Lian arrived at the eastern edge of the village beneath the cover of night.
The old trees stood like dark silhouettes against the dim moonlight, their branches swaying softly as the cold wind moved through them.
And there they were.
The man.
The woman.
But this time—
they were not alone.
A young boy, no older than five or six, stood close against the woman's side, half-hidden behind her robes.
Lian's steps slowed immediately.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"…What is this?"
The woman looked up the moment she saw him.
Relief flashed visibly across her face.
"Lian!"
"You came."
The man straightened quickly beside her.
"You're finally here."
But Lian's attention never shifted toward either of them.
It remained fixed on the child.
The boy looked confused, nervous eyes darting between the adults while his small hands clung tightly to the woman's sleeve.
Lian's expression remained still.
Cold.
Careful.
"…Who is this?"
The woman answered immediately.
"My son."
A brief pause followed.
Then she added quickly,
"He's the reason we're doing this."
Her voice softened.
"We just… want something better for him too."
The man stepped forward impatiently, clearly uninterested in explanations.
"Enough talking."
His eyes scanned the darkness behind Lian.
"So where's the treasure?"
Lian didn't answer right away.
The night wind drifted through the trees again.
Soft.
Cold.
His hand slowly slipped inside his coat.
The weight of everything hidden there—manuals, crystals, secrets—suddenly felt heavier than before.
His jaw tightened faintly.
"…Don't blame me."
His voice came out low.
Quiet.
"You pushed me into this."
Confusion crossed both of their faces immediately.
"Lian?" the woman started uncertainly.
But she never finished.
Because Lian moved.
Not like a village child.
Not even like an ordinary cultivator newly awakened to strength.
He moved like someone whose instincts had already been sharpened by survival.
A blur cut through the darkness.
Cold steel flashed beneath the moonlight.
The man barely had time to react.
A blade pierced cleanly through his throat.
His eyes widened violently.
Shock.
Disbelief.
His mouth opened—
but no sound emerged.
Only blood.
Warm and sudden against the cold night air.
The woman froze completely.
Her breath caught inside her chest.
The boy slowly turned toward the collapsing body beside him—
confused at first—
then terrified.
For one brief moment—
everything stopped.
Then Lian stepped away from the falling corpse.
Already moving again.
The woman opened her mouth—
perhaps to scream—
perhaps to beg—
but the second strike came before words could form.
Fast.
Clean.
Merciless.
She collapsed into the dirt without fully understanding what had happened.
The child—
a moment later—
followed.
Silence returned almost instantly.
Three bodies lay beneath the dark trees.
Still.
Broken.
The wind passed through the branches overhead as though nothing had changed at all.
Lian stood alone in the middle of it.
Breathing slightly heavier now.
Not from exhaustion.
From something else entirely.
His hands trembled.
Then suddenly—
his knees gave out beneath him.
He dropped heavily onto the dirt path.
"…I…"
His voice cracked faintly.
He stared at his hands.
They no longer felt familiar.
They shook violently now—not from fear alone, but from realization.
He had killed.
Not beasts.
Not spirit creatures.
Not monsters.
People.
His chest tightened so hard it almost hurt.
Images flashed violently through his mind.
The woman's voice.
The man's expression.
The child's frightened eyes.
The final moments before everything shattered.
Lian's breathing became uneven.
"…I just…"
His fingers dug tightly into the dirt beneath him.
"…I just killed them…"
The night gave no answer.
Only the wind continued moving softly through the trees overhead.
Cold.
Indifferent.
And for the first time since awakening within this world—
Lian truly understood something terrifying.
Strength was not merely power.
It was consequence.
Lian remained kneeling there beneath the dark trees for a long while.
Breathing unevenly.
Hands trembling as he stared at them like they belonged to someone else entirely.
"…I killed them…"
The words came out broken.
Heavy.
His vision blurred as tears slipped down his face without permission.
Not from weakness alone—
but from shock.
From the sheer, irreversible finality of what he had done.
A man.
A woman.
And a child.
His throat tightened painfully.
"…I killed a child…"
His voice cracked completely on the last word.
For a brief moment, everything inside him felt like it was collapsing.
Guilt.
Horror.
Disbelief.
All of it crashed together at once.
But then—
silence stretched again.
The wind moved through the trees.
Cold.
Real.
And slowly—
beneath the panic—
something else began surfacing.
Memory.
Their words.
Their pressure.
Their greed.
The threat hidden beneath polite smiles.
Not only toward him.
Toward his mother.
His only family.
Lian's trembling fingers curled deeper into the dirt.
"…They weren't just asking…"
His breathing slowly steadied.
Only slightly.
"…They were threatening her."
His eyes remained wet, but they sharpened faintly now.
"They came after me."
A brief pause.
Then quieter—
"…After my mother."
His chest rose and fell heavily.
The guilt did not disappear.
It stayed there.
Heavy.
Permanent.
But something colder settled beside it now.
Something harder.
He looked down at his hands again.
"I didn't want this…"
His voice still shook slightly.
"…But I can't let anyone touch her."
