I sat at the foot of an ancient cherry tree, beneath its whispering petals, and felt each breath fill me with something far greater than mere air. Here, at the edge of the garden where the clan rarely ventured, a special silence reigned. The faintest breath of wind, the scent of damp earth, the distant chirping of birds — all merged into one, pure and whole, like the breath of the world itself. Here, in this sacred corner, the qi of nature was especially dense. I could feel it with every fiber of my being. Alive, gentle, flowing — it wrapped around me like a mother finally accepting her lost child.
I sat in the lotus position, straightened my back, and evened out my breathing. My mind sank inward, and the world around me began to fade — first sound, then scents, and finally even the light. Only silence remained. Silence — and the movement of qi.
Cultivation. The path where body, mind, and soul intertwine into a single whole. Every warrior must pass through three stages, without which ascension is impossible.
The first — Sea of Qi.
It lies within the chest, at the very center of the body, like a lake reflecting the entire inner world. It is from there that energy is drawn, accumulated through breath, food, emotions, and meditation. The volume of this sea mirrors one's talent. For some, it is no more than a shallow puddle; for others, a deep and boundless lake. I was fortunate. I held a rank A. This meant my reservoir was not merely vast — it was colossal. Most importantly, the purity of my qi reached eighty percent — almost double that of other disciples. Their qi was clouded, tainted with impurities, requiring constant filtration. Mine was clear, like meltwater from sacred mountains.
The second — The Core, or as the masters called it, dantian.
It resides in the lower abdomen, deep within. There, qi is collected, condensed, and transformed into true power. It is to this core that I must deliver the energy gathered from my Sea of Qi. Yet the path is treacherous. The channels guiding it are still thin, frail. The slightest mistake — and the streams of qi would scatter, causing pain, perhaps even damaging vital organs. Here, concentration is everything.
The third — The Blooming.
The final stage, the moment when cultivation takes form. The qi, having reached the core, does not merely settle. It transforms. It weaves itself into the first Branch. This Branch is the symbol of true beginning — the mark that one has stepped onto the path of the true warrior.
I drew a deep breath — and began.
The qi of nature stirred. I reached out, drawing its threads towards me, and gently guided them to my Sea of Qi. Slowly at first — drop by drop. Then, in a flowing stream. My Sea began to swell, to churn, to shimmer from within. I felt my chest grow heavy. Saturation. It was time to move to the second stage.
I began the descent. Smoothly, cautiously, like a man carrying precious water in a fragile jar down a trembling path. The qi trickled down through my energy channels. Each drop demanded control. I could feel my muscles tighten, warmth crawling within. A single misstep — and I would scorch myself from within. But I did not falter.
Though born anew, my body remembered the way.
I guided the stream, faster now, more confidently, until finally, I reached the lower dantian.
Warmth pooled in my abdomen. The final, most delicate part had begun.
I focused.
Inside, everything grew still. The world disappeared. Only energy remained — and me.
I began to weave.
Pulling strands of qi, merging them, entwining them like the ancient masters spun silk from fragile threads.
No crude force could aid me here — only the finest, most delicate craftsmanship.
The slightest flaw — and all would collapse.
I felt the level of qi within me dropping. Fifty percent... sixty... seventy... seventy-eight...
The final drop.
Something clicked inside me.
As if a lock had opened.
As if a flower had unfurled its petals.
From deep within the core, a surge of warmth burst forth.
I felt something alien — yet at the same time, something intimately mine — begin to bloom inside me.
Not pain.
Not weakness.
But growth.
A pulsing, powerful growth, like a sprout breaking through stone.
I opened my eyes.
And I felt it.
My first Branch.
Its color was copper — not dull, but rich, vibrant, like molten metal.
It pulsed within my dantian, a living thing bound to my soul.
Not merely a symbol of strength — it was my strength.
My will.
My choice.
At ten years old, I had reached the rank of a third-class warrior.
I exhaled slowly — and smiled.
Easy? No.
It was excruciating. Even with my talent. Even with the memories of my past life. I had exhausted a full eighty percent of my qi. And ahead of me — two more Branches. Each one harder than the last.
But I had time.
Six days.
Six days to complete the first stage.
Three Branches — three roots of my new path.
I looked up at the sky once more.
The clouds were beginning to scatter.
Cherry blossoms fell to the earth, as if blessing me.
Let my path be thorny.
I do not walk it for them.
I walk it for myself.