The following night, there was rain falling softly over the Green Cloud Sect. It was not the torrential sort sweeping across mountain paths, but a rain drumming against the night with gentle beat.
Inside his hut, Li Tian sat once more in front of the stone. Candles cast flickering light on its dripping surface as raindrops beat against the roof.
He had spent all spare time mastering it — studying the designs, cross-checking them with ancient formation scrolls he had borrowed from the sect library, even tracing them on loose vellum. None of the patterns resembled anything familiar.
But tonight, amid rain sound thickening to a roar, Li Tian noticed something different.
Water had collected in the grooves of the carvings and formed into tiny rivulets. The soft candlelight reflected off them like silvery strands. The lines did not seem to be random, then — they flowed in sequence, curving inward, intersecting at twelve major junctions before uniting at the central rune.
A sudden clarity blossomed in his mind.
It wasn't a pattern.
It was a breathing exercise.
He compared the lines again — the form they followed, the intervals between crossings. Each path seemed to be a loop, each crossing a shift of attention.
He relaxed back, breaths quiet, understanding creeping.
"These are not symbols of power," he whispered, "they're directions."
Taking a deep breath, shutting his eyelids, and beginning to listen for the rhythm the carvings spelled. Inhale as curves moved outward. Exhale as they met. His Qi was an automatic fit, followed not by coercion but by memory of those gentle dreamlike rhythms he had previously heard.
Time lost all meaning. Rain outside dampened to the sound of a distant hum. His mind quieted until breathing alone remained.
Slowly, the Qi within him focused. The warmth grew stronger, spreading through his veins with clear intention. The feeble current that had previously fluctuated now flowed with balance — piercing, tranquil, and whole.
Later, gentle light accumulated in his dantian.
Not the fiery blaze of spiritual energy, but tranquil light — pure, untainted Qi that had presence beyond usual essence.
When Li Tian at last opened his eyes, his pulse was peaceful, his body taut, his mind sharp. The atmosphere around him was different — purer, airier.
The patterns in the stone had dissolved, but in his head, the entire sequence of patterns remained vivid. Silent words formed in his mind, not from the stone but out of comprehension:
Heavenly Dao Primordial Art
A way that harmonizes the flow of breath with Heaven and Earth's pulse.
Its practitioners refine not only Qi but harmony between body, mind, and world.
The one on this path shall connect with the heavenly breath — Heavenly Qi.
Li Tian remained frozen for a long time.
The title hovered in his mind like a whispered voice on the wind. No burst of fervor, only the heavy presence of quiet understanding. No one in the sect had ever done this, never experienced anything like this — its simplicity masked something profound.
He bowed towards the stone.
Not in adoration, but with respect.
He didn't know where it was from, or how it had found him, but he knew one thing for certain — this was his chance.
And he would walk this road slowly, step by step, until he reached the edge of its depth.
Outside, there was thunder rumbled far beyond the mountains. Inside, Li Tian sat in calm determination, breathing in sync with the falling rain — the first true practitioner of the Heavenly Dao Primordial Art.