The sun had barely risen when Lan Gu returned to the courtyard. Mist still clung to the terraces, and the faint scent of damp earth lingered in the air. Today was not ceremony or ritual—it was practice, the first real test of the body's ability to channel the faintest flow of star energy.
The other children arrived slowly, rubbing their eyes and muttering complaints. Some carried small sticks or stones to experiment with, others simply watched the elder demonstrate. But Lan Gu carried nothing except his own focus. He had learned, even at seven, that the stars were not moved by effort alone—they responded to precision and understanding.
Master Chen waited at the center, staff in hand. "Today," he said, "you will attempt your first manipulation of star energy. Place your hands upon the stone circle and feel the pulse. The goal is not power, but harmony. If your body, spirit, and environment are in resonance, even the smallest spark will appear."
Lan Gu crouched at the edge of the circle. He closed his eyes, inhaling slowly, letting the cool morning air fill his lungs. He felt the pulse of the stones beneath his palms, the faint vibration of the wind, and the subtle hum of the earth. All these were connected, moving together in ways too intricate for most children to notice.
He extended his focus, mapping the flow like a web in his mind. Tiny currents of energy twisted through the courtyard, bouncing off stones and the metal basin from yesterday's ceremony. Most children could only sense a single current; Lan Gu felt dozens at once, intertwining, interacting, and resisting.
A soft glow appeared behind his closed eyelids. It was faint, barely visible to anyone else, but it moved with a rhythm that felt deliberate. He adjusted his posture slightly, aligning his breathing with the pulse of the courtyard. The glow intensified—then collapsed as a gust of wind disturbed the pattern.
A shout came from the edge of the circle. "I did it!" one boy cried. A pale spark flickered at his fingertips and vanished. He grinned and collapsed onto the stones in exhaustion.
Lan Gu opened his eyes. He saw the pattern that caused the disruption—the gust of wind, the slight misalignment of his peer's stance. In an instant, he adjusted his own posture. The spark behind his eyes returned, steadier now. A single thread of silver light rose from the center of the courtyard, curling gently around his hands before dissipating into the air.
The elder froze. "Remarkable…" he muttered under his breath. "At seven years old, and already the boy senses patterns too subtle for most at ten."
Lan Gu's lips pressed into a thin line. He did not smile. Observation, analysis, adjustment. That was enough. Power would come later.
The other children continued their attempts, some achieving weak sparks, others none at all. Their energy flared unpredictably, bursts of light collapsing as quickly as they formed. Lan Gu watched each attempt carefully, noting patterns and anomalies in his mind. He recorded them silently, memorizing details that no one else seemed to notice.
After an hour, Master Chen called for a break. He gestured for Lan Gu to step aside.
"Child," the elder said, "you are different. Few have the patience and perception to even glimpse a spark at this age. Most would be satisfied with the result itself, but you… you analyze and adjust. It is rare."
Lan Gu considered this, then asked plainly, "If I can manipulate a single thread of energy, why does it not grow? Why do sparks collapse so easily?"
Master Chen's eyes flickered. "Because you are still a child. The body is weak, the mind untested. Sparks are merely the first response of the star essence. True mastery requires endurance, understanding, and… inevitability."
Lan Gu frowned slightly. Inevitable? he thought. Every pattern has rules. If a spark appears and collapses, it follows a path determined by forces I can measure. Nothing is truly unpredictable.
He bowed his head slightly, listening to the courtyard, the wind, the stones, the faint hum of distant energy. For the first time, he began calculating not just the flow of star energy, but the resistance of the environment itself—the small forces most overlooked by others.
The elder watched him with quiet astonishment. "The boy is already beyond observation. He studies the medium, not the flame. That is… dangerous."
After the practice, the children were sent home to rest. Lan Gu lingered, crouched on the edge of the stone circle, feeling the residual energy vibrating in his palms. It was faint, like the echo of a distant bell, but he could sense its pattern perfectly. Each pulse, each flicker, mapped into a lattice in his mind.
He recalled the pillar of light from the previous day. The cultivator breaking through to the Eighth Star—he had moved with certainty, precision, and understanding. That was what true mastery looked like. He had not seen raw power alone; he had seen control.
Lan Gu closed his eyes. If I am to follow that light, he thought, I must first learn every thread that guides it. Every vibration, every resistance, every subtle pattern.
And then he smiled faintly. Not with joy, but with the thrill of recognition.
I understand the rules. Now I must learn to bend them.
The day faded into afternoon. The mist lifted, revealing the valleys and terraces in golden light. Villagers returned to their work, laughing, talking, tending fields and animals. Yet one small boy remained silent, walking slowly along the path to the shrine. He did not speak to the others. He did not laugh. He was observing, recording, and thinking.
A single star in the east flickered faintly. Perhaps coincidence. Perhaps acknowledgment. Lan Gu did not look at it directly. He did not need to. The spark within him was already alive, and it whispered possibilities that no one else in the village could yet imagine.
The path was long. The Nine-Star Road stretched from the distant Ninth Star, barely visible to the weak eye, down to the elusive First Star, untouched by most. Many would walk only part of it, and some would fall. Few would ever glimpse the light of the Eighth Star, let alone reach its burning core.
Lan Gu understood only this: he would walk the road further than anyone else in Star-Hollow. Observation, calculation, and patience—these were his first tools. Talent alone was insufficient, but combined with understanding, it could surpass the impossible.
He took a final breath, feeling the pulse of the earth, the whisper of the wind, the lingering hum of star energy. And he promised himself silently:
I will reach that light. And when I do, I will follow it perfectly.
The valley lay quiet, yet the world had already begun to notice him.