was his constant companion. Yet progress was undeniable. The faint glow in his dantian grew stronger. Movements became swifter. Awareness became keener.
One evening, Elder Han brought him to a secluded grove. The moonlight poured through the trees, illuminating the flowing stream like silver fire.
"Tonight, you will attempt your first Qi condensation," Elder Han instructed. "It will be painful, perhaps even overwhelming. But if you succeed, your mortal body will gain a foundation for true strength."
Lin Feng nodded. His pulse quickened, and he closed his eyes. Memories of Tian Xian, the blade, the betrayal, and the Ninth Heaven flashed before him. A roar of determination rose in his heart: he would not fail.
Hours passed. Pain seared through his body as Qi surged, tangled, and fought to find harmony. Limbs trembled, breath came in ragged gasps, and sweat poured like rain. But Lin Feng endured. Slowly, gradually, the chaotic energy aligned. His dantian glowed like molten gold. A wave of power spread through his body, filling every fiber with strength and awareness.
He opened his eyes. Elder Han watched silently, a rare smile on his face. "Well done, Lin Feng. The first step is complete. But remember… this is only the beginning."
Lin Feng's lips curled into a faint smile. Strength had returned to his mortal body. The spark of the immortal god within him roared to life once more. He was no longer just a weak youth. He was a cultivator, a student of Qi, and a god reborn in flesh.
And somewhere, far beyond the mountains and rivers of this mortal realm, the echoes of the Ninth Heaven stirred.
Tian Xian—Lin Feng—would rise again.