Dao of the World Walker (Xianxia) Book 2

Yang sat in his cultivation cave on the meditation platform with the Heaven-Refining Soul Sutra in hand. The manual was substantial. A thick volume with pages and pages of detailed information, diagrams, warnings, and instructions.

It took him hours to read through the whole thing. Hours of careful attention, parsing dense theoretical passages and intricate descriptions of soul cultivation mechanics. The text was written in an archaic style that sometimes required him to reread sentences multiple times to grasp the full meaning. His improved reading skills from Senior brother Ming Hao’s classes helped immensely, but this was still challenging material.

He read through the whole thing twice to make sure he didn’t miss anything. The first read-through was for general comprehension, getting the broad strokes of the technique and its philosophy. The second was for detail, making mental notes of specific instructions and warnings that would matter when he began actual practice.

The manual covered cultivation from Qi Condensation all the way through to realms Yang had only heard whispered about. Each realm had its own section with specialized techniques and considerations specific to soul cultivation at that level.

But the only thing relevant to Yang right now was the first part. The beginning of the path.

Awakening the Inner Eye

Yang read this section a third time, more slowly, committing every detail to memory.

Cultivation of the soul begins not with gathering energy but with perception. The practitioner must first develop what the sutra calls the Inner Eye, the ability to observe one’s own consciousness with clarity and precision. Unlike body cultivation where progress can be measured in meridian width or qi density, soul cultivation requires the cultivator to see the invisible, to measure the intangible, and to manipulate what most believe cannot be touched.

Yang paused, considering. Most cultivation was external in a sense. Gathering qi from the environment. Circulating it through meridians that had physical existence within the body. Storing it in the dantian, a tangible organ that could be felt and measured.

But soul cultivation was different. It required turning awareness inward. Observing the mind with the mind itself. The observer becoming the observed. It was a paradox that made Yang’s head hurt slightly when he tried to think about it too directly.

He continued reading.

The technique for awakening the Inner Eye involves the described meditation posture combined with controlled breathing and mental focus. The cultivator sits in lotus position with their spine perfectly straight, hands forming the Soul Contemplation mudra, where the fingertips touch in the described pattern that channels qi toward the upper dantian located between the eyebrows. They regulate their breathing to exactly forty-nine breaths per hour, each inhalation lasting a count of seven, each exhalation lasting six. This rhythm, maintained for hours at a time, gradually attunes the consciousness to perceive itself.

Forty-nine breaths per hour. Yang did the calculation quickly. That meant approximately one breath every seventy-three seconds. Much slower than normal breathing. Each breath would need to be deep, controlled, deliberate. He will have to practice much. Holding his breath for that long would not be easy.

Seven counts in. Six counts out. He would need to establish what length each count should be to achieve the correct overall rhythm.

During these meditation sessions, the practitioner focuses their attention on the space behind their forehead, the region where the upper dantian resides and where consciousness manifests most tangibly. At first, they perceive nothing but darkness. Days pass, then weeks, with no apparent progress. But the sutra assures that change is occurring beneath the threshold of perception. The consciousness is learning to fold back upon itself, to become both observer and observed simultaneously.

Days or weeks. Yang wasn’t surprised. Everything worthwhile in cultivation took time. At least the text was honest about expectations.

The moment of awakening arrives differently for each practitioner, but the experience shares common elements. The darkness behind closed eyes suddenly deepens, becoming a void so profound it seems to have dimension and weight. Within that void, a faint luminescence appears, like distant starlight filtering through storm clouds. This is the first glimpse of the Sea of Consciousness, that vast internal space where thoughts and memories reside. The luminescence represents the soul itself, the animating essence that makes the practitioner more than mere flesh animated by qi.

Yang tried to imagine it. A void with dimension. Luminescence in darkness. The Sea of Consciousness. It sounded beautiful and terrifying in equal measure.

Once the Inner Eye opens, the practitioner can begin to observe the natural state of their soul. Most are shocked by what they discover. The untrained soul appears chaotic and unfocused, a roiling mass of light and shadow with no coherent structure. Thoughts arise like bubbles from deep water, bursting at the surface of awareness and leaving only ripples behind. Emotions manifest as colored currents that flow through the consciousness without direction or purpose. The entire inner world exists in a state of barely controlled chaos, functional enough to sustain life and thought but far from the refined instrument the Heaven-Refining Soul Sutra promises to create.

Yang set the manual down carefully beside him on the meditation platform. He’d read enough. Understood the theory. Now it was time to attempt the practice.

He shifted his position, moving from his usual meditation posture into the lotus position the sutra described. Legs crossed with each foot resting on the opposite thigh. Spine perfectly straight, head level, chin slightly tucked. He adjusted until his balance felt centered, his weight distributed evenly.

Then came the hand position. The Soul Contemplation mudra.

Yang looked at the diagram in the manual one more time, studying the complex finger arrangement. Then he began forming it with his own hands.

It felt awkward at first. Unnatural. His fingers didn’t want to hold the position comfortably. But Yang adjusted and readjusted until the mudra felt stable. Until he could maintain it without constant conscious effort to keep his fingers in place.

The manual said the mudra channeled qi toward the upper dantian. Yang couldn’t feel that yet, but he trusted the technique. Mudras were common in cultivation. Hand positions that directed energy flow in specific ways. This was just more specialized than most.

With position established, Yang turned his attention to breathing.

Forty-nine breaths per hour. Seventy-three seconds per breath, roughly. Seven counts in. Six counts out.

Yang experimented with count length. Too short and the breath felt rushed. Too long and he couldn’t sustain it comfortably. He settled on counting at about one count per second for the inhale. That meant seven seconds breathing in. Then six seconds breathing out. Thirteen seconds total per breath.

