As he opened his eyes from the blinding light. A soft breeze moved through the leaves above, carrying the rich scent of moss and rain-soaked soil.
Around him, towering trees rose high, their branches woven together like a living roof. The forest was alive—more alive than anywhere he had ever been.
He took a deep breath.
It wasn't just air filling his lungs. It was something warmer, brighter. Something more.
Qi.
But before he could think about using it, he instinctively reached inward—toward the center of his body.
His breath caught.
There was nothing there.
His dantian… silent. Not blocked. Not damaged. Just gone. As if all the cultivation he had worked for had quietly unraveled.
He stood frozen.
"…It's really gone," he murmured.
There was no pain. No backlash. No force suppresses him. Only emptiness.
His fists clenched slightly. "So this is the second trial."
His body felt weaker than before—but not broken. He could still breathe. Still move. Still think.
And more importantly, he could still feel the qi in the world around him.
He opened his eyes wider, paying closer attention.
The qi here wasn't just present—it was everywhere. It clung to the leaves. It shimmered along the bark. It drifted through the air like strands of silk.
Untouched. Pure. Vibrant. Wild.
"This place is full of it…" he whispered.
He took another breath, deeper this time. He wasn't angry. Not yet. There was no time for that.
"I need to survive first. Or I'll die here before I understand anything."
That thought settled into his chest like a cold truth.
Survive.
The word echoed through his mind.
He looked down at himself.
His pouch was empty. No food. No water. No tools. Just the clothes on his back—slightly worn from travel, but still holding up. At least they gave some protection from the sun and wind. His talisman brush was tucked into his belt, but it was useless without ink or paper. Just a memory now.
He looked around again.
Tall trees rose on every side. But to the north, the land sloped upward. A hill—maybe the start of a mountain. The trees were thinner there, and he could see bare stone cliffs through the breaks in the canopy.
"Higher ground," he thought. "Easier to defend. Rain runs down. Beasts climb slower than they walk."
That would be his destination.
He started walking slowly, careful with every step. He paused often, ears open, eyes scanning. Every rustle in the leaves made him still. Every birdcall made his heart jump.
The forest breathed around him.
Thick vines coiled like ropes around trunks. Wide-leafed bushes hid strange flowers—some glowing softly, others pulsing gently with qi like a quiet heartbeat.
His eyes lingered on them.
"I've seen these before," he thought, crouching near one with a faint blue glow. Focus herbs. Ink stabilizers."
He picked a few leaves carefully, tying them together with a thin vine and slipping them into his belt.
"They might be useful. Later."
The light shifted through the trees, and the shadows stretched longer.
His throat felt dry. His lips cracked.
He stopped. Listened.
There—water. A soft, steady trickle.
He followed the sound and found a small stream winding between the trees. Clear water ran over smooth stone.
He dropped to his knees and drank from his hands. The water was freezing, but it tasted clean. The cold hit his chest when he swallowed, making him cough—but he didn't stop. He drank until his stomach was full.
Breathing slower now, he stood and followed the stream, keeping it to his side as he searched for food and shelter.
Along the way, he found trees with low-hanging fruit—small, round, and red. He didn't recognize them, but they smelled sweet.
"Test it first."
He pressed one gently, sniffed it, then bit a small piece and waited.
No burning. No dizziness. No numbness.
He ate more.
There were other fruits, too—yellow, soft ones with thin skin; rough, thick-skinned ones hiding sweet pulp. Not rare spirit treasures, but they kept him from starving.
Eventually, he found a hollow between two massive trees. Their thick roots rose like walls, curling inward to create a small sheltered space. Moss blanketed the ground like a soft mat.
"This will do."
He started gathering sticks, dry leaves, and strips of bark. He made a small pile in the center of the hollow and sat before it, rubbing stick against stick, hoping for even a spark.
Minutes passed. Then more.
His palms began to burn. His fingers were sore. His arms ached.
Still, no fire came.
The light dimmed. The forest cooled.
He stared at the pile of dry wood and let out a slow breath.
But he didn't stop.
He searched again, this time for stones. After testing several, he found two with rough, sharp edges. He struck them together, shaping one into a simple blade. It was crude, jagged—but sharp enough to cut bark and shave wood.
With it, he carved the end of a long, straight branch into a sharp point—a basic spear.
Not perfect. But it was something.
Something to hold onto. Something that gave him control.
He leaned the spear beside him, pulled moss tighter around his shoulders, and sat back against the tree.
The forest was quiet again.
But now, so was he.