"Ok, that's enough. Let's open the Holy Scriptures and start reciting."
> The heavens declare the glory of God;
the skies proclaim the work of his hands.
Day after day they pour forth speech;
night after night they reveal knowledge.
They have no speech, they use no words;
no sound is heard from them.
Yet their voice goes out into all the earth,
their words to the ends of the world.
"Now, let's recite the next one."
> He trains my hands for battle;
my arms can bend a bow of bronze.
You give me your shield of victory,
and your right hand sustains me;
your help has made me great.
> How many are your works, Lord!
In wisdom you made them all;
the earth is full of your creatures.
A feeling of peace flowed throughout the garden, settling over every leaf and flower. A subtle spiritual aura seemed to wrap around them, confirming a divine presence.
"To grow stronger," the teacher said softly, "you will need to recite and meditate on these words. The secrets of cultivation are hidden within them. You will need the spirit of God to enter your heart. But for now, I will guide you… until the awakening of the spirit of the Heavenly King within you."
Far away, in the mountainous area above the village, Yiselie's father stood at the base of the entire mountain area . He closed his eyes and released a spiritual aura. It spread outward like ripples across the mountains, reaching the summit, even touching the residence of the village chief. The aura was warm yet powerful, a silent signal of strength and divine blessing.
A purple flame-like aura surrounded Yiselie's father. He leapt onto one mountain summit after another, moving with the grace and ease of flowing water. Each step was light as the wind; even the gusts passing around him seemed powerless, unable to resist or slow him. He resisted not the winds, for they were God's creation—instead, he let them pass around him. He climbed the peaks like stairs, each movement fluid, deliberate, and impossibly fast.
Finally, he stood in the mountains at the base of the highest mountain peak. He closed his eyes and released a spiritual aura. It spread outward like ripples across the mountains, reaching every summit, even touching the residence of the village chief. The aura was warm yet carried a weight of power—a silent signal of strength and divine blessing.
The aura pulsed softly over the mountains, flowing like a golden mist through valleys and ridges. Birds paused mid-flight, sensing the divine presence, and even the wind seemed to carry a whisper of something sacred. The villagers looked toward the mountain base, feeling an intense divine energy. As the aura spread throughout the village, those engaged in evil deeds were suddenly exposed to all. As if a memory imprint of their evil acts had been projected to everyone, they could not explain how, but the wrongdoers froze, paralyzed, unable to move an inch.
Yiselie and Enhui, still seated in the gazebo, felt the subtle tremor of power ripple through the garden, like the heartbeat of creation itself.
"The spirit of God… from my father," Yiselie murmured, eyes wide. "I can feel it… even from here."
"Yes," the teacher replied, his voice calm but heavy with authority. "It touches everything in the world, from the highest peak to the smallest leaf. But the strength you will cultivate comes from within. You must let the words of the Scriptures awaken your spirit, guide your heart, and shape your soul. Only then can you stand beneath the Heavenly King's light and bear His power—just like your father."
Enhui nodded, gripping the edges of his knees. "So… it's not just reading the words. We have to feel them, live them?"
"Exactly," the teacher said. "Meditation is the bridge between understanding and experience. When the spirit of God flows through you, even the smallest action, the softest breath, can become a step on your path to true strength."
Xin Yēlālěng chirped softly, hopping onto the table, her bright eyes reflecting the fading golden light. The boys smiled, feeling a bond not just with the little beast, but with the garden itself. Every flower, every petal, every whisper of wind seemed alive with meaning.
The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in shades of crimson and violet, and the spiritual aura around them deepened, shimmering like liquid gold. The air itself carried a subtle hum, as if the heavens themselves were reciting the Psalms alongside them. It was as though the ripples of the majestic aura from Yiselie's father were helping them perceive the heavenly realms with greater clarity.
"Remember," the teacher said, standing and looking toward the mountains, "the path of cultivation is steady and patient. Many rush, and many fall. But if your heart remains steadfast, if your spirit seeks the truth within the Scriptures, you will rise. You will awaken the power that has been placed within you since we encountered the Eternal God."
Yiselie and Enhui bowed their heads, letting the words sink deep into their hearts. Around them, the garden seemed to breathe with life—leaves glimmering, petals swaying, and the tiny beast curled peacefully, as if she too understood the sacred weight of the moment.
Far above, the village chief atop the highest peak sensed the spiritual aura radiating from Yiselie's father. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Something extraordinary was stirring in the valley below—the village chief, as though teleported, appeared right in front of Yiselie's father. Why did you come to visit me, "I have something really important important to discuss," he said. "Okay, you can follow me."
---
The teacher sat cross-legged on the marble carved from formation stone before the tables, motioning for the boys to do the same. "Close your eyes," he instructed, his voice like a gentle stream. "Breathe deeply, and feel the aura surrounding you. Let it flow into your body like sunlight warming the earth."
Yiselie and Enhui obeyed. The air around them felt thick with energy, yet soft as silk. The garden seemed to hum, petals vibrating faintly as if echoing the invisible currents of divine power. Xin Yēlālěng curled in Yiselie's lap, sensing the change, her tiny body quivering with the pulsing energy.
"Focus on the words of the Scriptures," the teacher said. "See them not only with your eyes, but with your spirit. Let the meaning wash over you, and allow your heart to respond."
