The morning air carried the sharp bite of approaching winter as Jin made his way to his field. Frost clung to the grass beside the stone paths, and his breath formed thick clouds that dispersed slowly in the still air. Two weeks had passed since his arrival at the Dark Rose Sect, and he was beginning to feel less like a stranger in this place.
His hands no longer bled from the purple weeds. His knees had developed calluses that made kneeling in the mud bearable. And most importantly, he could finally feel the qi.
It had happened three days ago, during his evening cultivation practice. One moment he was going through the familiar breathing patterns, and the next—something shifted. The spiritual energy that had previously been an abstract concept suddenly became real, tangible, a faint warmth that flowed through invisible channels in his body like water through underground streams.
The sensation was subtle, easy to lose if he focused too hard, but undeniably present. Jin had nearly cried out with joy before remembering the sleeping disciples around him.
Now, as he reached his field in the pre-dawn darkness, he could sense the ambient qi in the air around him. It was thicker here than in the dormitory, concentrated by the spirit rice and the carefully maintained soil. The plants themselves seemed to glow faintly in his new perception, each one a tiny beacon of refined energy.
"You're early today."
Jin turned to find Lin Mei already at work in her adjacent field. The girl was bent over a section of rice plants, her small hands moving with practiced efficiency as she checked each stalk for signs of pest damage.
"I couldn't sleep," Jin admitted. "I kept thinking about the qi. Now that I can feel it, everything seems different."
Lin Mei straightened and stretched her back. "First time sensing qi is always exciting. Give it a month and you'll barely notice it anymore." She paused, a mischievous glint entering her eyes. "Speaking of things to notice—did you see number one and number two walking back from the eastern storage together last night?"
Jin blinked. "Number one and two?"
"Da Feng and Luo Qiang. Highest and second-highest harvest ratings on our terrace." Lin Mei's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "They seem to be getting along quite well lately, if you understand my meaning."
Jin did not understand her meaning, but he nodded anyway. Lin Mei's love of gossip had become apparent within his first few days at the sect. She knew everyone's business, collected rumors like some people collected spirit stones, and delighted in sharing her findings with anyone who would listen.
"Da Feng is always so gruff," Jin said carefully. "And Luo Qiang seems… severe."
"Opposites attract, perhaps." Lin Mei shrugged. "Or maybe they just respect each other's skills. Hard to tell with those two. They're both so serious all the time."
She returned to her work, and Jin moved to his own field. The spirit rice was looking healthier now—the yellowed leaves had been trimmed away, new growth was emerging strong and green, and the water levels were finally stabilized. But the beetle damage continued to frustrate him.
Each morning brought new evidence of their nighttime feeding. Holes in leaves. Severed stems. Tiny mounds of disturbed soil where they'd burrowed after their feast. His pest ward helped, but his weak qi infusions weren't strong enough to fully protect the entire hectare.
"Found another nest," Jin muttered, poking at a suspicious mound with his hoe handle. The soil crumbled away to reveal a hollow space beneath, lined with fragments of chewed plant matter. Empty now—the beetles had already retreated deeper underground to escape the coming daylight.
"You know," Lin Mei called over, "beetles taste quite good when cooked."
Jin looked up, startled. "What?"
Lin Mei's expression was perfectly innocent, though her eyes sparkled with suppressed amusement. "Spirit beetles. They're actually edible. Roast them over a fire until the shells crack, then crack them open and eat the meat inside. Very high in spiritual energy." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Some of the older disciples collect them specifically for eating. Good source of extra nutrition when the sect meals are thin."
Jin stared at the beetle mound with new eyes. The creatures that had been tormenting his crops might actually be useful?
"How do you catch them?" he asked.
"They come out at night to feed. Set traps along their trails—simple pit traps work, or you can use sticky rice paper. Once you catch them, keep them in a sealed container or they'll burrow right through wood." Lin Mei returned to her work. "Of course, you'd need to stay up late to check your traps. And you'd need to learn to cook them properly or they taste like mud. And you'd need to accept that you're eating bugs." She paused. "But they do taste good. Nutty, almost."
Jin filed this information away for later consideration. His stomach growled at the thought of extra food, but the idea of eating insects still made him slightly queasy. Perhaps when he was more desperate.
—————
Overseer Huang appeared at mid-morning, as she did every few days, to inspect the agricultural disciples' progress.
She walked the paths between fields with slow, measured steps, her steel-gray hair pulled back in its customary severe bun, her practical robes immaculate despite the muddy environment. Behind her trailed a young man Jin didn't recognize—perhaps an assistant or a disciple from another terrace taking notes on a jade slip.
