Chapter 9:– Journey to Stillness
Day 9 of Exponential Growth
The sky was still pale—too early for most chores, too late for patrols to be sharp.
Lin Xun walked with the same worn bucket in hand, same tired look on his face. Same as always. The law enforcers at the east courtyard didn't even glance at him. One scratched his nose. The other kept yawning into his sleeve.
> *"Good."*
He didn't change his pace.
He turned off the usual path—away from the wells, the kitchens, the barracks. Straight ahead. No one ever walked that route. It led nowhere.
Well, not *nowhere*.
He passed the sagging storehouse. The mossy wall that always stank after rain. A few crooked tiles scattered along the side.
His boots hit older stone—smoother, slightly tilted. Familiar.
> *"It should still be here."*
The memory wasn't sharp. It had just stuck.
A year ago, he'd been dumping broken planks and spoiled rice behind the shed. That's when he saw it—a stone slab leaning weird against the ridge. Looked like it'd been shoved there to hide something.
He didn't care back then. He had dumped the trash, heard some scuttling, and left.
> *"Rats. Probably a nest. Or something worse."*
But he never forgot the spot. The way the air behind that stone felt colder than it should've. Dry.
He stepped behind the storage wall.
There it was.
Still leaning crooked. Same moss creeping up one edge. Same dull crack running through the center. The pile of old crates beside it had shifted, but not much.
He set the bucket down.
Then crouched.
His fingers gripped the slab's edge. It was rough, cold. He braced his foot, pulled once. The stone scraped, then shifted. Just enough.
A thin gap opened. Just like he remembered.
Dry air rushed out—still smelled like dirt and something faintly rotted, but not too strong.
> *"Nothing's been in here for a while. Not even rats?"*
He looked over his shoulder.
Still quiet.
Then he slid inside.
The stone above his back scratched his robe, but he didn't stop. Three paces in, the tunnel opened up—small chamber, maybe three meters wide, ceiling just high enough to sit straight. Uneven floor, cold air, shadows clinging to everything.
It was perfect.
No windows. No smell of smoke or soap or disciples.
> *"No one's coming here. No one even remembers this place exists."*
He turned and pulled the slab back into place behind him. The sound of it scraping shut echoed, then stopped. Darkness.
He stayed crouched for a few seconds. Let his breath settle.
Then sat.
No sound. No questions. Just stone and stillness.
This wasn't peace. Just space. Space to think. To breathe. To change—without anyone watching.
> *"I'll stay here. As long as it takes."*
Perfect. We've already completed **Chapter 9 – Part 1**, where Lin Xun walks calmly, locates the hidden spot from his memory, and enters it in secret.
He let his eyes adjust to the dark.
Even though there was no light, the space didn't feel suffocating. The air was still. Dry. The kind of quiet that blanketed everything—like even the insects avoided this place.
Lin Xun didn't move right away. He stayed crouched near the entrance, just listening.
Nothing.
No skittering rats. No dripping water. No whisper of someone searching outside.
> *"Safe."*
He moved deeper into the small cavern. His fingers brushed the stone wall. Cold, rough. It curved slightly. The air didn't shift—no vents, no cracks above. Just sealed stillness. Good.
He turned and pressed his back to the wall.
Sat.
His knees pulled up easily. His posture stable.
The weight of the past days slowly started to lift. Not because anything had been solved. But because—for the first time in over two years—he wasn't being watched. Not by seniors. Not by other disciples. Not by anyone.
No voices. No footsteps. No eyes.
Just silence.
> *"This'll work."*
He reached down and shifted his robe, pulling the fabric tighter around his legs. It wasn't warm, but it would hold. The temperature inside the chamber didn't fluctuate much—no sun, no wind.
The smell was faint. Old stone. Dry roots.
Even the animals seemed to have given this place up.
> *"How long can I stay?"*
He'd brought a few dry rations in the bottom of the bucket. Smuggled from the kitchens, stolen from leftovers, traded for favors. Just enough for three or four days—if he stretched it.
After that, he'd have to go out.
But he didn't plan to wait that long. If things went right… his body might not even need food soon. The way it was changing, the way strength moved through him—he wasn't sure it worked like a normal human body anymore.
He placed his palm on his chest.
