Chapter 2: Finding the Secret
Warm lamplight filled the modest dining room, casting soft shadows on the wooden table scarred by years of use. A simple but hearty meal was laid out—steaming rice, a bowl of vegetables, and a plate of meat cooked carefully to stretch its flavor.
The father sat upright, eating slowly and methodically. Every bite was measured, as if even food required discipline. Beside him, a small clay cup rested near his hand, filled with cheap wine. From time to time, he lifted it, taking a restrained sip, the faint scent of alcohol mixing with the warmth of the room.
The mother ate more gently, occasionally glancing at her son. Her movements were those of a woman long accustomed to hardship—efficient, practiced, yet filled with quiet care. She made sure everyone's bowl was full before touching her own food again.
The boy ate in silence, his posture straight, his expression calm. Yet beneath that calm, his thoughts churned endlessly.
For a few minutes, only the sound of chopsticks touching bowls could be heard.
Then, after the last mouthful was eaten and the father finished his wine with a soft sigh, the boy stood up and began collecting the plates.
"Mom," he said gently, "leave it to me. I'll clean the kitchen today."
His mother blinked, then smiled. "Look at my child—such a filial son."
The father let out a low chuckle, but it held no humor. He placed the empty wine cup down and shook his head.
"He's not being filial," he said calmly. "He's distracting himself."
The boy paused for a brief moment but continued gathering the dishes.
"If he doesn't calm his mind," the father went on, "he won't break through the next level. He's already failed several times."
His gaze sharpened.
"Not only that—those failures are damaging his foundation. If he continues like this, even his current strength won't remain stable."
The mother's smile slowly faded.
"Even now," the father continued heavily, "if his cultivation doesn't stabilize and he doesn't step down properly, he won't even be able to fight with forty percent of his peak power."
Silence fell over the room.
"He's too much of a genius," the mother finally sighed. "But we don't have the resources for him to grow."
The father nodded, his expression dark.
"The Nine Circulation Breathing Method is nothing more than a Body Refinement foundation technique," he said.
"I don't have any higher-level method to help him step into the Energy Condensation Floor."
His fingers curled tightly.
"You know how this world is. Those methods are controlled by rich families, sects, and the royal clans. Commoners like us will never touch them."
His voice dropped, bitter and tired.
"I tried for four years to obtain one. Every time, it was either a scam… or I was robbed halfway."
The mother quickly reached out, placing a hand on his arm.
"It's good that you're still alive," she said softly. "That's enough."
She forced a smile and looked toward the kitchen doorway.
"Once he reaches the perfection of Body Refinement, he'll understand reality. He'll calm down, adjust himself, and live properly."
After a pause, she added lightly, as if speaking of something trivial,
"I'll find a beautiful girl for him to marry. Once he has children, all that hot blood will cool down."
From the kitchen, the sound of running water continued—steady, quiet, and unaware that a far greater change had already begun.
---
The boy stepped into the kitchen, his movements quiet and deliberate. He filled a basin with water and added soap, the scent of cleanliness mixing with the lingering aroma of dinner. One by one, he scrubbed the plates and bowls, careful to remove every trace of food. He rinsed them under the flowing water, arranging them neatly on the drying rack.
Each motion was precise, almost meditative. He could hear the soft drip of water and the faint clatter of utensils. Even the smallest mistake—a bowl tilted slightly or a plate placed carelessly—would have drawn his mother's sharp glance.
From the dining room, he sensed her watching him. Her eyes were soft but alert, a quiet tension in her posture. She knew what he was capable of. He had nearly destroyed his room in his previous practice, and the fear of him overexerting himself again lingered in every corner of the kitchen.
After finishing, he wiped his hands on a towel, checked the kitchen once more, and nodded to himself. Everything was clean and in its place.
He stepped out of the kitchen, careful not to make a sound. His voice was polite as he approached the table.
"Mother, Father," he said gently, "everything in the kitchen is done. I'll go to the study room to read."
His mother's eyes narrowed immediately, a mixture of worry and caution flashing across her face.
"Rai," she said sharply, "don't do foolish things in the study room like you did in your bedroom. Or you won't be eating tomorrow."
The boy shivered slightly. Every hair on his body stood up, a reflex born from years of knowing his parents' fear of his overexertion. Yet he forced a small, obedient smile.
"Don't worry, Mother. I'll be careful," he said softly.
His father lifted his gaze from his empty bowl, studying him thoughtfully. "You mean you're going to practice in the study room?"
The boy shook his head quickly. "No. What I mean is—I'll make sure that doesn't happen again."
For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of unspoken worry pressing down on him. Then, with careful steps, he turned and walked toward the study room, leaving the kitchen clean and his parents still watching.
---
Study Room – Awakening
He entered the study room and gently closed the door behind him.
The room was quiet, filled with the faint scent of old paper and ink. Wooden shelves lined the walls, packed with worn books and scrolls passed down through generations. This place was the true foundation of his family—humble, outdated, yet precious.
He walked to the bookshelf and reached for a familiar spot.
Behind several ordinary manuals, hidden in a small, concealed compartment, lay a thin, yellowed booklet.
The Nine Circulation Breathing Method.
