The decision to go to Mount Tai was made quietly.
To Fang Ze's parents, it was nothing more than a short trip—fresh air, history, a break from the restless news filling the television. To Fang Ze, it was timing. Precision. The mountain would not wait.
Before leaving, he stood in the small living room at dawn. Shuyi and Shuran followed his instructions seriously, sitting cross-legged on the mat. Fang Ze's voice was calm, steady, guiding them through a simplified breathing rhythm.
"Don't chase the warmth," he said. "Just let it pass."
The sisters felt only faint changes—slight clarity, a lightness in their limbs—but Fang Ze was satisfied. This was not cultivation yet. It was preparation. When the Golden Era fully surged, their bodies would not collapse like ordinary people.
Su Qingxue watched from the doorway, curiosity growing deeper.
The journey south passed through Jinan, highways cutting through misty plains. As Mount Tai rose into view, ancient and immovable, Fang Ze's gaze sharpened. Spiritual energy here was thin, scattered—but alive.
"This place…" Qingxue whispered. "It feels old."
"It remembers," Fang Ze replied.
They climbed slowly. Fang Ze corrected her breathing when the air thickened, teaching her to listen, not absorb. The Spirit-Listening Breathing Art began to root itself naturally within her.
Unseen to them, another presence lingered nearby.
Zhou Tianming had arrived days earlier—ambitious, impatient, feeding on scraps of methods traded in underground forums. He felt the mountain respond and mistook greed for destiny.
Someone's already here… he thought, watching from afar.
High above, clouds shifted unnaturally.
Within Fang Ze's calm sea of consciousness, memories aligned perfectly with the present. The fissure beneath Mount Tai had not yet opened—but it would.
Soon.
And when it did, those without patience would be the first to fall.