Dao of the World Walker (Xianxia) Book 2

Yang thought back to the past two weeks as he settled onto his meditation platform, the stone cool beneath him even through his robes.

It had taken him some time to get into a regular schedule. Never having lived in a place like the sect in either of his lives, it took getting used to. The structured days. The constant presence of other disciples. The expectations and rhythms of cultivation life. But he thought he was doing fine now and had gotten in the swing of things. He was happy. Coming to this sect was the best decision he’d made.

Contrary to what the NovelFires he’d read in his previous life would have led him to believe, the people of the sect were rather easygoing and laid back. In the past few weeks, he’d seen disciples enjoying themselves in various places. Playing board games in the common areas. Practicing musical instruments in the gardens. Even flying kites from the peaks on windy days. Playing around and enjoying life instead of engaging in cutthroat competition or constant scheming.

He would have expected the sect to be extremely competitive considering it was one of the major sects, even if it was near the lower end of the list. The stories from his previous life had painted cultivation sects as brutal places where disciples fought over every scrap of resources. Where betrayal and backstabbing were common and where the weak were trampled and the strong ruled with cruelty.

But White Cloud Sect seemed different. More relaxed. Less cutthroat. People actually helped each other. Shared knowledge freely. The lectures were open to all. The resources distributed fairly based on contribution rather than favoritism or power.

His time had been spent mostly in the library and taking beginner classes. The library had become his favorite place in the sect. He’d spent hours there every day, sometimes forgetting meals in his absorption with the texts. The sheer volume of knowledge available was intoxicating. Books on cultivation theory. Historical accounts of famous cultivators. Treatises on qi circulation. Manuals on various professions. Poetry and philosophy written by ancient masters.

He’d been regularly going to every class of Senior Ming Hao, and it had been very useful. Senior Ming Hao was a patient teacher who seemed to genuinely enjoy helping disciples fill gaps in their education. He never made anyone feel stupid for not knowing something. Just explained clearly and moved on. Yang’s reading and writing had improved dramatically under his guidance. Characters that had seemed like incomprehensible scratches two weeks ago now made sense. He could read most cultivation manuals now without struggling over most word.

He’d also gone to basic classes to help with cultivation. Classes on proper breathing techniques. On meditation postures and why certain positions were better than others. On how to sense qi in the environment. On the theory of meridians and dantian function. On common mistakes beginners made and how to avoid them.

As it turned out, he wasn’t a once in a millennium genius who could instantly identify and absorb qi after reading two books. That realization had been humbling but also somehow reassuring. It meant he was normal. Just another disciple working toward the same goal as everyone else.

He’d been meditating and trying to absorb qi daily for the last two weeks, but he’d yet to have success. Every morning before breakfast, he would sit on his meditation platform and attempt to draw in qi. Every evening after dinner, the same. Sometimes in the afternoon as well if he had time between lectures. Hours and hours of sitting. Breathing. Trying to sense that elusive energy that supposedly permeated everything.

He knew a few of the disciples that came with him had already started drawing it in. Ye Xuan had mentioned it casually one day at lunch. Apparently three of their group had already succeeded. 

Ye Xuan was rather social, enjoying making friends with any and everyone. He heard things. Knew what was happening with most of the new disciples. He’d told Yang not to worry about it, that everyone progressed at their own pace, that some people just took longer to sense qi at first. 

This news was a bit disappointing for Yang. He didn’t want to fall behind others. The worry gnawed at him sometimes late at night when he couldn’t sleep. What if he was unsuited for cultivation after all? What if the Azure Sword Sect’s mountain trial’s rejection had been a sign of deeper incompatibility?

But he didn’t let it bring him down for long. Just used it as fuel for encouragement and began working even harder. More meditation sessions. More time studying the theory. More questions asked during lectures. If others could do it, so could he. It was just a matter of persistence and figuring out the best technique for himself.

But he did make sure not to hurry. Not to push too hard. Once he started feeling discomfort during meditation or mental strain, he stopped immediately. Taking rest for a few hours before beginning again. Walking around the peak to clear his head. Then trying again when he felt refreshed.

