The Snow Flower Sect stretched like a forgotten dream across the upper ridges of Mount Austin, suspended between sky and eternity. Its sacred grounds sprawled over terraces layered with snow so pure it glowed faintly, as if it remembered moonlight even in the day. Every stone pathway, every flake of snow, and every drifting petal of the rare snow blossoms whispered the same truth—this was not a place made by mortals.
Towering pines fringed the edges of the stone courtyards, their boughs heavy with frost yet never breaking. Icicles hung from ancient tiled roofs, shimmering like wind chimes that had long forgotten how to sing. Waterfalls flowed soundlessly from the cliffs, their streams coiling like silver dragons into the sapphire lake at the summit. The lake itself held the dual reflections of sun and moon in its still waters—an eternal mirror of balance.
Among this celestial realm, Fuzi and Kell made their home at the eastern edge of the sect, in a secluded courtyard once meant for elders. The structure stood half-embedded into the mountain face, its rear walls formed by living stone that still hummed with dormant energy. The residence had curved roofs adorned with dragon motifs, wooden doors etched with swirling celestial runes, and a circular training platform at its heart carved from luminous jade.
Behind their abode, a narrow cliff led to a viewpoint that overlooked the entire range. From there, Kell could see the lowlands below, veiled in drifting clouds, and far above, a sky so clear it seemed like the threshold of the heavens. When dawn broke, the snow blossoms scattered in the wind like ethereal confetti, dancing in rays of gold.
Kell sat at the edge of the training platform, eyes turned to the horizon.
"Master," he asked, voice quiet, yet eager, "why does time move so strangely between the heavens and Earth? A day in the heavens feels like weeks have passed on Earth."
Fuzi, who was tending to the garden with a rake that glowed faintly with spiritual light, paused. His eyes lingered on the blossoms before turning toward Kell.
"Because the heavens exist partially outside the flow of mundane time," Fuzi said. "Ten thousand years on Earth might be only a single year in the heavens. This is because the heavens exist near the Eternal Timeline—a flow of existence far closer to the origin of time itself. Time there moves slowly, deeply saturated in spiritual essence and stability. Only true heavenly realms experience such time dilation, for they are closer to where all moments begin and end."
Kell tilted his head, eyes narrowing with curiosity. "Master… earlier you mentioned mundane time. What does that mean?"
Fuzi looked out at the snow-blanketed lake for a moment before replying. "Mundane time… is the flow you and I are used to. It's the rhythm of ticking clocks, of sunrises and sunsets. It is time as measured by mortals—linear, fleeting, always moving forward. But above that... in the heavens, near the Eternal Timeline, time becomes a breath held by the cosmos itself—long, deep, and patient."
Kell nodded, absorbing the thought. But a shadow crossed his face.
"Then… why don't I have any powers? Even before coming here, I felt nothing. Not mana. Not Dao. Nothing but emptiness."
Fuzi set the rake aside, stepping closer. He knelt before Kell and placed a hand gently over the boy's chest.
"Because your heart is weak," Fuzi said, not unkindly. "And the cosmos… is not without mercy. When a soul is born too fragile for cultivation, a divine mechanism is sometimes placed within their body. A barrier—woven from invisible threads—that protects them from the spiritual essence and dense mana around them. Without this, the very air would have torn your life apart."
Kell's brows furrowed. "So… that barrier keeps me alive… but also keeps me powerless."
"Exactly. And more than that—it prevents your body from forming a dantian."
At that, Fuzi lifted his hand and created a glowing diagram in the air—a human silhouette, showing a central pool of energy in the lower abdomen.
"The dantian," he explained, "is the core reservoir where spiritual essence is stored and refined. In Dao cultivation, it gathers Dao qi and stores it in the dantian. From there, it circulates through the body's meridians—nourishing flesh, sharpening mind, and empowering spirit."
He paused, then shifted the diagram, showing glowing veins branching from the heart.
"But Mana cultivation is different. It flows through the heart—emotion, instinct, will. The heart channels mana from the air, binding it to your spirit and mind. That's why many warriors who practice mana arts fight with raw passion and force of will."
Kell's expression darkened with realization. "So… because my heart is weak, I can't use mana either."
Fuzi nodded slowly. "Yes. To protect you, the cosmos gave you a rare kind of defense—an invisible barrier that prevents external spiritual and mana energy from flooding your body. Without it, the pressure alone could have crushed your soul. But because of it… your dantian never formed. And your heart could never open to mana."
Kell stared at the glowing image, a storm of emotions in his eyes—confusion, frustration… but also understanding.
"So I've been breathing like a normal person in a world where everyone else is drawing power from the air. No wonder I felt like I didn't belong."
Fuzi chuckled softly, the sound warm but edged with old sorrow. "It was not that you didn't belong. Only that you hadn't yet awakened."
A gust of wind scattered snowflakes between them. The blossoms overhead shimmered in its passage.
"Not everyone is given this divine barrier," Fuzi continued. "Some have weak ones—they die young or live sickly. Others have it strong enough to survive but never awaken. Yours… is the strongest I've ever seen."
Kell looked down at his chest. "Then how do we break it?"
Fuzi's eyes narrowed—not in anger, but in thought. "We don't destroy it outright. That would risk your life. Instead, we must strengthen your heart. Not just in body, but in will. A stronger heart can tame the barrier. Can reforge it… into a bridge, rather than a wall."
"First you need to understand what is Dao and Mana cultivation and what is their stages?"
He stood then, and gestured to the horizon.
"Dao cultivation begins with sensing—attuning to the Dao of nature. Then comes the Foundation stage, where one roots their Dao qi into their body. Next is Core Formation, where one forms a golden core within their dantian, followed by Nascent Soul, where spirit and Dao become one. Finally, there's Ascendance—where one becomes part of the world's truth."
He paused.
"Mana cultivation is similar. But instead of Dao qi, one absorbs elemental mana, aligning with one's affinity. The stages—Conduit, Pulse, Core, Crown, and then Spirit Mastery—each embed mana deeper into body and soul. But all begins with the heart."
Kell absorbed every word, fists clenched slightly on his knees. The wind stirred again, lifting his hair and scattering snow petals around him.
"Then let's begin. Let's make my heart stronger."
Fuzi's eyes softened—but a shadow passed through them, just for a heartbeat.
"Yes," he said quietly. "We shall."
He turned away then, gazing toward the sun-moon lake.
And somewhere deep inside, something old began to stir.
Fuzi's voice came softer now, almost lost in the wind. "Once… a long time ago, I too had a barrier."
But he said nothing more.
The mountain wind whispered in the silence that followed, as if remembering the past he left unspoken...