He placed it carefully on the table and spread it open, his gaze fixed on the familiar diagrams.
"This is the foundation method of our family…" he murmured.
Yet a frown slowly formed on his face.
"There's something wrong with it."
He clenched his teeth slightly.
"How could I fail three times this month while trying to reach the perfection of Body Refinement?"
His heart felt heavy.
Even his father—talented for a commoner—had never broken through the tenth level. And if he remembered correctly, no one in their family history had ever stepped into the Energy Condensation Floor.
"This method came from Grandfather," he thought.
"It was obtained from a tomb… and has been passed down ever since."
He read the manual carefully.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Every line, every diagram, every breathing cycle—he memorized them all.
Yet no matter how many times he read it, he couldn't find a flaw.
"…Nothing?" he whispered.
His frustration deepened.
"If there's nothing wrong, then why can't I break through?"
He let out a quiet sigh and was about to close the manual, planning to search for other books.
Then—
His fingers brushed across the page.
A faint red smear spread across the diagram.
He froze.
"…Blood?"
Only then did he remember.
Earlier, when he lost control during cultivation, his bed had been scorched. Later, while washing the dishes in the kitchen, he had carelessly scraped his finger against a cracked bowl. The wound was small, barely noticeable—but the blood had remained on his hand.
And now—
The moment the blood touched the diagram—
The lines moved.
His pupils shrank violently.
The ink twisted as if alive. The breathing diagram distorted, reorganizing itself into a completely different structure. Complex symbols emerged where none had existed before.
A soft white light burst from the page.
Before he could react—
The light shot straight into his forehead.
His body stiffened.
The room fell silent.
Inside his consciousness, a new cultivation method unfolded.
He stood there, eyes wide, as streams of unfamiliar yet profound information poured into his mind.
After reading it once, his breathing became sharp.
"This…" he whispered, his voice trembling.
"…is the complete method."
Cold sweat formed on his back.
The Nine Circulation Breathing Method was incomplete.
As he continued reading, his expression turned grave.
"So that's how it works…"
At the tenth level of Body Refinement, all accumulated energy would condense into a single foundation. His cultivation would collapse back to the first level.
And this process—
Had to be repeated ten times.
He sucked in a deep breath, his heart pounding.
"This method… is terrifying."
Ordinary Body Refinement merely strengthened flesh and cells by circulating energy.
But this method—
Each repetition multiplied the energy density tenfold.
His body would be ten—no, twenty times stronger than others at the same realm.
Even his control over energy would reach an absurd level.
His eyes burned with determination.
"I'll follow this method," he said firmly.
This was no ordinary inheritance.
This was a foundation meant to crush all others.
---
Suddenly, a memory surfaced.
He walked to the back shelf of the study room and carefully lifted a small, gray stone. Its surface was rough, cold to the touch, yet there was something… strange about it.
The moment he held it in his hand, his eyes narrowed.
"This stone… it feels like the ice itself," he whispered.
A shiver ran down his spine.
Realization struck him like lightning.
"This isn't ordinary."
He bit his finger and let a few drops of blood fall onto the stone. The crimson droplets were absorbed instantly, vanishing into the gray surface as if swallowed by some hidden void.
Just as he had suspected.
"It's a pity," he murmured softly.
"Grandfather never discovered this. Even Father couldn't see through it."
Only two items remained from that ancient tomb—the Nine Circulation Breathing Method and this mysterious stone.
Moments later, a white light erupted from the stone, swirling like a miniature sun before piercing directly into his mind.
He froze—but he didn't panic this time.
Inside his consciousness, a map unfurled, glowing faintly in spectral lines. It was a tomb map, intricate and detailed, revealing secret chambers, hidden traps, and an unknown route.
He studied it carefully. His brow furrowed.
"So that's why… Grandfather never left the kingdom," he murmured.
"He must have sensed the danger—or simply never found the path."
But a creeping unease gnawed at him.
The map did not vanish from his mind.
It lingered, almost alive, a presence that seemed to reach toward his consciousness.
His chest tightened.
"What if it takes over my body?" he whispered, the hair on his arms standing on end.
He forced his mind to remain calm, suppressing the tremors in his spiritual energy. Masking his fear with excitement, he muttered:
"This must be a treasure… a great treasure."
Only when he had tested his control, ensuring nothing was wrong, did he relax slightly.
The stone in his hand felt cold and empty now—ordinary, almost mundane.
"It lost its power," he said softly, placing it carefully back on the shelf.
---
Sitting cross-legged on his bed, he opened his mind to the complete method once again.
The moment he began circulating energy—
Boom!
A surge of power shot through his body like a river of fire and light.
He had broken through the tenth level of Body Refinement.
But then, as the method dictated, the energy foundation collapsed.
His cultivation plummeted.
Ninth level.
Eighth level.
Seventh level…
All the way down.
Second level.
First level.
He exhaled slowly, feeling every drop of power settle and stabilize.
"I thought my strength would vanish completely," he murmured.
"But even now… I still retain more than ten percent of my peak power."
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
"I can still easily defeat someone at the fourth level."
With careful hands, he cleaned his room, replaced the burned bedsheets with fresh ones, and finally lay down.
He closed his eyes.
Tomorrow…
Everything would be different.
---