"Father," Xiaochuan asked between mouthfuls,
"You once said that the path of cultivation is the road of the strong. But... is it really a road I can walk?"
Wan Liqiao paused, his gaze sharpening.
He bore a weathered face, stubbled and marked by wind and sun. His robe was ash-blue, plain yet neat. A wooden flute and a dust-whisk hung from his belt—odd tools for a farmer.
"Cultivation isn't something mere ambition can conquer," he said in a low, steady voice.
"But if you can endure solitude, withstand hardship, and hold a firm heart... then it's a road worth walking."
A flicker of fire lit in the boy's eyes. His hands clenched into fists.
—
After the meal, Wan Liqiao led his son into the woods behind their home.
Though the spiritual energy in this patch of forest was weak, he had constructed a simple wind-gathering formation known as the Minor Wind-Concealing Array, which helped draw faint spiritual currents into the body.
"Sit," he instructed, settling into a meditative pose. "Breathe with focus. Recite the incantation after me."
Sunlight filtered through pine needles overhead. Wan Xiaochuan obeyed, sitting cross-legged. As he calmed his mind and opened his inner pathways, a faint thread of spiritual energy slipped in through his fingertips—light as silk, sharp as needles.
He gritted his teeth through the discomfort.
Following his father's "Spirit-Gathering Mantra," he guided the energy through his meridians, sweat soon beading at his brow.
Then, thunder cracked across the skies.
Xiaochuan's eyes snapped open. A streak of white light plunged from the clouds, crashing into the southeastern plains beyond the village. A tower of dust rose high.
"That's—"
Wan Liqiao stood abruptly, face grave.
"That's no ordinary meteor. That's a Heavenfall Stone!"
His voice took on a weight rarely heard before.
"Xiaochuan," he said, locking eyes with his son,
"This will be the last lesson I can give you. From here on, you walk your own path."
"Why?" Xiaochuan's heart raced. He stood, confused.
"Because Heavenfall Stones are not just rocks from the sky. They often carry spiritual tools, sealed beasts, or ancient relics within."
Even before Xiaochuan could process the words, streaks of light flared in the distance—other cultivators from nearby villages, rushing toward the impact site.
"Go pack—dry rations, talismans, spirit water! Quickly!"
Wan Liqiao leapt away, his foot touching a mossy stone before soaring up past the treetops, his figure sweeping like a crane riding the wind.
Xiaochuan froze for only a heartbeat.
He knew.
This was it.
The beginning of something larger than he could yet name.
With a sharp breath, his resolve ignited.
He turned, dashed into the house, slung on his travel bag, slid talismans into his belt, and tucked the jade Heartward Stone inside his robe.
That jade was his origin—and perhaps, the key to his fate.
Morning mist still veiled the quiet fields of Niupu Village.
But the first step on the path of Wandao had already begun.