Disclaimer:
All techniques, cultivation methods, and character philosophies described in this novel are purely fictional. Even if I borrowed elements from real Taoist texts, they have been freely and ruthlessly adapted to serve the story. Please do not attempt to apply anything from this novel in real life!
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Southern Hou Empire (南垕). Duchy of Ran (冉). Iron Stream Town (铁溪).
A warm breeze drifted down from the mountains, carrying the indescribable scent of pine forest and smelting smoke.
Su Zhen (宿圳) was lying on a haystack behind the stables, arms tucked behind his head, chewing on a stalk of straw. Above him stretched an endless sky, and the first evening stars dotted it like tiny holes in a dark veil. He had always felt as if someone beyond that veil was watching him, waiting for the moment he looked back.
"Why does so little light get through?" he muttered thoughtfully to himself.
In the town, they said only idlers and dreamers looked at the stars. They also said ghosts of warriors, lost in times of war, roamed the mountain forests. Remembering the ghosts made him shudder. For a week now, he had seen the same strange dream: a haggard old man, like a skeleton wrapped in skin, and a stone hall glowing dimly with blue light from its walls. A wave of unease twisted in his gut.
"Maybe it's a restless ancestor? Should I tell my parents? They've got enough problems without me. I'll deal with it. Maybe it'll stop on its own." Thoughts flew like arrows.
Su Zhen leapt down from the haystack and rolled his shoulders. He took up a fighting stance—feet set a little wider than shoulder-width, knees slightly bent, soles pressing firmly into the ground.
The wind lifted the ends of his sash, but he stood frozen, as if rooted in place. His face was focused, eyes forward.
He suddenly thrust his right arm forward, like punching through an invisible chest—straight punch with a sharp twist of the hips. He felt his back tighten, a wave of force rippling from his heels to his knuckles.
Then a step forward and a strike with the elbow. Fast kicks followed, then hands again, tearing through the air with whip-like speed.
He didn't stop: a turn of the torso, an elbow to the rear, a sharp pivot on his toes—into a new stance. Each movement was sharp and swift, like spear thrusts or like an eagle swooping down on a victim. No flourishes. Only strength and directness.
Uncle Lin likes to say,
"Those city fairies flail around like they're dancing. My Mountain Eagle style breaks bones. End of story."
When he froze in his finishing stance, arms crossed over his chest, his heart pounded like a hammer in a forge. His muscles boiled with strength, and steam rose from his neck.
And still... it was just a shadow of the power he had seen in the local wushu masters.
The anxiety about the dream had faded, replaced by hope that this time, his inner Yang would be strong enough to ward off evil spirits.
Su Zhen wiped his brow and slowly made his way home, still catching his breath.
From afar, he heard familiar voices—his younger sister Wei's laughter, his father's deep voice, and the ringing of metal—his older brother was finishing the forging of nails.
The house of the blacksmith Su stood on a flat area at the foot of the slope. The roof was neatly tiled, the walls whitewashed, the windows shuttered with solid wood. Two goats were grazing in the yard, and a rooster was scurrying around the porch. The smell of garlic, boiled meat, and turnips reached him before he even stepped onto the threshold.
"Zhen, wash up and then come eat!" his mother, Mrs. Su Yanzhi, called, without turning around.
He passed his father Mr. Su Jian'an, who sat at the anvil with a cup of tea, pinched his younger brother Ding, who was herding the goats into the pen, and scooped cold water from the wooden tub. Splashing it over his black hair and sun-darkened torso, he dried off with a linen towel, put on his shirt, and entered the house.
Dinner was loud as always. The brothers bickered, his sister poured soup, their mother scolded Zhen for "waving his arms around again instead of doing something useful." His father stayed silent, smiling into his beard.
Afterward, he helped clear the table, laid out the bedding, bowed to the household gods with his father, and then climbed to the attic the brothers shared. On the wall hung their most treasured possession—a real sword forged by the eldest brother. But more often, the middle one wielded it. The eldest, Li, liked to tease that thirteen-year-old Zhen cared more for that sword than he ever would for a girl.
He pulled off his shirt, stretched out on the mat with a contented sigh, and listened to the house—the laughter of his sister, the floor creaking under his mother's steps, the ringing strike of the final hammer blow in the forge. His father, out of superstition, always gave one last tap "for sleep." A breeze slipped in through a crack, cooling his face. Su Zhen rolled onto his side. His brothers were whispering about something in the dark.
"What if they really are holes... or the eyes of gods... so many eyes..."
The final thoughts flared through his mind like sparks before fading into sleep.
"Su Zhen... Su Zhen..." a creaking whisper called his full name again.
Zhen felt no fear and answered bravely.
"Who are you? What do you want?"
"Su Zhen... Follow my voice, and you'll understand everything..." The whisper seemed to crystallize in his mind.
Once again, Zhen walked the now-familiar path into the mountain forest. He stopped before a sheer wall of gray stone. The whisper seemed to come from within it—from the solid rock itself. On the stone surface, under the moonlight, glowing blue symbols appeared. Su Zhen placed his palm against them and heard a strange gibberish that he already knew by heart "Om La Sa Ra Mi Ma Da Ra Hong". The wall became translucent and the hand sank inside. He followed it.
The walls of the cave inside glowed with a mystical blue light. In the center of the vast hall, seemingly carved directly into the rock, stood a circular stone platform covered in strange symbols. Sitting cross-legged atop it was a man dried to near-skeletal thinness, dressed in colorless robes.
"I am Su Zhen! Why did you call me?"
"Su Zhen... If you wish to know the Truth... find me! This is not a dream!" The voice was no longer a whisper. It was crystal clear, ringing from all directions at once.
"Not a dream?" A sudden flash of awareness cut through his mind. "I'm dreaming!"
"You are dreaming... but this is not a dream," echoed the voice from all around.
In the next instant, Zhen woke on his mat, soaked in cold sweat. He clenched his fists in helpless frustration.
"Oh, crap... That dream again!"