Night fell, and Mộc Loan village was swallowed by silence. Faint oil lamp glows from the thatched roofs reflected dimly on the damp ground. In his small, dilapidated room, Mộc Phàm couldn't sleep. The gray, dull stone rested in his palm, emitting a chill that was strangely comforting.
He tried closing his eyes, focusing on the sensation. The cool energy from the stone ceaselessly permeated his body, bit by bit, slowly like dew accumulating on a leaf. It wasn't like the spiritual energy he'd heard about in stories—not potent, not abundant—but it was subtle, quietly weaving through his every muscle fiber and blood vessel.
At first, Mộc Phàm only felt relaxed. But as time went on, he began to notice a subtle shift. This energy seemed to be "cleansing" his body, removing fatigue, and even everyday minor discomforts. When dawn broke, he felt more refreshed than ever, as if he'd had a truly deep sleep after days of strenuous labor.
From that day on, the nameless stone became Mộc Phàm's constant companion. He carried it with him everywhere, silently observing the transformation occurring within his body. Every night, when everyone else was asleep, Mộc Phàm would be awake. He began to experiment.
He tried placing the stone on different parts of his body: his heart, abdomen, arms, and legs. He noticed that wherever the cold energy concentrated, his muscles would contract slightly, then relax in a peculiar way. Day after day, a vague concept began to form in Mộc Phàm's mind: "blood qi".
He didn't know what it was, nor did he have anyone to ask. Even the rumors of immortal cultivation never mentioned such an energy. But he trusted his own senses. The energy from the stone, after being absorbed by his body, seemed to transform into a form of internal energy, not spiritual power but something intimately connected to life, to bones and flesh.
Mộc Phàm began to train himself. Early in the morning, he rose before his parents, ran around the village, then carried heavy stones up the mountain. In the afternoon, he helped his father in the fields, but never forgot to dedicate time to exercise, pushing his body to its limits. When exhausted, he would turn to the stone. Strangely, just by touching it, he would feel a surge of new strength, helping him recover faster, and more importantly, helping him better sense the circulation of "blood qi" within his body.
This process was incredibly painful and slow. His muscles constantly ached, his tendons tight. Many times he wanted to give up. But each time he looked into his parents' tired eyes, looked at their poverty-stricken, hopeless life, the will within him flared up. He believed this stone was his only chance to change his fate.
One full moon evening, as Mộc Phàm sat meditating in his dark room, the stone resting on his abdomen, he felt the "blood qi" more abundant than ever, like a small stream trickling within his body. Suddenly, a burning sensation erupted from his abdomen, then spread throughout his limbs. He groaned softly, sweat pouring down him. The sensation lasted for a while, then subsided, leaving a strange emptiness.
When he opened his eyes, the stone had dimmed slightly, no longer as gray as before. But in return, Mộc Phàm felt a warm, abundant energy converging in his lower abdomen. He touched his belly, a firm, powerful sensation he had never felt before.
It wasn't a Dantian, where cultivators accumulated spiritual energy. Mộc Phàm didn't know what to call it, but he had a premonition that this was his own "Qi Sea", created from the continuous forging of "blood qi" over time.
He began to try wielding this "Qi Sea." With just a thought, a surge of warm power immediately flowed out, making his muscles taut and significantly stronger. He tried punching the wall, and a deep dent appeared. He gasped in surprise. Was this the kind of strength a mortal like him could achieve?
Mộc Phàm understood that the path he was on was not the one known to the cultivation world. It was a solitary path, full of mystery, but it was slowly revealing extraordinary possibilities for a mortal like him. The nameless stone, without granting him magic or peerless cultivation techniques, had quietly shown him a direction, a way to temper himself, little by little, transforming his mortal body into something stronger, more resilient.