Cultivation Fever 42 Stories

"Yeah. Ah! I see what you're saying! That's not a bad idea, I'll go visit him tomorrow."

"Oh, you don't have to–"

"No, no," he interrupted, "it's no trouble at all. I'd like to catch up with him anyway." Father stood up and smoothed out his robes, "It's getting late now. Let's catch some sleep and we'll talk in the morning."

We headed to bed, but sleep was the last thing on my mind. I had only been awake for a few hours and was still buzzing with energy.

I took a brief celebratory moment to update my ident.i.ty card, before taking out the Complete Guide to the Meditative Arts from my storage ring.

Next term, the fights would be relentless. If I couldn't recover my qi after each one, I had no hope of lasting. Meditation was the way forward, I just had to get through this scam of a book.

Reading it was grating and tedious, reminding me of the world I thought I had left behind. Half an hour later, and two chapters in, I had learnt nothing.

It was only in the third chapter that I found something. I almost missed it; it was so hidden within blatant hyperbole, irrelevant information, and sickening narcissism.

To begin with, it outlined the three essential forces of life: jing, qi, and shen. I was used to qi, but the other two forces were new to me.

It described jing as 'essence', given to us at birth and supplemented by nutrition. Certain herbs, such as ginseng, could replenish jing and stop it from leaking.

Shen, on the other hand, was the mind, or 'spirit.' The ascetic sects strove to become conscious of their shen, believing it would help them live a fulfilled life.

In life, there was a constant flow of energy between these three states. In order to maximise qi, one had to know how to convert it from jing. This was done through the Embryonic Breathing Technique.

Sitting cross-legged, hands resting in my lap, I began.

The first stage of the technique was called Reverse Abdominal Breathing. It counter-intuitively instructed me to contract my abdomen and perineum when breathing in and expand them when breathing out.

Settling into this rhythm was uncomfortable. If I lost concentration for a second, I would fall back into my natural breathing cycle. In this state, I couldn't even meditate, but I kept calm and persevered.

After about an hour, I could pa.s.sively fall into the cycle. Now, it instructed me to bring my focus to the lower dantian. I already had some practice with this, so it was easy to do.

I found that when I exhaled for longer than I inhaled, warmth built, but when I did the reverse, there was a cool sensation. Attracted by the warmth, I adopted the longer exhalation method.,

Submerged within endless breathing cycles, I lost track of time. Eventually, I realised I hadn't been monitoring my qi.

In my neglect, my qi had become backed up and started overflowing through my pores. Bringing myself out of meditation, I took a look at the qi surrounding my body.

Tiny tendrils flickered from every surface of my body, like a thick fur coat. It was still dark outside, so I could only have been meditating for a few hours. This meditation method was powerful.

I swiftly siphoned off the overflowing qi and used it to fill my soul. There was still plenty to spare, so I decided to practice the Qi Manifestation Technique for the rest of the night.

For Crow to help me tomorrow, I needed to be able to form a whip. It took a few hours of trial and error, but by the time morning came, I was ready.

Father left quickly after breakfast to see Crow, leaving me alone with mother. I took the opportunity to chat with her in the garden about last night.

"Mother, can we talk about yesterday?"

She put down her shears and arced her back to stretch, "Baby, why don't we just talk about that later."

"I just wanna chat for a bit without father."

"Ah," she sighed, "fine! Let's go sit down"

She made her way to the bench and I followed. There was a short, tense pause, before mother started speaking, "I haven't told about how I met your father, but I think now's the time."

"Oh!" the topic surprised me, "Is it about last night?"

"In a way, yes." Her tone was solemn, tinged with sadness. "My family are nomadic merchants. When I was teenager, they moved from the east of the empire to the north.

"It was horrible there! It was freezing cold all the time, and the people were so poor we could barely sell anything. I had to work in a tavern, and I hated it!"

Mother laid back and stared at the sky. Despite what she was saying, her expression was wistful.

"But… that's where I met your father. At the time, he was a young soldier, fresh out of military school. He hung around the tavern a lot. So much, it started getting suspicious!

"It took him a whole month to finally pluck up the courage to ask me out - he said he only did it because he got promoted. And, what do you know, we hit it off!

"We spent a few months together, but by then, my family wanted to move. I begged him to come with us, but he somehow convinced me to stay with him.

"For years, we lived in that h.e.l.lhole. And I was just waiting for the day we could go someplace warm. Somewhere we could raise a family in peace. And then, one day, I thought my chance had come."

Mother laughed nervously, covering her mouth with her hand.

"It's terrible really! Dear me. Anyway, your father came home horribly injured, just like you were. His outpost was attacked by guerrilla forces, and most of his squad was wiped out.

"Of course, I was scared I would lose him, but somehow, I knew he'd recover. Your father's just like that. And once I got over the fear, all I could think about was, this was our chance!

"I thought that maybe we could leave that place! After seeing all those horrible things, and going through all that pain, I thought that he would be done."

She looked down at her hands, rubbing dirt off her fingers. I could see the hint of a wry smile on her face.

"But no. Just like you, his first thought when he woke up was, "how's my body? Can I still fight?""

All I could do was sit there sheepishly. Mother hadn't even seen me do that, but she still knew. It seemed strange to me that I acted just like father, even though I wasn't really his son.

"So anyway," mother continued, "leaving was the last thing on his mind. And, no matter how many times he came home battered, he got up and fought again.

"What I'm trying to say, Oscar," she grabbed my hands and looked me in the eyes, "is that I know how you feel, and I'm not going to stop you. I'm just not used to seeing my baby boy get hurt."

Knowing what mother had been through hurt. Watching a loved one bring suffering on themself, unable to stop them, is a pain n.o.body should have to feel. But it hurt even more, knowing that I would inflict that pain.

"Stop it!" mother scolded me, "I know that look! Don't pity me, you're much too young for that. Honestly, how did I raise such a precocious child. Besides, I've seen a lot more thank you think…"

Mother launched into darkly humorous tirades about her time in the north, lightening the heavy mood. Time flew by, and I was so enthralled by her stories, I barely noticed father's return.

"Ahem!" father cleared his throat suggestively, and both mother and I jumped in surprise.

"Ah, darling! I was just telling Oscar about the time when you… actually, nevermind."

Crow stepped out from behind father, greeting mother with an open hug. She hurried off to make some tea, and Crow turned to address me.

"It appears the troublemaker has struck again." He growled.