Rebirth

Qin Ming stood in the courtyard, his breath misting in the frigid air. At sixteen, he teetered on the edge of his "Rebirth"—a metamorphosis that could redefine his existence. The villagers called it Xīnshēng: a second embryonic awakening where dormant potential surged like floodwaters breaching a dam.

The Weight of Time

"Most achieve Rebirth in their twenties," Lu Ze reminded him, leaning against the frost-rimed fence. "Even thirty isn't too late. But you..." His gaze lingered on Qin Ming's coiled shoulders, the way snowflakes melted before touching his skin. "You're wasting golden years on those wild exercises."

The statistics hung heavy: fewer than ten Reborn among Doubletree Village's 200 souls. Yet Er Bingzi—the sickly boy from neighboring Hollowridge—had defied expectations. A month prior, he'd lifted a 400-pound donkey one-handed after mastering an advanced Intent-Energy Arts manual.

"His meridians were clogged, not broken," Lu Ze explained. "That wandering relative unblocked him with Intent-Energy Arts." The words tasted bitter. Lu Ze himself, robust as an oak at twenty-three, still hadn't ignited his Rebirth.

Crossroads of Cultivation

Liang Wanqing emerged from the cottage, her hands red from grinding frostbitten grain. "Switch to Lu's Night Meditation Primer," she urged. "At least it's proven."

Qin Ming flexed his fingers, remembering the silver ripples that danced across his skin during his routines—an anomaly no village manual described. His "wild techniques," learned from fragmented childhood memories, defied categorization. Were they relics of some lost lineage? Or dangerous improvisations?

The children's laughter pierced his doubts. Wen Rui clung to the iron cage housing their new pet—the crimson squirrel whose winter hoard now filled their pantry. "Keep practicing, Uncle! Then you'll catch bigger beasts!" The toddler Wen Hui echoed him through a mouthful of walnuts.

Night of Revelation

Moonlight bathed the training ground as Qin Ming moved. His body became a calligraphy brush painting the air:

Dragon-Turns-in-Mist: A spiraling leap that scattered snow like startled doves.Iron Python Sweep: A low kick cracking ice into diamond dust.Frostbear's Embrace: Static poses where breath synced to the creak of ancient pines.

Silver filaments wove through his pores. Heat bloomed—not the furnace roar of Lu Ze's meditations, but a subterranean river thawing glacial restraints. When he sprinted toward the forest's edge, footprints vaporized behind him.

The Watchers

Two figures observed from a ridge:

The Raven: Feathers like oiled obsidian, violet eyes dissecting Qin Ming's qi flow. "Self-guided Rebirth with auric resonance? Your master's Thousand Veil Path needs such raw jade."The Woman: Her ermine cloak swallowed moonlight. "Raw means unbroken. Better a polished stone than shattered jade." She turned north where the mountains gnawed at stars. "Our quarry lies deeper."

Qin Ming nocked an arrow, sensing scrutiny. But the ridge stood empty—save for a single black feather spiraling into darkness.

Epiphany

Back home, Qin Ming studied the shivering squirrel. Its eyes held more than animal fear—recognition. When he'd performed Cicada Sheds Shell earlier, it had chirped in rhythmic pulses.

"Maybe..." He traced a character in frost: 道 Dào. The squirrel pressed a paw against the cage bars, leaving a glowing red mark.

Lu Ze's voice echoed from the past: "Advanced manuals aren't just techniques—they're conversations with the world."

Qin Ming smiled. Let others chant in dark rooms. His path would be written in snow and starlight.