The wind passed once more.
No answer came.
No judgment.
Only silence.
Lian slowly closed his eyes.
Another breath.
Then another.
And when he finally spoke again—
his voice was quieter.
But firmer.
"I killed them."
A pause.
"…For that reason."
His fingers tightened.
"And I'll do it again."
The words lingered beneath the trees.
Not proud.
Not excited.
Not triumphant.
Only acceptance.
A line carved deeply into his mind that would never fully disappear again.
Lian opened his eyes slowly.
The tears remained—
but they no longer fell freely.
"…I won't let anyone put her in danger."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"…Not again."
He remained kneeling there for a little longer, the weight of everything pressing heavily against him.
But now—
it was no longer only regret.
Resolve had begun layering itself over the guilt.
Uneasy.
Heavy.
But real.
And somewhere deep inside—
Lian understood something with terrifying clarity.
This world did not punish intention.
Only weakness.
And he could no longer afford to be weak.
Lian stayed beneath the dark trees for several more moments.
The wind carried the faint scent of blood through the grass around him.
Slowly—
he forced himself to breathe normally again.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
"…Calm down."
His voice was barely audible.
Then his eyes sharpened faintly.
Not fear anymore.
Awareness.
The smell would spread eventually.
Night beasts.
Scavengers.
Or worse.
His gaze shifted toward the bodies once more.
"…I need to leave."
There was no time left for hesitation.
No time for collapse.
No time to sit here drowning beneath what had already been done.
Lian slowly stood.
His legs still felt heavy.
His chest still tight.
But he stood anyway.
He wiped his bloodstained hands roughly against his clothes before tightening his coat around himself.
Then, after one final look at the scene beneath the trees—
he turned away.
And walked back into the village night.
---
By dawn—
rumors had already begun spreading.
And by afternoon—
the entire village knew.
Three bodies had been discovered near the eastern trees.
No clear explanation.
No witnesses.
Only fear.
Speculation.
And whispers carried quietly from house to house.
---
Inside his home, Lian lay alone on the bed.
The room was silent.
His mother had gone out earlier.
He never even asked where.
Instead—
he simply stared upward at the ceiling.
Still.
Blank.
Every time he closed his eyes—
the memories returned immediately.
The woman's voice.
The man's expression.
The child—
Lian exhaled sharply.
"…Stop."
But the memories did not stop.
So he kept his eyes open instead.
Unmoving.
Time passed slowly.
Eventually, his gaze drifted toward the corner of the room.
Toward the place where everything had been hidden.
He slowly sat up.
Quietly climbed down from the bed.
Then walked toward the table.
Carefully.
Silently.
He pushed himself upward, reached above the storage beam, and pulled down the hidden bundle concealed overhead.
The faint glow of the Water Essence Pearls flickered softly against his hands.
He stared at them for a long moment.
Then carefully placed most of them back into hiding.
Only one remained in his palm.
Lian hesitated briefly.
Then slipped it quietly into his coat.
Afterward—
he knelt near the bed and pulled out the hidden manuals.
**Water Control Art**
**Flowing Deep Compression Method**
He stared at the two books silently for a moment before climbing back onto the bed.
Then he sat cross-legged.
The room felt heavier now.
Not physically.
Mentally.
Emotionally.
Slowly, he opened the first manual.
**Flowing Deep Compression Method**
The pages looked simple.
Clear.
Almost too simple for the weight they carried.
Lian stared at the first line for a long while.
Then slowly exhaled.
"…I need to become stronger."
His fingers tightened slightly around the page.
Because now—
he understood something clearly.
Strength was no longer simply about survival.
It was about protection.
And consequences already existed whether he was ready for them or not.
He lowered his gaze and began reading.
Outside—
the world continued moving normally.
Villagers talked.
Rumors spread.
Life went on.
But inside that small wooden room—
Lian's path had already changed forever.
He read slowly.
Carefully.
His eyes moved line by line across the pages while afternoon sunlight filtered softly through the nearby window.
The Flowing Deep Compression Method was not written in especially complicated language.
At least—
not entirely.
There were still unfamiliar phrases scattered throughout the text.
References to meridian pathways.
Spiritual circulation cycles.
Compression patterns.
But compared to most villagers—
Lian could actually read fairly well.
Years ago, before life became difficult, his older sister had taught him the basics first.
Later, children from the village occasionally gathered at Village Head Wa Shi's residence, where Aunt Xu helped teach reading and writing whenever she had spare time.
Most children learned only enough for farming records, counting, or simple trade.
But Lian had always learned unusually quickly.
So now—
he sat cross-legged atop the bed carefully studying every line.
Occasionally pausing to examine the diagrams drawn beside the text.
Thin lines traced through the human body.
Meridians.
Flow routes.
Compression points.
The illustrations looked simple at first glance—
but the longer he studied them, the more complicated they became.
Lian reread several sections again.
Then again.
Minutes passed quietly.
Eventually—
he closed the manual slowly.
His eyes narrowed slightly in thought.
"…I remember it."
Not vaguely.