Jin tried to look busy and competent as she approached his field. He was using his circulation rake to smooth the energy patterns in a section he'd just weeded, moving the tines through the soil in the curved patterns he'd observed from Luo Qiang.
"Stop."
The single word cut through the morning air like a blade. Jin froze, rake suspended mid-stroke.
Overseer Huang stood at the edge of his field, her thin lips pressed together in disapproval. Her eyes—cold and assessing—moved over his work with obvious dissatisfaction.
"Your rake angle is wrong," she said flatly. "You're disrupting the energy flows instead of harmonizing them. Three degrees shallower on the curve, and maintain consistent pressure throughout the stroke."
Jin adjusted his grip, trying to incorporate her corrections. He made another stroke.
"Still wrong. You're compensating too much now. And your footwork is atrocious—you're leaving deep impressions in the soil that interrupt the patterns you just created."
Heat rose to Jin's cheeks. He tried again, hyperaware of every movement, and promptly caught his foot on a submerged root. He stumbled, the rake swinging wide, and carved an erratic line through the soil that ruined the entire section he'd been working on.
Overseer Huang's expression didn't change, but somehow her silence felt more damning than any words.
"I see," she said finally. "New disciples always require time to develop proper technique. Some require more time than others."
She moved on to Lin Mei's field, and Jin heard her voice carry across the distance: "Acceptable. Your water management has improved since last inspection. Continue."
Faint praise, but praise nonetheless. Jin felt the contrast keenly.
The overseer's inspection continued down the terrace, her comments a mixture of grudging approval and pointed criticism. She praised Da Feng's harvest projections, noted Luo Qiang's excellent energy pattern work, and spent several minutes pointing out every flaw in Zhou Tianyu's technique with what seemed like particular relish.
"Your irrigation channels are a disaster," Jin heard her say to the handsome boy. "Water should flow like blood through veins—steady, purposeful, vital. What you have created resembles a swamp. If your family's connections hadn't specifically requested your placement here, I would recommend immediate reassignment to the compost division."
Zhou Tianyu's face went pale, then red. His hands clenched at his sides, but he said nothing, accepting the criticism with visible effort.
Jin felt a flash of unexpected sympathy. He and Zhou Tianyu were not friends—the other boy's arrogance made that difficult—but being publicly humiliated was never pleasant. And Jin knew that his own critique had been far gentler than what Zhou Tianyu had just received.
Perhaps Overseer Huang had her own favorites and targets.
—————
The days settled into rhythm.
Wake at fourth bell. Tend the fields until midday. Eat the simple lunch provided by the sect kitchens. Work until sunset. Eat dinner. Cultivate until exhaustion claimed him. Sleep. Repeat.
Jin's efficiency continued to climb. By the end of the second week, the tracker in his mind showed:
[Azure Harmonization Method - Current Efficiency: 36%]
More than double what he'd started with. More than double what most disciples achieved in months of practice.
He'd learned to manipulate the factors that influenced his cultivation with increasing precision. Breathing patterns that matched the natural rhythm of the valley's spiritual energy. Circulation routes that followed his body's unique meridian structure rather than the standardized paths taught by the basic method. Postures that minimized strain while maximizing qi absorption.
And he'd discovered something new—his efficiency improved slightly when he cultivated while physically tired from field work, as long as his mental state remained calm. It seemed counterintuitive, but the tracker didn't lie. Perhaps exhaustion loosened some internal resistance that normally impeded qi flow.
But feeling the qi brought new challenges.
Now that Jin could sense spiritual energy, he became aware of how much of it his tools required. The spirit hoe, the circulation rake, the pruning shears—all of them demanded a constant flow of qi to function properly against the saturated soil. Before, he'd been providing that flow unconsciously, drawing on reserves he didn't know he had. Now, with awareness came responsibility.
He had to actively channel qi through the tool handles. Had to maintain that flow while simultaneously performing the physical motions of farming. Had to balance the energy he spent working against the energy he needed to reserve for cultivation.
It was exhausting.
"You're overthinking it," Old Shen said, watching Jin struggle with his hoe one afternoon. The tool kept sticking in the soil as Jin's qi flow wavered. "Before you could feel the energy, you used your tools just fine. What changed?"
"I can sense how much qi they need now," Jin said, frustrated. "It's like… before I was breathing without thinking about it, and now I'm trying to control each breath individually."
"Exactly." Old Shen nodded. "So stop thinking. Let your body remember what it learned to do naturally. Conscious control will come later, when you have more experience. For now, trust your instincts."
It was good advice, but difficult to follow. Jin's awareness of the qi made it hard to ignore, like trying not to think about a loose tooth. Every fluctuation in his energy flow demanded attention.