The heartbeat was still slow. Steady. Solid.
Like a hammer tapping against the inside of his ribs. No pain. No weakness. Just presence.
> *"I've doubled eight times already. If this keeps going…"*
He paused.
No one knew. No one had taught him this. No pill, no inheritance, no scroll.
It was just happening.
A strength unfolding inside him without permission. Without source.
It scared him. But right now? That fear wasn't useful.
He let the thought go.
His eyes slid closed. His breath slowed.
Not shallow. Not weak. Just… measured.
In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
For the first time, he let his muscles relax all the way. No tension in his shoulders. No weight on his spine. His hands rested on his knees. Still. Calm.
Not hiding. Not waiting.
> *"Just be here."*
The stone beneath him was cold, but it didn't matter. His body didn't protest anymore. The aches had faded. Bruises softened.
He didn't know how strong he was.
He just knew he was more.
And if he could keep doubling… if he could stay hidden… if no one found this place—
He might make it to thirty days.
He inhaled once more. Then, without forcing anything, he let himself begin to meditate.
Not to gather qi. He had none.
Not to cultivate. He couldn't.
But to feel.
To listen inside himself.
To the weight in his limbs.
To the rhythm in his bones.
To the thing that had awakened without asking
The silence was complete now.
Lin Xun sat cross-legged in the center of the hidden chamber, his arms relaxed, back straight. No twitch of discomfort. No sound of breath catching in his chest. Just slow, steady rhythm.
He didn't aim to cultivate. That wasn't possible—yet. There was no spiritual energy swirling in his dantian, no golden light, no mysterious diagrams forming behind his eyes.
What he felt was simpler.
His bones felt heavier, but not sluggish. His flesh was denser, tighter. His breath didn't vanish into the lungs—it moved like it had weight. Like it meant something.
> *"I don't know what this is,"* he admitted to himself quietly. *"But it's real."*
A part of him still expected it to stop. Maybe it was a freak moment. Some rare condition, some hidden injury flaring up in ways he couldn't explain.
But every hour that passed said otherwise.
Each doubling felt exact. Clean. His body grew—not wildly, not explosively—but with eerie consistency. Like a clock ticking forward. A silent law pressing deeper into his being.
And no one else could feel it. No one even suspected it.
> *"I have twenty-one days left."*
He opened his eyes and looked at his own hands.
They weren't larger. Not visibly. But they felt different when they moved. More connected. Less fragile. He curled his fingers into a fist. The strength wasn't just in muscle—it was in the quiet responsiveness of everything inside.
It wasn't just physical.
The stillness helped him realize that.
> *"My thoughts aren't rushing anymore."*
It was true. His emotions still stirred—nervousness, uncertainty—but they no longer pushed him to move. They didn't overtake him like they did when he was first thrown into the cell. Now, they passed through.
Like clouds.
He felt them. But they didn't define what he did.
And buried under them—beneath the fear, beneath the calculations—was something else.
A question.
Why?
Why was this happening to him?
Why now?
Why so exact?
He didn't dwell on it. Not yet. There was no one to ask. No answers buried in the walls.
But the question remained, waiting.
And that was fine.
> *"Not today."* He exhaled. *"Today is for disappearing."*
He reached for the small cloth-wrapped bundle by his feet. Three flat buns. Two pieces of dried meat. A small waterskin. He didn't eat yet. Just checked. Enough for a few days if he didn't move much.
He put it back gently. No wasted movement.
Then settled again.
His fingers touched the stone beneath him. Cool. Dry. The perfect reminder that he had nothing else. No teachers. No resources. No one watching over him.
And maybe that was a good thing.
> *"If they saw this, they'd try to use it. Or kill me."*
That thought didn't come with fear this time.
It was just... a fact.
He adjusted his breathing again, slower now. Deeper.
There were no torches here. No candles. But in his mind, he started counting.
Not time. Not minutes or hours.
But distance.
From what he was.
To what he was becoming.
Every day would bring him closer.
Every day would deepen this change.
And if he could stay hidden—just until Day 30…
> *"Then I'll never have to be scared again."*
He didn't smile.
He didn't cry.
He just sat—quiet, breathing, awake.
And in the dark, something inside him kept growing.