Clearly.
Almost perfectly.
Every paragraph.
Every diagram.
Even the exact placement of certain words on the page.
Lian blinked faintly.
"…Better than before."
Years ago, he had already noticed something strange about himself.
Whenever he read something carefully, he remembered it unusually well afterward.
Not permanently.
But far better than most people.
Details remained vivid inside his mind for a long time.
Though eventually—
the sharpness faded.
The exact wording blurred.
The smaller details slowly became harder to recall perfectly.
At first, Lian assumed everyone experienced that.
Later—
he realized they did not.
But now—
it felt different again.
Sharper.
Cleaner.
More complete.
Lian lowered his gaze toward the manual once more.
Then quietly muttered beneath his breath,
"…Maybe it's because I became a cultivator."
Honestly—
that explanation made the most sense.
His senses had already sharpened.
His body had changed.
So his mind improving as well no longer felt impossible.
Especially after stepping into Spirit Refining.
Lian reopened the manual afterward.
This time—
he did not merely read.
He studied.
The Flowing Deep Compression Method revolved around one core principle:
Compression.
Not recklessly gathering more spiritual energy.
Not increasing speed.
But refining density and purity.
The manual repeatedly compared spiritual energy to flowing water.
Ordinary cultivators gathered Qi like filling buckets endlessly.
This technique instead compressed flowing water deeper and deeper—
until even a small amount carried immense force.
Lian's eyes gradually sharpened as he read.
"…So instead of increasing quantity…"
"…it strengthens quality first."
Immediately—
the concept made sense to him.
Especially for someone like him who already relied heavily on dense water-attributed treasures.
The diagrams illustrated circulation pathways designed to repeatedly fold spiritual energy inward through layered meridian routes.
Dangerous if performed incorrectly.
Powerful if mastered.
Lian stared thoughtfully at one particular diagram for a long moment.
Then slowly exhaled.
"…No wonder Wa Shi warned me."
Improper compression damaging meridians suddenly sounded extremely believable.
Still—
his fingers tightened slightly around the manual again.
Because despite the danger…
he also understood something else now.
If he wanted to survive moving forward—
he needed strength.
Real strength.
Not luck.
Not borrowed safety.
His gaze briefly drifted toward the hidden Water Essence Pearl inside his coat.
Then returned to the manual.
The room grew quiet once more.
And slowly—
Lian began reading again from the beginning.
Several more minutes passed in silence.
He reread every section carefully.
Not skimming.
Not rushing.
Every paragraph.
Every circulation route.
Every warning.
Every diagram.
Again.
And again.
Until eventually—
the contents no longer felt like words written on paper.
They became structured inside his mind.
Clear.
Organized.
The circulation pathways replayed naturally within his thoughts.
The compression cycles.
The breathing rhythm.
The positioning of spiritual focus during refinement.
Lian slowly exhaled afterward.
Then finally—
he closed the manual.
The soft sound of the book shutting seemed strangely loud within the quiet room.
He carefully placed it beside himself on the bed.
Then sat still for several moments.
Thinking.
No distractions now.
No wandering thoughts.
Only cultivation.
Lian slowly adjusted his posture.
Cross-legged.
Back straight.
Hands resting lightly atop his knees.
Then he closed his eyes.
Darkness settled behind his vision immediately.
He began recalling the technique entirely from memory.
Line by line.
Step by step.
The Flowing Deep Compression Method repeated one warning more than any other:
Do not force compression immediately.
Guide first.
Stabilize first.
Only compress once flow becomes smooth.
Lian steadied his breathing quietly.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Again.
Again.
The room gradually grew so silent that even the wind outside seemed distant.
Then—
very slowly—
Lian began circulating spiritual energy.
Warm Qi stirred faintly inside his body.
Unlike before—
he no longer moved it instinctively.
Now he guided it deliberately according to the pathways described within the manual.
The sensation immediately felt different.
Sharper.
More controlled.
More precise.
The spiritual energy no longer flowed randomly through his meridians.
Now it curved inward repeatedly through layered circulation routes.
Like streams bending back toward themselves.
Lian's brows twitched faintly.
"…Strange…"
The pressure inside his meridians increased almost immediately.
Not painful.
But noticeable.
As though the spiritual energy itself resisted being folded inward unnaturally.
Lian remembered the warning within the manual.
Do not rush compression.
So he slowed carefully.
Maintaining steady circulation.
One cycle.
Then another.
Gradually—
the resistance lessened slightly.
The flow stabilized.
And for the first time—
Lian felt it.
A faint heaviness within the Qi itself.
Not more spiritual energy.
Denser spiritual energy.
His heartbeat quickened subtly.
"It's working…"
The realization surfaced quietly inside his mind.
But he did not lose focus.
Did not rush.
Because now he finally understood something important.
Cultivation was not merely absorbing power.
It was structure.
Control.
Precision.
The room remained silent beneath the fading afternoon light while spiritual energy slowly circulated through the young boy sitting motionless atop the bed.
And unknowingly—
his true first steps as a cultivator had finally begun.