Because according to all the lectures he’d taken so far and the books he’d read, cultivation at this stage was supposed to be painless. Not effortless, exactly. It required concentration and patience. But it shouldn’t hurt. If it was straining him in any way, causing headaches or muscle tension or chest tightness, then it meant he was exerting himself too much. Forcing instead of guiding. And that could lead to problems down the line.

All the lectures he’d attended and the classes he’d taken so far had varied in how the teacher or author described the cultivation experience. Some said qi felt warm. Others said cool. Some described it as tingling. Others as a gentle pressure. The sensations differed from person to person, apparently.

But some themes ran common in their advice. Not feeling strain during this stage of cultivation was universal guidance. Don’t force it. Don’t rush it. Let it come naturally. Build a proper foundation or regret it later when trying to advance to higher realms.

He’d been hard at it. Taking all the cultivation beginner lectures and trying to draw in qi. So much so that he’d had to miss the beginner classes for cultivation professions. Classes on basic alchemy. On simple formation theory and talisman creation. All things that had interested him greatly.

Because without cultivation base, those classes had no use. You needed qi to refine pills. To power formations. To activate or make talismans. Learning the theory without the practical ability to use it seemed pointless. Better to focus entirely on breaking through to the first stage of Qi Condensation first, then explore professions afterward.

He was thankful for Senior Brother Bo Yu in the outer sect hall who’d advised him against biting off more than he could chew.

Yang had gone to him a few days ago, frustrated with his lack of progress in sensing qi and mentioned his desire of learning about alchemy and other cultivation professions. To give his mind something else to focus on. 

But Senior Brother Bo Yu had been very convincing when he explained why that was a bad idea.

”I understand the impulse,” Bo Yu had said kindly. ”Many people come in thinking they can do all and learn everything immediately. Thinking they can cultivate while also mastering three professions at once. But it doesn’t work that way.”

He’d leaned forward, his expression serious but not unkind. ”Even the greatest alchemists and formation masters put cultivation first. Because if they don’t reach higher realms, then the use of their profession is limited. An alchemist stuck at Qi Condensation can only make the most basic pills. A formation master who never reaches Foundation Establishment can only create simple arrays.”

Bo Yu had gestured broadly. ”No matter what these professions offer, they can’t bring ascendance on their own. They can support your cultivation, yes. Provide resources and opportunities. But they can’t replace it. The aim of cultivation is to reach immortality. To transcend mortal limits. And that requires a strong foundation in cultivation itself.”

He’d paused, then added, ”The only people who solely put their profession first are those who have some injury that prevents further cultivation advancement. Or those who have reached the limit of their capabilities and have no more chance for reaching a higher realm. They turn to professions because the cultivation path is closed to them. But for you? You’re just starting. You have all the potential in the world. Don’t waste it by dividing your focus too early.”

Yang had taken the advice to heart. Shelved his interest in professions for now. Concentrated purely on cultivation.

Yang knew there were ten stages of Qi Condensation, and he wasn’t even considered a cultivator right now. Wouldn’t be for as long as he hadn’t absorbed, refined, and gathered qi in his dantian. He was still in the preliminary stage. The preparation before true cultivation began.

Actually, even then, as he’d learned, most cultivators considered Qi Condensation stage cultivators to not be true cultivators. It was a common enough remark by the elders during lectures. ”When you become real cultivators and reach Foundation Establishment...” they would say. Or ”True cultivation begins after you form your foundation...”

The implication was clear. Qi Condensation was just the starting point. The first stage of a true cultivator was Foundation Establishment. One only became a real cultivator after making their foundation. Everything before that was just preparation.

So for his time in the sect, his concentration had been on cultivation alone. Everything else was secondary. He attended lectures. Read books. Practiced meditation. All in service of that single goal: draw in qi and begin cultivation.

Yang took a deep breath and settled into his meditation posture more firmly. Adjusting his spine until it was perfectly straight. Positioning his hands on his knees with fingers forming the prescribed mudra. Relaxing his shoulders. Letting tension drain from his body.