By the weekend—ten days into his second week—he'd finally managed to find a balance. His tools worked smoothly again, the qi flowing through them with only minimal conscious direction. He wasn't as efficient as the experienced disciples, but he was no longer fighting his own awareness.
[Physical Condition: Fatigued → Trained (Improved)][Tool Manipulation: Inefficient → Basic (Improved)]
The efficiency tracker had started showing new categories as his cultivation advanced. Jin found this both encouraging and daunting—each new category represented another variable to optimize, another factor to consider in his never-ending quest for improvement.
—————
The first time Jin witnessed true cultivation power, he was walking back from the western water channels with a bucket of cleared sediment.
The day had been long, his arms ached from hauling debris, and his mind was focused on the simple goal of reaching the dormitory, eating dinner, and collapsing into his bed. He wasn't paying attention to the sky.
A sound like tearing silk made him look up.
Something was moving through the air above the agricultural terrace—a figure wrapped in robes of deep crimson, standing impossibly atop what appeared to be a sword. The blade was easily four feet long, gleaming with inner light, and it carried its rider as smoothly as a boat on calm water.
Jin stopped walking. His bucket slipped from numb fingers, spilling dirty water across his shoes.
The cultivator on the sword didn't notice him—why would they? Jin was an outer disciple, a speck of insignificance working fields far below the concerns of those who could fly. The figure passed overhead in seconds, leaving only a fading trail of crimson energy and a profound sense of awe in its wake.
"First time seeing a sword cultivator?"
Jin turned to find Twitchy Fan standing nearby, his nervous hands wrapped around a bundle of harvested spirit vegetables. The older boy's expression held understanding.
"They can really fly," Jin breathed. "Actually fly. Through the air. On swords."
"Flight techniques require at least Foundation Establishment to learn," Fan said. "And a specialized cultivation method focused on movement arts. Most combat disciples spend decades before they can sustain flight for more than a few minutes." His twitch became more pronounced. "That one was probably heading to the inner sect. They pass over the agricultural terraces sometimes. Faster than walking."
Jin watched the distant figure disappear over the valley's ridge. The gap between where he stood—covered in mud, aching from manual labor, barely able to feel qi at all—and where that cultivator flew seemed impossibly vast.
"Is it really possible to reach that level?" he asked quietly.
"Possible? Yes. Likely?" Fan shrugged, his shoulders jerking with the motion. "Most of us will never form a foundation. The statistics for three-color spiritual roots are clear. But some do. Old Shen has been at the peak of Qi Condensation for twenty years. Luo Qiang reached the middle stages after only a decade. Even among agricultural disciples, advancement happens."
"Just slowly."
"Just slowly," Fan agreed. "But we have time. Cultivators live longer than mortals, even at the lowest levels. Fifty years, sixty, seventy—plenty of time to build a foundation if you're patient and dedicated." His nervous smile twitched. "Of course, most disciples burn out before then. The work wears them down, the slow progress discourages them, and eventually they accept their limits. But that doesn't have to be you."
Jin bent to retrieve his fallen bucket, gathering what sediment he could salvage. The conversation had given him much to think about.
Patience. Dedication. Time.
He had those things. He had his efficiency tracker. And he had a family counting on him to succeed.
Flying through the air on a sword seemed like a distant dream. But dreams had to start somewhere.
—————
The second demonstration of cultivation power came two days later, and this time Jin was close enough to feel the energy involved.
He was returning from the tool shed, carrying a replacement handle for his pruning shears (he'd cracked the original by channeling too much qi through it—another lesson learned painfully), when a commotion near the main path drew his attention.
A section of the road had collapsed overnight. Heavy rains the previous day had undermined the stone foundation, leaving a gap perhaps twenty feet across that blocked all cart traffic to the lower terraces. A group of agricultural disciples stood around the damage, discussing solutions in worried tones.
"It'll take days to repair properly," one was saying. "We'll have to bring materials from the upper storage, and the carts can't get through—"
"Clear the area."
The voice came from behind the gathered crowd, cutting through their conversation with effortless authority. The disciples parted like water, revealing a figure Jin had never seen before.
He was a man of middle years, his face weathered but not old, with a short gray beard and eyes that seemed to look through rather than at the world around him. His robes were the purple-black of the Dark Rose Sect, but cut differently from the agricultural disciples' garments—finer material, silver embroidery, and a jade pendant at his belt that pulsed with visible spiritual energy.
An inner sect cultivator, Jin realized. Someone far above his station.
"I said clear the area," the man repeated, his tone suggesting that obedience was expected, not requested.
The disciples scrambled backward, pulling Jin along with them. Within moments, a space of thirty feet had opened around the collapsed section of road.
