The soft glow of afternoon light filtered through the latticed windows, scattering golden patterns across the wooden floor. Taryn sat once again on the woven mat, hands resting on his knees, breathing slow and steady.
He'd sensed it once—the elusive flow of spiritual energy. He knew now it wasn't about brute force or aggressive focus. It was about rhythm. Listening. Feeling.
So, he tried again.
Breath in.
Stillness.
Breath out.
Reach.
It came—soft like silk, brushing his skin, slipping past his thoughts. He reached, not to seize, but to welcome.
And it came again.
Again.
And again.
By the fifth attempt, he was drenched in sweat, his back sore, his head buzzing—not from failure, but from trying. Yet inside him, the energy seemed more familiar now. Not a stranger anymore, but a guest politely waiting to be invited in.
He opened his eyes, exhaled sharply, and reached for the book on his bedside table.
Cultivation Theory 101.
The simple letters were carved into the brown leather cover. Inside, the tone was no-nonsense but oddly engaging. It spoke of how every being possessed a spiritual sea, and how cultivation wasn't just about absorbing energy, but aligning one's inner flow with the rhythm of the world.
One line struck Taryn the most:
"The cultivator does not dominate spiritual energy. He courts it. Understands it. Moves with it."
He closed the book, its pages still warm from his grip. His eyes lit up.
So that's it. It's not about pulling energy like a magnet—it's about harmonizing with it. Letting it want to flow into you.
With a deep breath, he sat back down. The air around him felt different now—not just a space, but a current. A gentle stream waiting to be felt.
So he tried again.
And again.
Hours passed, and the skies outside dimmed into violet dusk. Candles flickered in their brass holders. His muscles trembled. His eyes ached. But he didn't stop.
Even when he finally collapsed into bed, his thoughts still whirled around the spiritual sensation.
Sleep did not come easily.
His mind buzzed with the rhythm of the energy, his body still trying to recall its feel. He got up twice, just to sit and try again. Once in the dark. Once under the faint moonlight that spilled onto his floor like liquid silver.
The night passed in a haze.
Then came the morning.
A warm breeze slipped through the open window. Birds chirped in the distance. The scent of cooked grains and herbs wafted in from the kitchen courtyard.
Taryn blinked, groggy-eyed, and pushed himself out of bed. His limbs felt heavy, but there was something else too.
A lightness.
A warmth.
A flow.
Just as he stood, the system popped out of thin air like a startled butterfly.
"Gooood mornnn—WHUTT?!"
It froze in midair, staring at him like he'd grown another head.
"Wait. Wait. WAIT. WHAT?!"
Taryn tilted his head, amused. "What?"
"You… you… you actually did it?! You cultivated to Level 1?!"
Taryn rubbed the back of his neck, a bit sheepish. "Yeah… sometime between midnight and dawn, I think. It just sort of… happened."
The system floated in stunned silence for a second, then spun dramatically.
"I was gone for ONE night. Just ONE nap in your spiritual sea and you broke through!?"
Taryn chuckled. "Guess it needed practice and persistence."
The system floated down slowly, arms crossed.
"You're… half right."
Taryn raised an eyebrow.
"What it really needs is practice, persistence, and patience. Got it?" It tapped his forehead with a glowing finger. "Your obsessive trial-and-error frenzy worked this time. But try that in later stages, and you'll end up with ruptured meridians and fried qi channels."
Taryn nodded thoughtfully.
"Duly noted."
The system grinned, satisfied. "Still, not bad, T. You actually pulled it off."
Taryn walked toward the open window and looked out toward the far gardens, where morning light spilled across the lake like molten gold.
He took a deep breath.
"I guess… this world just got a little more real."