He’d done this hundreds of times over the past two weeks. Each attempt bringing him closer to understanding what he was supposed to feel. Each failure teaching him something new about control and awareness.

He focused. Slowed his breathing. Drew air in through his nose, counting silently. One, two, three, four. Held it for a moment. Then released it through his mouth. One, two, three, four.

The breathing pattern the basic manual prescribed. Designed to calm the mind and attune the body to the natural flow of energy.

At first, there was nothing different from normal breathing. Just air filling his lungs. The familiar rhythm of breath. The gentle expansion of his chest. The slight cool sensation in his nostrils as air entered. The warmth as it left.

Yang continued. Not forcing. Just breathing. Being present with each inhale and exhale.

Then, so faint he almost missed it, something different. A wisp of something that wasn’t quite air. Lighter somehow. Tingling slightly as it entered his body. Like breathing in on a cold morning and feeling the crisp sharpness, but more subtle. 

Qi.

Yang’s heart leaped. Finally. After two weeks of nothing, he could sense it.

But he forced himself to remain calm. Maintain focus. He’d felt hints of this before, only to lose it when excitement broke his concentration. When his heartbeat sped up and his breathing pattern disrupted and the tenuous awareness slipped away like sand through fingers.

Not this time. He kept his breathing steady. Acknowledged the sensation without grasping at it. Just observing and being aware.

He drew in another breath. This time, he could distinguish it more clearly. Qi flowing in along with the air. Separate but intermingled. Like two streams joining briefly before diverging again. The air went to his lungs. The qi... the qi went somewhere else. Somewhere deeper.

The qi entered through his nose. He tried to guide it as the books described. Not with physical effort but with mental intention. Gentle awareness directing it downward instead of letting it disperse immediately.

Down into his meridians. Through the pathways that should carry it to his dantian.

It made it perhaps an inch before dispersing. Dissolving back into nothing.

Yang didn’t let frustration break his focus. That was progress. More than he’d managed before. He drew in another breath. Another wisp of qi. Guided it carefully. Gently. Like trying to cup water in his hands without closing his fingers too tight.

It lasted slightly longer this time before dispersing. Made it a bit further into his meridians.

Again. And again.

Each attempt taught him something new. How to hold his focus without tensing. How to guide without forcing. How to keep his mind relaxed while maintaining awareness. The balance between effort and ease. Between intention and allowing.

The qi wisps lasted longer and longer before dispersing. Flowing a bit further into his meridians each time. He could start to feel the pathways now. Like invisible rivers inside his body. Channels that the qi wanted to follow if he could just keep it cohesive long enough.

Yang lost track of time. There was no awareness of the stone beneath him. No sense of the lamp light in his cave. No thought of anything outside this moment. There was only breath. Only qi. Only the careful, patient work of learning to draw it in and hold it.

His meridians began to clear. He could feel it. Blockages that he hadn’t known existed loosening. Like stretching muscles that had been tight for years. Not painful, exactly, but a strange sensation. Pressure releasing. Pathways opening.

The qi flowed more easily now. Less resistance. Longer duration before dispersing.

Finally, after what could have been minutes or hours, Yang had no way of knowing, a wisp of qi made it all the way through the meridian pathways and settled into his dantian.

Yang felt it. A tiny spark of warmth in his lower abdomen. So small he almost couldn’t sense it. Like holding a single burning ember. But it was actually there. Not imagined or wishful thinking. Real qi gathered in his dantian.

His focus almost broke from excitement. But he caught himself. Steadied his breathing. Maintained awareness.

He kept drawing in more. The process became easier with each breath. The pathways remembered now. The meridians opened wider. More qi flowed through before settling in the dantian. Less of it dispersed along the way. Each successful wisp made the next one easier. Building on itself. Creating momentum.

Until finally, he got into a flow where he didn’t even have to think about it consciously. His body knew what to do. The pattern established itself. Breath in. Draw the qi from the air. Separate it and guide it through the meridians. Settle it in the dantian. Repeat.