The inner sect cultivator stepped forward with measured calm. He raised one hand, palm facing the damaged earth, and closed his eyes.
Jin felt it before he saw it—a surge of spiritual energy that made his newly developed qi-sense scream with overload. The ambient qi in the air rushed toward the cultivator like water toward a drain, concentrating around his extended hand in visible spirals of light.
Then the cultivator spoke a single word in a language Jin didn't recognize.
The earth moved.
There was no other way to describe it. The collapsed section of road simply… lifted. Stone and soil rose into the air, rearranging themselves according to some invisible design. Gaps filled themselves. Cracks sealed. The foundation rebuilt from the ground up, layer by layer, until the road lay flat and solid as if it had never been damaged at all.
The entire process took perhaps thirty seconds.
The inner sect cultivator lowered his hand, nodded once to himself, and walked away without acknowledging the gaping disciples around him.
"Earth manipulation technique," Old Shen's voice said from beside Jin. The old man had appeared without Jin noticing—a reminder of how much more aware Jin needed to become. "That one is from the construction division. They maintain the sect's buildings and infrastructure. Probably middle Foundation Establishment, I'd say. Maybe higher."
Jin stared at the repaired road. The cultivator had reshaped solid earth with a gesture. Had moved stone with a word. The power involved was so far beyond Jin's current capability that it might as well have been magic.
"Decades of cultivation," Old Shen continued, reading Jin's expression accurately. "Specialized techniques passed down through sect lineages. Natural talent refined through endless practice. That's what separates outer disciples from inner cultivators." He paused. "But they all started somewhere. That man was probably a clumsy boy once too, struggling with basic qi circulation and wondering if he'd ever amount to anything."
Jin looked at his hands—calloused now from farm work, still bearing faded scars from his first week's mishaps. They seemed so inadequate. So mortal.
"I have a long way to go," he said quietly.
"Yes," Old Shen agreed. "You do. But the longest journey begins with a single step, and you've already taken several. Don't compare yourself to those who've been walking for decades. Compare yourself to who you were yesterday."
Yesterday, Jin's efficiency had been 34%. Today it was 36%. Two percent improvement in a single day, on top of the gains he'd already made.
Slow progress. But progress nonetheless.
—————
That night, Jin sat on his bed and reviewed his gains.
[Azure Harmonization Method - Current Efficiency: 36%]
His breathing pattern was rated excellent—hard to do better there without more advanced techniques. His circulation route was good but not excellent—room for improvement. Posture was only adequate, suggesting he needed to work on his physical positioning. Mental state and physical condition were both good, products of his daily discipline.
Tool manipulation and qi sensitivity were the newest additions. Both rated as developing or adequate—areas where he was still growing, still learning.
"You've been cultivating for a while now," Lin Mei said from her bed across the room. "Must be nice to have such dedication."
Jin opened his eyes, finding the girl watching him with curious interest. The other disciples were either asleep or engaged in their own evening cultivation, paying them no attention.
"I just practice when I can," he said carefully.
"You practice every night, without fail, for at least an hour. Sometimes two." Lin Mei's gossip-loving nature apparently extended to observing her dormitory-mates' habits. "Most new disciples slack off after the first few days. The novelty wears off. You haven't slacked at all."
"I have to help my family," Jin said simply. "My brother sacrificed everything to get me here. I can't waste that."
Lin Mei's expression softened. "That's a good reason. Better than most." She lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling. "My family sent me here because I was the fifth daughter and they couldn't afford another dowry. I'm not sure they expect me to accomplish anything—just wanted one less mouth to feed."
"I'm sorry," Jin said.
"Don't be. This is better than the village. Here, at least, I can become something on my own merits." She turned her head to look at him. "You're improving faster than most new disciples, you know. Your field is recovering well, your tools work properly, and you don't stumble as much as you did that first day."
Jin felt his cheeks warm at the unexpected praise. "I still make mistakes constantly."
"Everyone makes mistakes. The difference is whether you learn from them." Lin Mei yawned. "Anyway, keep doing whatever you're doing. Maybe someday we'll both fly on swords. Wouldn't that be something?"
She rolled over, signaling the end of the conversation.
Jin returned to his cultivation, but Lin Mei's words stayed with him. Improving faster than most. Learning from mistakes. Maybe someday…
The efficiency tracker pulsed gently in his mind: 36%.
A long way to go indeed. But he was walking, step by step, toward something greater.
Tomorrow he would work his field again. He would struggle with his tools, fight the beetles, and endure Overseer Huang's criticisms. He would eat simple meals and sleep on a narrow bed and wonder if he would ever amount to anything.
But each day, he would be a little better than the day before.
That was enough. For now, it had to be enough.
—————
End of Chapter Three