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In the ancient, desolate graveyard, corrupted spirits reached out to devour her soul. Yet she remained unharmed, pressing onward into the crypt for reasons no mortal could fathom.
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Long Tianyu told his parents about everything that had happened that day, proudly adding that he was now the eldest brother. His parents exchanged amused glances. "But… you're the youngest," they said, smiling.
Likewise, Hua Qingqing told her father what happened on the Shadowjade Mountain, when all nine spiritual cores ignited. That night, with the cool, gentle mountain breeze, she sat beside her mother's grave, thinking of the past… and the future, until her father called her to come inside.
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The path leading to the small forge still carried the scent of coal and burnt metal. His parents, Nong Wei and Nong Yulan, had stopped working for the day, their soot-streaked aprons hanging from the fence, fluttering in the gentle evening breeze.
His father sat with his arms crossed, a heavy mug of water in hand, while his mother leaned back on a wooden chair, her sleeves rolled to the elbow, skin bronzed from years of tending the fires. It was one of those rare moments, a moment of stillness the two cherished.
When Nong Xuanfeng stepped through the gate, his face alight with something neither of them had seen before, Nong Wei raised a brow. "Hoh? What's with that grin?"
Nong Xuanfeng took a few steps forward, his heart pounding as if the very qi he spoke of danced in his chest. "Mother, Father… Today, Song Ming taught us more about cultivation."
Nong Wei's hand froze mid-lift, the cup trembling. Nong Yulan turned to her son, her expression suddenly serious.
Nong Xuanfeng explained everything, the breathing, the stillness, the words of Song Ming, the way the world itself seemed to listen. He spoke of how all, now nine of them felt the energy around them, how the air changed, how something deep inside stirred and how his spiritual core worked.
When he finished, silence filled the courtyard. Then Nong Yulan's lips trembled.
"Cultivation… truly?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Heavens…"
Her eyes, hardened by years of labor and soot, glistened. She pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to contain the sob that escaped her chest. Nong Wei stood, his large frame towering as he looked at his son — not as a boy, but as someone stepping into a greater world.
"Come here, Xuanfeng."
The boy obeyed. His father's arms wrapped around him in a firm embrace, the scent of iron and ash mingling with sweat and warmth. Then, with a loud laugh, Nong Wei slapped his son hard on the back.
"Hahaha! Good! Soon you'll be stronger than your old man!" His grin was wide, his eyes full of pride. "But remember this, Xuanfeng— never forget your roots. You were born to the forge. A strong body, a calm mind, and steady hands — that's what makes a true man. Whether you shape steel or qi, it's the same. If one day something else calls you, then go. Don't be afraid to fail. We will be here… always."
Nong Yulan wiped her tears and smiled. "Your father talks too much," she said softly. "Go wash your hands, we will make your favorite food for you.''
Similar moments unfolded throughout Xincheng Village as dusk settled over the rooftops. Word had spread like wildfire — the nine children could cultivate.
Families gathered around their small tables, whispering, crying, laughing, unable to believe it. The air itself seemed different that night, filled with hope.
Chen Jie's mother covered her mouth as he told them what had happened, while his father, usually quiet and reserved, placed both hands on his son's shoulders.
"To think… my son might one day become a cultivator," he murmured. "Our family… who's never even seen the gates of a sect, or barely even seen a city for that matter."
Chen Jie only smiled "Song Ming said we should start from the beginning, strengthen our bodies first."
His father nodded. "Ha! Like you need it, you great ox!"
Zang Liu's home was quiet except for the sound of the fire crackling in the small oil lamp. His parents, both miners, sat in silence as he spoke, eyes glistening with disbelief.
When he finished, his father smiled. "If this qi can be used for anything… then maybe you'll find a way to put it into your art."
"My art?" Zang Liu blinked.
"Yes. You've always been drawing, even after a long day in the mines." His mother chuckled softly. "Most boys your age dream of swords or glory. You draw mountains, rivers, and cranes. You've always seen beauty where others see stone."
Zang Liu looked down at his calloused hands. "If qi has anything to do with painting… then I'd like to learn that path."
"Then follow it," his father said. "Whether it leads to greatness or not, as long as it makes your heart still — it is the right way."
