Six months passed in what felt like the blink of an eye. For a boy of five, half a year was a significant portion of a lifetime, yet for Jian Feng, it was an all-too-brief period of focused immersion. The 'Primordial Scripture of the Nine Heavens' was not a scroll he simply read; it was a universe he inhabited. His chambers, once a simple place of rest, were now a laboratory of the mind. The floor was covered in intricate diagrams drawn in chalk, complex models of Qi flow that would leave even a clan elder bewildered.
He did not cultivate. He did not absorb a single wisp of Qi. Instead, he dedicated every waking moment to study and deconstruction. With the 'Primordial Scripture' as his textbook and the Star-Chart as his verification tool, he embarked on a project of unprecedented ambition. He was reverse-engineering the very act of cultivation.
The Scripture was brilliant, outlining the nature of the world's spiritual energy. It detailed the five primary elemental affinities—Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water—and the rarer, more volatile types like Wind and Lightning. The clan's own 'Azure Dragon Qi Manual' focused exclusively on Wood and Water Qi, creating cultivators with immense vitality and restorative power. Other clans specialized in different elements. This was the accepted dogma of the cultivation world.
But Jian Feng's Star-Chart showed him a deeper truth. As he observed the threads of Dao, he saw that the elemental Qis were not fundamental. The fiery red threads and the earthy yellow ones were merely different frequencies, different expressions of a single, underlying energy. It was a formless, colorless, and utterly neutral Qi that existed in the infinitesimal spaces between the more dominant elemental strands. The Scripture hinted at its existence, calling it 'Primordial Chaos Qi' in a brief, almost mythical passage, but considered it untraceable and impossible to cultivate.
"They are wrong," Jian Feng whispered to himself, his twilight jade eyes glowing with intense focus. "They see a symphony and focus on the individual instruments. They have forgotten the silence from which all music is born."
He decided to call it 'Origin Qi'. Cultivating with elemental Qi from the start was a flawed path. It was like a painter deciding to paint only in blue, forever limiting the potential of their canvas. It created a powerful but biased foundation. To achieve a truly perfect, unshakeable foundation, one that could support the weight of a goal as audacious as his, he needed to start with a perfect, empty canvas. He needed to build his foundation from pure Origin Qi.
His mother, Su Liena, visited him one afternoon, bringing a tray of sweet osmanthus cakes. She found her son not reading, but sitting in the center of a dizzyingly complex array he had drawn. He was so still he seemed like a porcelain doll, yet she could feel the powerful hum of his mind at work.
"Feng'er," she said softly, her heart aching with a mixture of pride and worry. "Even the most diligent scholar must rest. You have been at this for months."
Jian Feng looked up, breaking from his deep concentration. He smiled a genuine, childish smile that briefly erased the ancient wisdom in his eyes. "I am not tired, Mother. I am… preparing my tools."
He picked up a piece of chalk and drew a simple, empty circle on the floor. "The other manuals teach you to fill your Dantian like a bucket. They pour in red Qi or blue Qi right away." He then pointed to his empty circle. "But isn't it better to first build a perfect bucket? One that can hold any color, or all colors at once?" He looked at her. "Before a painter chooses a color, they start with a blank canvas. I want my dantian to be a perfect, blank canvas."
Su Liena stood speechless. The profound simplicity of his analogy struck her like a bolt of lightning. He was not merely learning; he was innovating at the most fundamental level. He was creating his own path. She knelt and gently wiped a smudge of chalk from his cheek, her love for him warring with the dawning realization that her son was destined for a fate she could no longer comprehend.
That night, Jian Feng decided his preparation was complete. He sat in the center of his chambers, assuming a meditative pose. His goal was set. He would not absorb the rich Wood and Water Qi that permeated the Azure Dragon Clan's palace. He would seek out the rare, elusive strands of Origin Qi.
Closing his eyes, he activated the Star-Chart, his perception sinking into the sea of energy around him. It was an ocean teeming with vibrant colors. He could feel the gentle, life-affirming pull of the green Wood Qi and the soothing, cleansing embrace of the blue Water Qi. They called to his Azure Dragon bloodline, promising rapid and easy progress.
He ignored them. His will, forged from the fusion of two lifetimes, became an unbreakable filter. He rejected the red. He pushed away the blue. He let the yellow and green flow past him. To his spiritual senses, it was like standing in a storm of riches while searching for a single, specific speck of dust. The process was painstakingly slow, requiring a level of concentration that would shatter the mind of a seasoned cultivator, let alone a child.
Hours passed. Sweat beaded on his brow. His five-year-old body trembled with exertion. Finally, after a mental struggle that felt like a war, he isolated one. A single, infinitesimally small strand of colorless, formless Origin Qi. With supreme effort, he guided it from the outside world, through his meridians, and into the vast, empty space of his dantian.
The moment the first strand of Origin Qi settled in his spiritual sea, the world fell silent.
And then, the Heavens responded.
A soft, seven-colored light began to emanate from Jian Feng's body, passing through the walls of his chambers and bathing the entire central peak of the palace in a holy, rainbow-colored luminescence. The spiritual herbs in every courtyard, some of which had lain dormant for decades, burst into full, radiant bloom. The river of liquefied Qi that flowed through the clan grounds began to chime, each droplet of energy resonating with a sound of pure joy. The Dao itself was celebrating. It was a phenomenon known only in the most ancient records: a 'Heavenly Dao Baptism', a sign that a foundation of unprecedented, theoretical perfection had just been born.
In his study, Patriarch Jian Tianlong shot to his feet, his teacup shattering on the floor. In the elders' hall, ancient, meditating figures snapped their eyes open. They all appeared in the air above the palace, their faces a mask of utter shock and disbelief as they stared at the source of the phenomenon—the chambers of their five-year-old Young Lord.