The resolve he had last night died when the strict master came in the morning.
Sharp knocks woke him up. Ji Yong scrambled on his feet. More knocks, this time more impatient.
"Are you still sleeping?" a gruff voice demanded from the other side. "I don't have all day."
Ji Yong scrambled out of bed, fumbling with the latch. When he finally opened the door, he was met with the sight of a man with a stern face and a long, gray beard... now that was an actual old man. Ancient even.
The old man looked him up and down, a scowl on his face.
"You must be Ji Yong," the man said, his voice flat. "I am Master Han. I am here to teach you the basics of qi manipulation."
"There are two ways of cultivation- using your own life force which every being has, also called soul cultivation, and for some blessed there's a special bond, a contract in a way that can be formed with a unique immortal entity so one can draw from their Wellspring. Today we are going to start with soul cultivation. Come with me."
Yi Jong blinked.
Soul cultivation? Wellspring? Immortal entities?
He opened his mouth to ask, but Master Han had already turned on his heel. He was striding down the corridor not even a glance behind.
"Wait!" Ji Yong stumbled after, "How about eating first?"
"No. Cultivators don't coddle their bodies with comforts. Hunger sharpens the mind. Cold tempers the spirit. Pain teaches obedience."
Ji Yong bit his tongue. Obedience? That wasn't in any of his heroic cultivation tales. In them the hero defined masters, broke rules and soared high to glory against all odds. But this? This felt more like being dragged towards slaughter. Would he even have any strength?
Master Han stopped at a courtyard not that far from the training grounds. Ji Yong could see other disciplines training and fighting from afar. In the center of it stood a platform, cracked with age and probably usage, etched with spiraling runes that he did not understand.
Master Han stopped. Turned. Crossed his arms.
"Sit," he commanded, pointing to the center of the platform.
Ji Yong obeyed, lowering himself onto the cold stone. The runes beneath him flared slightly at his touch, sending a shiver up his spine.
"Close your eyes," Master Han ordered. "Breathe. Not with your lungs but with your soul."
Ji Yong swallowed. "How do I- "
"Silence, your mind is a storm. Still it."
Ji Yong shut his eyes tight. He tried to breathe deeply, but his chest felt tight, his pulse hammered in his ears. He could feel Master Han's gaze on him judging.
Minutes passed. Or maybe seconds. Time felt slippery.
Then he felt it again.
It was the white qi again, but this time bigger.
Ji Yong gasped.
"Don't move," Master Han's voice came, softer now, almost surprised. "You felt it, didn't you?"
Ji Yong nodded, afraid to speak.
"That… is your qi. The core of your life force. Most take weeks to sense it. Some, years."
A pause. Then, grudgingly: "...Perhaps you're not entirely hopeless."
Ji Yong dared to peek one eye open. Master Han was staring at him, brow furrowed, not in anger, but something deeper. Something almost… wary.
"Good," the old man muttered. "Now, don't let it die. Become familiar with it, draw it out."
Ji Yong closed his eye again — both this time — and focused inward.
The white qi pulsed. It was like a heartbeat wrapped by layers of things. No, not of things, memories. He reached towared it.
"Just a little bit more!" A little child with burgundy hair murmured as he dragged a chair with all his weight. He pushed and pushed, wincing at the screetching sound the floor made.
If he got caught he would be in big trouble. He stumbled, then pushed himself up his chubby feet daggling as he got on top of it, the oak table and all the things on it coming in view. He giggled. Hands touching his father's seal, the pattern and ink as he raised it to look at it more closely.
As he stretched on his little toes two big hands grabbed him and a deep male voice almost made him cry in fear.
"What do you think that you are doing?"
The qi flared, it curled towards him like a shy animal, a rabbit. Warmth spread down his arms, up to his neck, tingling at the back of his head.
"Don't marvel," Master Han's voice cut through the moment, low but sharp. "Control it. Shape it. Your soul is the forge, you are the smith."
Ji Yong gritted his teeth. He imagined the qi as water — no, thread. Fine silk pulled from a spool. He tugged gently, guiding it through his body. Down his spine. Around his ribs. Into his fingertips.
It trembled. Wavered. Almost slipped away.
'No.'
The thread steadied under his will.
A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. His stomach growled, loud in the quiet courtyard. His muscles ached from sitting still so long. But he didn't move. Didn't beg. Didn't complain.
A young Yi Jong walked close the pond. His eyes glued on the big koi fishes swimming around. Two small hands pushed and he fell right down in it. Ice cold water went through his mouth and down his lungs... He reached out, hands towards the fading light above. Two guards jumped in pulling his body upwards. His brother cried, the very brother that had probably pushed him.
The qi became unstable again.
"Enough for today, go eat." Master Han stopped him. "Once you have finished eating you'll train your body too. Only when both your body, soul and mind are in harmony you will see tremendous difference."
Yi Jong pulled himself up. He didn't feel that hungry anymore.
The memories swirled in his mind, his heart felt heavy. But, he had to eat in order to survive.
Life continued.