The Silent Call

Zhao Feng woke before dawn, his body stiff from the rough ground beneath him. The camp was still, save for the soft crackling of the dying embers from last night's fire. He sat up, instinctively scanning the area. Though his eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light, he already knew what he was searching for.

The pulse.

It hadn't faded. If anything, it had grown stronger.

He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. Deep within his chest, beyond his dantian, something was pulling—no, guiding—him. The resonance he had felt after cultivating wasn't just some lingering effect of the jade slip. It was deliberate, a steady hum that grew clearer with each passing hour.

He opened his eyes, suppressing the unease rising in his gut. This wasn't normal.

And yet, deep down, he wasn't afraid.

The sky was just beginning to lighten when Raik signaled for the group to move. The mercenaries rose without complaint, adjusting their gear and falling into a loose formation. Zhao Feng joined them, keeping his expression neutral. No one had asked about what happened in the ruins—at least, not yet. But he could feel their glances. They didn't trust him.

He didn't blame them.

The trail ahead was rough, winding through jagged cliffs and dense undergrowth. Zhao Feng kept pace easily, though every step forward made the strange sensation in his chest grow sharper. The mountains around them felt different now—quieter, as if even the wind held its breath.

By midday, the terrain had shifted entirely. The once narrow path opened into a scattered battlefield, remnants of a forgotten conflict left to decay under centuries of wind and rain.

Zhao Feng barely heard them.

Because at that moment, the pulse intensified.

It was no longer just a whisper in his mind—it was a presence, threading through his veins, wrapping around his Qi like unseen fingers.

His breath caught. The pull had become unbearable.

Something was waiting for him.

Raik and the others were still arguing over the signs of battle when Zhao Feng stepped away.

No one noticed at first. He moved carefully, slipping into the shadows of the trees. His heartbeat remained steady, but inside, the resonance was deafening.

The moment he left the group's sight, it felt as if something acknowledged his decision.

The pull sharpened, guiding him forward.

---

The forest around him changed the further he walked. The air was heavier, the scent of damp stone and old wood pressing in around him. The trail beneath his feet wasn't entirely natural—worn stones, half-buried in dirt, suggested this was once a path.

And then he saw them.

Carvings.

Faint, almost eroded beyond recognition, but unmistakable. They were the same as the script on the jade slip.

His pulse quickened.

Zhao Feng reached out, brushing his fingers over the worn symbols. They were old—far older than the ruins from before. What had once been precise, masterful engravings were now mere ghosts of their former shapes, as if time itself had tried to erase them.

A shiver ran down his spine.

This place… recognized him.

And it wasn't just the carvings.

The forest had gone completely silent. No wind, no rustling leaves, no distant bird calls. Nothing.

As if something unseen had taken notice of him.

He turned his head slightly.

His instincts were screaming at him.

He was being watched.

Zhao Feng clenched his fists, steadying his breath. Whatever it was, it wasn't attacking. Not yet.

Slowly, he turned back toward the path.

The pull was stronger than ever. He was close.

And for the first time, he wasn't sure if he wanted to reach it.

---

He found the gate at dusk.

It was massive—not a ruin, but something untouched by time. Built directly into the side of the mountain, the stone was smooth, unbroken, and covered in carvings far more intricate than the ones he had seen before.

Zhao Feng's breath came slow and steady.

This place…

It wasn't abandoned.

And as he stepped closer, the resonance within him aligned perfectly with the air around him.

The ground hummed. The very atmosphere warped, flickering in and out of focus.

Zhao Feng felt his entire body lock up.

The pulse in his chest wasn't just calling to him.

It was waiting.

And he wasn't alone.

Zhao Feng stood before the gate, his breath shallow. The weight of the air pressed against his skin, thick with something unseen yet undeniable.

The resonance within him had reached its peak, vibrating in perfect harmony with the carvings on the stone. It wasn't just a call anymore. It was an invitation.

He hesitated.

For all his past lives, his knowledge, his instincts—he had never felt something quite like this.

But hesitation had never served him before.

Zhao Feng stepped forward.

The moment his foot crossed the threshold, the world shifted.

---

The air rippled like disturbed water, and the surroundings blurred. The towering trees, the fading dusk light—they bent and twisted, warping into something else.

For a brief second, he was nowhere.

Then, the pressure vanished, and everything snapped back into focus.

Zhao Feng staggered, his body tensing for an attack. But as his vision cleared, he realized he was no longer outside the gate.

He was inside.

A vast stone corridor stretched before him, illuminated by an eerie, bluish glow. The walls, smooth yet ancient, pulsed faintly as if alive, their surfaces engraved with shifting symbols.

Zhao Feng's pulse quickened.

This wasn't just an old ruin.

It was still active.

Whatever power once flowed through this place had not faded.