Continuous. Natural. Like his body had been waiting years to remember how to do this. Like this was what he’d been meant to do all along.

More and more wisps gathered in his dantian. Yang could feel his dantian working to refine the qi. Compressing it. Purifying it. Taking the raw energy and transforming it into something usable. The process got quicker as his speed in drawing also increased. A positive feedback loop. The more qi he gathered, the easier it became to gather more.

Yang felt himself reaching a threshold. A sensation building in his dantian. Like water filling a cup. Getting closer and closer to the brim. Pressure accumulating. His inner instincts gave a jolt, but it wasn’t panic. Just awareness. A gentle alert that something significant was about to happen. Confirmation that he should continue. 

He kept drawing in qi. Not forcing it faster. Just maintaining the steady rhythm. Knowing it was essential not to stop at this stage. The books had warned about this moment. The breakthrough from preliminary stage to first stage of Qi Condensation. It required enough qi gathered in the dantian to trigger the transformation. Stopping too early would waste all the progress. Make him start over from the beginning.

The sensation built higher. Pressure gathering in his dantian. Growing. Intensifying. The warmth spreading. The energy accumulating until it felt like his lower abdomen contained a small sun. Hot and bright and demanding.

Yang’s breathing remained steady despite the intensity. 

The pressure peaked. Held at that apex for a moment that seemed to stretch forever.

Until finally, it was as if a small burst of power erupted through his dantian. A cascade of energy rushing outward. Through his meridians in a flood instead of a trickle. Widening the channels. Scouring away the last remnants of blockage. Racing through every pathway in his body before converging back toward the center and rushing up through his throat and out of his nose and mouth in a brief, forceful exhale.

The breath carried faint wisps impurities being expelled. Yang could see them in the lamplight. Tiny black motes that dissolved in the air.

Yang stopped drawing qi in. He opened his eyes slowly. Blinking as the cave came back into focus. His body felt different. Lighter somehow. Like he’d been carrying a weight he didn’t know existed and it had just lifted. His senses seemed sharper. The lamplight brighter. The stone beneath him more distinct. Even the air smelled clearer.

A slight smile formed on his face.

He was at the first stage of Qi Condensation. From now on, what he practiced wouldn’t be called meditation but rather cultivation. He’d crossed the threshold. Become what this world would recognize as a cultivator, even if only barely. Even if most wouldn’t call him a true cultivator until Foundation Establishment.

He was glad to finally take this first step. Relief and satisfaction washed through him. Two weeks of patient work had paid off. He’d proven to himself that he could do this. That cultivation was possible for him despite failing the Azure Sword Sect trial.

But after a moment of satisfaction, Yang settled down and started cultivating again. Resuming the breathing pattern. Drawing in qi once more.

His dantian was empty now. All the qi he’d gathered before had been used by the dantian to strengthen itself. To break through to the first stage. To widen the meridians and cleanse the pathways. The burst of energy had expelled it all.

Now, in the first stage of Qi Condensation, he needed to keep gathering and refining qi. Building his foundation properly. The breakthrough was just the beginning. Now came the real work of accumulating power. Of filling his dantian with refined qi and strengthening his body and meridians through cultivation.

This was just the beginning. The first small step on a long path that stretched toward horizons he couldn’t yet imagine.

But Yang had taken it. Finally, he was a cultivator.

The qi flowed into him. Through his meridians. Settling in his dantian. Each wisp adding to what would become his foundation. The process was easier now. Smoother. His body knew the pattern and the pathways were clear.

Yang cultivated. Drawing in qi with each breath. Refining it in his dantian. Building his strength wisp by wisp.

The night passed around him, unmarked and unnoticed. The lamps burned steady. The stone beneath him held firm. And Yang sat in stillness, finally walking the path he’d sought for so long.

Outside his cave, the sect slept. Disciples in their own residences. Elders in their peaks. The whole mountain range suspended in the clouds, peaceful under starlight.

When dawn came, he would still be sitting there. Qi flowing through his meridians in a steady stream. His dantian slowly filling. His body transforming bit by bit.

The journey had truly begun.

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