Wait. That didn’t work out to seventy-three seconds per breath.

Yang frowned and recalculated. If each count was about five or six seconds long, then seven counts in would be roughly thirty-five to forty-two seconds. Six counts out would be thirty to thirty-six seconds. Total of sixty-five to seventy-eight seconds per breath.

That range included seventy-three. So each count should be roughly five to six seconds long.

Yang began practicing the rhythm. Breathing in slowly through his nose, counting internally. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Each count lasting about five heartbeats. Then exhaling just as slowly through his nose. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

The rhythm felt strange. Breathing this slowly required concentration. His body wanted to breathe faster. To take normal-sized breaths at normal intervals. He had to consciously override that instinct.

But after several minutes of practice, the rhythm began to feel more natural. His body adjusted. His heartbeat slowed to match the breathing. The counting became automatic.

He realised that it should take a lot of practice to hold his breath for so long but attributed his apparent ability to do so to his former beast core muching habit.

Yang maintained the rhythm for what felt like a long time. Breathing. Counting. Keeping his posture perfect and his mudra stable.

Now came the mental component. The actual meditation.

Focus attention on the space behind the forehead. The region where the upper dantian resides.

Yang shifted his awareness inward. Not to his lower dantian where his qi gathered. Not to his meridians. But to his forehead. The space between and slightly above his eyebrows.

At first, he perceived exactly what the manual predicted. Darkness. Just the normal darkness behind closed eyelids. Nothing special or unusual.

He maintained focus. Breathing slowly. Counting. Keeping his attention fixed on that space behind his forehead.

Minutes passed. The darkness remained unchanged. Just darkness. No void with dimension. No luminescence. No glimpse of the Sea of Consciousness.

Yang didn’t let disappointment break his concentration. The manual said this would take days or weeks. He’d been at it for perhaps ten minutes. Far too early to expect results.

He continued. Breathing. Counting. Observing the darkness.

His legs began to ache from the lotus position. The mudra made his fingers stiff. The slow breathing made him feel slightly lightheaded at first, though that sensation passed as his body adjusted to the reduced oxygen intake.

Yang maintained the practice. Ignoring discomfort. Keeping his focus steady.

After what might have been a couple of hours, he’d lost exact track of time, absorbed in the meditation, Yang noticed something. A quality to the darkness. A depth that hadn’t been there before.

Not the profound void the manual described. Nothing so dramatic. Just a sense that the darkness extended further than he’d initially perceived. Like standing at the edge of a deep well and looking down into blackness that suggested vast space below.

Yang’s attention sharpened. Was this the beginning? The first hint of awakening the Inner Eye?

He maintained focus. Breathing. Counting. Observing without grasping. Letting the perception develop naturally without forcing it.

The sense of depth increased slightly. The darkness seemed almost textured now. Like he could reach into it if he tried. Not physical reaching, his hands remained in the mudra, but mental reaching. Extending his awareness into that space.

Then the sensation faded. The darkness returned to normal flatness. Just the back of his eyelids again.

Yang wanted to feel frustrated but recognized this was progress. He’d felt something. A hint of what was possible. That was more than nothing.

Perhaps four to five hours had passed since he started. A few hours of practice. One brief moment of progress.

The manual said this would take days or weeks. Yang had plenty of time.

He settled back into the practice. Breathing. Counting. Observing.

The next several hours passed in a blur of focused meditation. Occasionally, Yang felt that sense of depth again. That quality of the darkness suggesting vast internal space. Each time it appeared, he observed without trying to hold onto it. Each time it faded, he simply returned to the basic practice without disappointment.

This was cultivation. Patient. Methodical. Gradual progress through countless repetitions of the same basic actions.

Eventually, Yang’s body demanded attention. His legs were completely numb. His back ached despite his careful posture. His hands had cramped in the mudra position. And his stomach growled with hunger.

He’d missed dinner entirely.

Yang carefully released the mudra. Flexed his fingers to restore circulation. Unfolded from lotus position with a grimace as blood flow returned to his legs in painful tingles.

He stood slowly, stretching. Working out the stiffness from hours of sitting. His body protested but wasn’t damaged. Just tired and sore from the unfamiliar demands of the new practice.

Yang looked at the Heaven-Refining Soul Sutra sitting on his meditation platform. Hours of practice. Just one brief glimpse of progress. A hint of the depth that awaited.

But it was enough. He’d felt it. Known it was real. The Sea of Consciousness existed within him, vast and unexplored. He just needed to develop the ability to perceive it clearly.

Days or weeks, the manual said. Yang would give it however long it took.

He made his way to the food hall, hoping there were still leftovers from dinner. His hunger was intense after hours of meditation without eating.

As he walked through the outer sect peak in the gathering darkness, Yang thought about the path ahead. Soul cultivation. The Heaven-Refining Soul Sutra. Awakening the Inner Eye as the first step.

It was different from everything else he’d done. Different from qi gathering. Different from talisman creation. Different from any cultivation method practiced by his fellow disciples.

But different didn’t mean wrong. It just meant his path would be unique. Suited specifically to who he was and what advantages he possessed.

Yang had always been different. An adult mind in a child’s body. A soul that had died and been reborn. Someone whose greatest strength wasn’t physical but mental.

Soul cultivation honored that difference.

Yang reached the food hall and slipped inside, hoping the kitchen staff would take pity on him again. His stomach demanded food, and his body needed rest before tomorrow’s practice session.

Because tomorrow, he would sit again. Breathe again. Count again. Focus on the darkness behind his forehead and wait patiently for the Inner Eye to awaken.

However long it took. However much practice was required.

Yang would endure. He would persist. And eventually, he would succeed.

That was simply who he was.

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