And yet—the hum of the machines softened, not in volume, but in relevance. The edges of the room seemed to blur slightly, as though the hospital itself had receded by a step.
Xu Ran felt the sensation first.
It was not dizziness. Not warmth. Not the strange lightheadedness that sometimes accompanied medication. It felt like the weight of the room had lessened. The ceiling seemed farther away. The air cooler, cleaner.
He drew in a breath. For the first time in years, it did not feel like compromise.
The mist rose without warning. Not thick. Not dramatic. Just enough to obscure the corners of the room, to soften the outlines of machines and walls and ceiling until they felt less certain.
Xu Ran's heart did not race. Instead, it slowed.
Lin Yuan stepped back. The hospital room faded. And the world grew quiet.
Xu Ran did not stumble when the ground appeared beneath his feet. Stone met his soles with a firmness that felt reassuring rather than strange. The air was cool, carrying a scent he could not place—something clean, something untouched by chemicals or stale circulation.
He opened his eyes. The sky above him was vast. Clouds drifted slowly across a pale expanse, their movement unhurried, as though time itself had loosened its grip. In the distance, mountains rose gently, layered one behind another, their forms softened by mist.
Xu Ran stood very still. His breathing deepened naturally, without effort. Each inhale filled his chest completely, and each exhale left without resistance. The familiar tightness—the constant reminder of his body's limits—was absent. Not gone. Just quiet.
Lin Yuan stood a short distance away.
"This place…" Xu Ran began, then stopped. He searched for words, then gave up. "It's very still."
"Yes," Lin Yuan said.
Xu Ran looked down at his hands. They were the same hands. Thin. Pale. Slightly unsteady when he held them out. And yet, when he lowered them, the tremor did not linger. Something within him felt… aligned. Not stronger. More certain.
Lin Yuan watched closely. Something curious registered in the boy's body—a faint, almost imperceptible resonance that he could not name. It wasn't the same as the old man's alignment. This was different. Subtle, yes, but undeniable.
He turned toward Xu Ran.
"Am I dreaming?" the boy asked.
"No."
"Will I remember this?"
"Yes."
Xu Ran nodded slowly. That was enough. He did not ask where they were. He did not ask how it worked. He simply stood, breathing, letting the stillness settle into him.
The Cave Heaven responded. Not dramatically. Not with light or sound. The air around Xu Ran grew subtly denser, as though it had noticed him. The clouds shifted, drawing slightly closer. Somewhere deep within the mountain, something resonated—a low, quiet acknowledgment.
Lin Yuan felt it immediately. This was different. With the old man, the environment had led, and the body had followed. Here—the body answered first.
Xu Ran's posture straightened without instruction. His breathing fell into a rhythm that matched the slow drift of the clouds. The faint weakness in his limbs stabilized, no longer fluctuating unpredictably.
Lin Yuan's mind worked quietly, observing. He had performed the same process before. With the old man, the effect had been calm, predictable, uniform. With Xu Ran… something new had appeared. Subtle patterns, tiny threads of energy pulsing within the boy's body. He could not sense where they came from. Not consciously, at least.
Lin Yuan stayed still. He did not speak. He had learned: interference would only delay what the body wished to do naturally.
After a time, Xu Ran exhaled slowly.
"It doesn't hurt here," he said.
"No," Lin Yuan replied.
"Can I stay?" Xu Ran asked.
Lin Yuan considered the boy for a long moment.
"For a while," he said.
A silence fell between them. It was not empty. It carried observation, measurement, attention.
When Xu Ran returned to the hospital, the machines resumed their quiet recording. Liu Shuqin stirred, her eyes opening slowly.
"Ran?" she whispered.
Xu Ran turned his head toward her. "I'm here," he said.
She searched his face, frowning faintly. "You look… Did you sleep?"
"Yes," Xu Ran replied. She relaxed slightly, settling back into the chair. "That's good."
Outside, the city continued on, unaware. Lin Yuan was gone. No one remembered when he had arrived. No one noticed when he left.
Only one thing had changed. And even that, the world had not yet learned how to see.
Lin Yuan lingered in thought after leaving. Something in Xu Ran's body had responded more readily than the old man's. The faint threads, almost like hidden channels, were there—alive in a way he could not control. He had touched something he had never measured before. Spirit, perhaps? Or innate alignment.
He had no technique, no method of cultivation to guide it. All he had done was provide stillness. And yet the boy had… grown. Not visibly. Not in strength. But internally.
He would have to explore further.
But first, he reminded himself: secrecy was paramount. No one could know. Not the hospital, not Xu Ran's parents, not even the boy himself, beyond what he had seen. Curiosity, yes—but understanding, no.
The boy's faint pulse of energy was like a spark in dry tinder. Lin Yuan did not yet know what would ignite it. But he knew: the spark existed.
And that meant the experiment would continue.
Somewhere in the mountain, the faint acknowledgment continued. Stone, air, clouds—they all remained poised, waiting for what would come next.
Lin Yuan's thought faded into quiet observation. The boy would remember. But no one else would.
And that was exactly how it should be.
End of Chapter 8