And it had just let him in.

---

Zhao Feng moved cautiously, every step echoing in the vast silence.

The air carried a strange weight, pressing against his skin, but it wasn't hostile—just watching.

The corridor twisted and turned in unnatural ways, the geometry shifting subtly when he wasn't looking. He kept track of his surroundings, mapping the space in his mind.

Then, he saw it.

At the end of the passage, an altar stood in quiet reverence. Unlike the rest of the ruins, this place was untouched by time. The stone was pristine, and at its center lay a single, floating jade orb.

It pulsed.

The same rhythm as his own heartbeat.

Zhao Feng exhaled slowly.

Whatever was happening—this wasn't normal.

But he had already stepped too far to turn back now.

He approached the altar.

As he reached for the jade orb, his fingertips barely brushed its surface when—

The world collapsed.

---

Pain.

A searing, all-encompassing agony flooded Zhao Feng's mind. His body locked up, his Qi roaring out of control.

Images—not his own—flashed before his eyes.

A sky filled with fractured stars, bleeding light into an endless void.

A figure, cloaked in shadow, standing before an abyss that devoured all things.

And a voice.

"Return."

The word slammed into his skull, a whisper that shattered like thunder.

Zhao Feng gasped, his knees hitting the cold stone floor. His mind burned, his vision swimming.

This wasn't a memory.

This was something else.

Something buried deep within the ruins, waiting.

And it had just seen him.

---

The pressure vanished as suddenly as it came.

Zhao Feng gasped, his body trembling. His vision reeled, but the moment he opened his eyes, he knew something had changed.

The jade orb—gone.

No.

It was inside him.

A faint, pulsing warmth nestled deep within his dantian, separate from his Qi, yet intricately bound to it.

His hands clenched.

Something had been given to him.

Or perhaps, something had been awakened.

The air around him stirred. The unseen presence that had watched him for so long no longer remained passive.

Zhao Feng had taken the first step.

And something in the dark had taken notice.

Zhao Feng's breath steadied as the last echoes of the jade slip's knowledge faded into his mind. The initial revelation had already changed everything—Qi, the very foundation of cultivation, didn't have to be borrowed from the world. It could be forged from within.

But the jade slip didn't just confirm his technique's legitimacy.

It showed him the next step.

He had been circulating Qi in the most basic way, pushing it through his meridians like water through narrow channels. But the jade slip's insights revealed something deeper—Qi was not simply an energy source. It had structure, layers, and movement, much like blood flowing through veins.

If Qi was a part of him, then why not train it like a muscle?

Zhao Feng focused, drawing on the technique he had already developed. His internal Qi moved, but now he guided it differently—not just in a loop, but through patterns. Spiraling currents. Expanding and contracting pulses. Sharpening, compressing, and refining.

A searing heat coursed through his meridians. His body resisted the shift, unused to such precise control.

But he pushed through.

As he circulated his Qi in these new, deliberate patterns, something changed. Before, his Qi was simply denser than others. Now, it was sharper, more refined—like molten metal cooling into tempered steel rather than raw iron.

And then he noticed something strange.

A small amount of Qi didn't return to his dantian.

It lingered—not in his meridians, but in his bones.

Zhao Feng's eyes snapped open.

Qi in the bones?

That was unheard of. Cultivators stored Qi in their dantian, refining it there. Even body-tempering techniques only used Qi to enhance flesh, not seep into the very structure of their body.

He closed his eyes again, focusing on the sensation. Carefully, he redirected his Qi once more, guiding it not back to his dantian, but outward—toward his bones.

The pain was instant. His skeleton felt like it was being branded from the inside, as if each bone was being etched with raw energy. His breathing grew ragged, but he forced himself to endure.

What is this…?

The jade slip's knowledge was cryptic, but now he understood—it had hinted at something beyond refining Qi. It was suggesting a way to integrate Qi into his very being.

If he could store Qi in his bones, it wouldn't just make his cultivation more efficient.

It would change everything.

Instead of relying on his dantian for energy, he could distribute Qi throughout his entire body—a hidden reservoir of power that no one would expect.

More than that, if Qi was ingrained into his bones, it might even strengthen his physical structure, making him harder to injure, more resilient.

The implications were terrifying.

If he perfected this…

His foundation wouldn't just be unshakable. It would be something new, something beyond what modern cultivators understood.

But as the pain reached its peak, Zhao Feng clenched his fists, sweat rolling down his face. The technique was far from complete. His body wasn't used to this, and if he pushed too far, he could cripple himself.

He exhaled slowly, allowing the Qi in his bones to settle. The pain receded, leaving behind a strange firmness—as if something within him had solidified, even though he was still far from mastering it.

Zhao Feng opened his eyes.

A single thought burned in his mind.

This is just the beginning.