Yiselie inhaled, and in that instant, the words of the Psalms seemed to glow within him. He could feel their weight and warmth, like golden threads weaving through his chest. The words "He trains my hands for battle; my arms can bend a bow of bronze" echoed not only in his mind but in the subtle muscles of his arms. A tingling strength began to pulse along his limbs, and he instinctively flexed them, feeling the potential latent within.
Enhui's senses sharpened. Every sound—the rustle of leaves, the soft hum of the aura, even the beating of his own heart—became clear, amplified, and precise. He could feel the flow of energy in the garden, the faint tremors of the mountain peaks, and the distant presence of his father's spiritual aura, like invisible threads connecting them across the valley.
"Your body… your spirit… they are vessels," the teacher's voice continued, soft yet unwavering. "Do not force them. Let them awaken naturally. Each pulse, each breath, is a step forward. Let the Psalms guide your movements, your intentions, your very being."
Time seemed to stretch. Minutes became hours, yet as evening sunlight began to fade, the garden held its perfect balance in light as the red sun bulb came on, so visible difference was seen. Yiselie's heartbeat synchronized with the rhythm of creation itself, a deep resonance that made him feel as though he were both infinitesimal and infinite at once.
Xin Yēlālěng chirped again, hopping onto Enhui's shoulder, and the boy felt a sudden spark of joy ripple through his aura. It was a reminder that connection, not just discipline, was also part of cultivation. Even the smallest creature could reflect divine energy if one's heart was open.
The teacher finally opened his eyes, and the boys mirrored him. A warm, golden afterglow lingered around them, subtle yet undeniable. Their muscles felt stronger, their senses sharper, and their hearts lighter but more focused than before.
"You have felt it," the teacher said. "The first whisper of God's power flowing through you. Remember this feeling, this connection. It is the foundation. Each day, each Scripture, each meditation will build upon it. One day, you will stand beneath the Heavenly King's light fully awakened, and the aura of your spirit will ripple through the world as your father's has."
Yiselie and Enhui opened their eyes fully, their gazes clearer, sharper, yet filled with awe. Around them, the garden seemed transformed—alive with a quiet, radiant energy. Even the evening breeze felt sacred, carrying a whisper of the Scriptures, the aura of mountains, and the pulse of God's creation.
And so, beneath the soft twilight, with the Holy Scriptures before them, the gentle hum of creation around them, and the spirit of God brushing against their hearts, Yiselie and Enhui had taken their first true steps toward awakening.
As evening faded, the garden lay quiet, bathed in soft, lingering light. The boys' eyelids grew heavy, the events of the day slowly settling into their minds. Xin Yēlālěng had already curled up in Enhui's lap, small and warm, completely exhausted.
The teacher rose, his movements calm and deliberate. "You've done well today. Let's head to the other side of the garden. We'll rest there—24 hours of daylight isn't good for the plants or the trees."
Yiselie yawned, looking up at him. "Young Teacher… aren't we going home? The teacher looked surprised "didn't your father told you how long we'd be here?"
Yiselie shook his head slowly. "No… he didn't mention it."
"That's strange," The teacher murmured, frowning. "He never forgets things easily. I wonder what could weigh him down like this… I hope everything is alright."
A soft breeze stirred the leaves, carrying the faint scent of flowers. For a moment, it felt as if the garden itself was holding its breath, wrapping the boys in a calm that eased the weight of their curiosity and worry.
They then walked to the other side of the garden, Yiselie holding Xin Yēlālěng gently in his hands. The teacher stopped in front of a space in the formation and touched it. Slowly, a hidden path opened. Even the keenest martial cultivator would never notice this secret passage.
Behind them, the section of the garden they had just left has dimmed more dimmly than before they started feeling sleepy, as the red sun bulb began to fade little by little.Simultaneously, the bulbs ahead glowed brighter little by little casting a gentle, golden light that seemed to breathe life into the plants.
The teacher turned to them. "Why do you think the bulbs turn on and off gradually?"
Enhui thought for a moment, then said, "To imitate sunrise and sunset?"
"Exactly," the teacher said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Here, sunlight lasts two hours longer than in the outside world. It gives the plants and trees extra time to grow, absorb energy, and flourish."
The boys nodded, their eyes drawn to the warm glow ahead. The garden seemed to move with them, a living, breathing presence. Every rustle of leaves, every shimmer of light, felt part of a quiet, unspoken rhythm—one that only those who truly noticed could understand. If one looks up at the sky in the garden one won't even know if it is the real sky or an artificially created sky.
"Tomorrow, other children from the village will join you," the teacher said as they walked, his voice steady in the shifting light. "But remember— not everyone lives within the village walls. Many families travel for work or trade, some even live in distant cities. So the children who come tomorrow are only those who are here for now. Keep that in mind."
If you find flaws in the story please comment on it, you know, it is not easy to write a novel
2."I'll be posting a chapter per day. On days when I don't upload a chapter, the next day will have two chapters. However, I'll be posting 7 chapters in a week."
3. "If you're enjoying the story, just drop a comment saying 'I love the story!' Your support means a lot and gives me the confidence to keep writing. Thank you for being part of this journey!".
4. you find any mistakes in the story, tell me. Then come back in 24 hours—I will have corrected them by then."