That night, after they went to bed, Zang Liu stayed up. The moonlight spilled across his table as he ground a stick of ink and drew a talisman — characters of fortune and protection. When the ink dried, he hung it on the wall. The brushstrokes shimmered faintly, as if they held qi inside them.
In another house, Lin Yue sat beside her mother, Lin Fengyu, who brushed her daughter's hair with slow, rhythmic motions.
"So, my little Yue wants to be a cultivator now," Lin Fengyu teased gently.
Lin Yue blushed. "It's not that I want to… it's just— Song Ming said I have the chance. That we all do."
Her mother smiled faintly. "Your father used to dream of that too, before he passed away. Maybe… this is fate, little one. Maybe what we lost will return through you."
Lin Yue said nothing more, only rested her head against her mother's arm. Suddenly, she looked up and asked her mother, "Do you have any medicine to lose weight?" Her mother looked at her, confused.
Xiao Chi's family home was louder.
When he told them the story, his father frowned. "Cultivation? You're not making this up again, are you?"
"I'm serious!" Xiao Chi said, crossing his arms. "Song Ming said we all can feel qi now. Even me."
His mother laughed softly. "Then maybe you'll finally stop fighting everyone and focus on that instead."
Xiao Chi grumbled under his breath, "I'm not fighting… I'm just not calling that brat 'eldest brother."
"What?" his parents said in unison.
"Nothing!" he snapped, cheeks red, and stormed off to his room.
Wang Mei's family lived near the center of the village, in a modest but well-kept house. Unlike most villagers, her parents were educated and had visited Moondragon City several times to trade herbal medicines and other materials from the Shadowjade Mountain. Her father, Wang Shuren, was known for his keen sense of business, while her mother, Wang Lihua, often read scrolls from the city, teaching their daughter about the wider world beyond the mountains.
When Wang Mei told them she could now cultivate, her mother's eyes softened, and her father leaned back in quiet thought.
"So, the teachings of Song Ming have borne fruit," Wang Shuren said finally. "Cultivation… that is a rare path for those born outside the sects. If you truly possess this gift, you must not waste it."
Wang Lihua smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from her daughter's cheek. "Remember, Mei'er, talent is only the seed. You must grow your knowledge, heart as well as your strength."
Wang Mei nodded firmly. Though her upbringing had been gentler than most, she felt the same determination burning in her chest as the others. That night, as her parents spoke quietly by candlelight, Wang Mei sat by the window, gazing toward the distant hills. Somewhere beyond them lay Moondragon City — the place her parents often spoke of.
And for the first time, she wondered if she might one day see it with her own eyes, and she would love to explore other cities too.
Song Xue returned home, Song Ming following quietly beside her. Her father, Song Xuan, looked up in surprise at the pair. When Song Xue told him the news — that all nine children had begun cultivating — his face lit up with joy.
Later that night, as Song Xue sat alone with the black book in her lap, she noticed something strange. Her eyes caught faint, shifting patterns flickering across the wooden beams of her room, subtle lines and geometric shapes that seemed to pulse and move when she focused. She frowned, unsure what it meant.
Was it fatigue from the day, or… something else? She reached out, tracing her fingers over the grain of the wood, but the patterns remained elusive, slipping away when she tried to touch them. She decided to keep it to herself for now, waiting to see if the mysterious patterns would reveal more.
And so it went, throughout Xincheng Village. Every family, in their own way, rejoiced, laughed, cried, and dreamed.
The very stars seemed brighter, as though the heavens themselves looked down to see what had begun in this small place.
Though none of the parents would ever say it aloud, each of them had quietly sacrificed for their children. Many had given up savings meant for repairs, food, clothes or tools. Some even borrowed. Two hundred silver was a fortune to them — but when they looked upon their children, hope burning in their eyes, it no longer mattered.
They would never admit it. In their hearts, they decided: the honour would be Song Ming's. The one who guided their children to the path of cultivation deserved it.
Song Ming — the teacher of the Nine.
And as the moon 'Yu Ying Yue', usually called by the villagers of Xincheng rose high above the village, Xincheng slept beneath its silver glow. The wind whispered across rooftops and rivers, and in nine homes, nine spiritual cores pulsed faintly with the rhythm of qi.
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End of chapter 14 - Parents