Morning came gently.
The sky above Frostleaf Hamlet was tinged with warm pastels — a blend of sleepy orange and rose-gold, as if the heavens themselves were stretching out after a long nap.
Thin mist clung low to the hills like a shy blanket, and the dew on the grass sparkled just enough to make me consider not moving for the rest of the day.
But I was already awake.
Sort of.
I groaned and sat up under the spirit tree, rubbing my face like I could wipe the memory of yesterday's incident off my skin.
There were no witnesses, thankfully.
No villagers asking why I'd moaned like a dying swan in heat.
No accusations.
No whispers.
The Jade-Essence Pill I'd sniffed was fully absorbed by the Breathing Technique, and the soul power boost to Rank 2 was now stable within me.
More importantly, I had not moaned in my sleep.
Probably.
So, victory.
Tentative victory.
I yawned, stretched, and checked the inner pouch tied to my robe.
[Jade-Essence Pills: 2 remaining]
They pulsed softly, still faintly warm, but I didn't dare test my limits again so soon.
A slow pace, I reminded myself.
One step at a time.
Not one sniff at a time.
My stomach growled like a petty god denied worship.
"Right. Food."
There was none in the pouch.
The villagers rarely offered anything to orphans unless you begged or fought the chickens harder than the butcher's daughter.
I stood up, brushed off the leaves, and made my way down the hill.
The path was muddy, soft underfoot, and lined with crooked fences that probably hadn't been repaired since before I was born.
Frostleaf Hamlet was awake.
Roosters crowed.
Smoke rose from crooked chimneys.
A cart full of carrots clattered past, pulled by a donkey that looked more depressed than I felt.
A perfect day to blend in and be invisible.
As I walked past the square, someone shouted, "Oi, helmet boy!"
I froze.
My heart did a flip.
Then I saw it was just Wei Tu, the village troublemaker.
Nine years old.
Too tall for his age.
Eyes always full of mischief and hay dust.
He grinned, chewing on a wheat stalk. "Still wearing that… thing?"
I touched the object on my head out of reflex.
It wasn't a helmet.
Not really.
It was a pair of indestructible, silk-soft, cosmic-grade panties.
My first gacha pull.
Somehow, in a haze of panic and pragmatism, I had decided to wear them on my head like a bandana.
Or a forehead protector.
Or—gods help me—a helmet.
And occasionally, when spirit energy flared or I felt anxious, I wore it again.
Yesterday had been... one of those days.
Currently, the panties were stuffed safely in my sleeve. Folded. Untouched.
I cleared my throat. "No idea what you're talking about."
Wei Tu snorted. "Right. You're not weird. Just smells-like-herbs-and-screams-on-hills normal."
"Very normal," I said flatly, walking faster.
After scrounging up a half-burnt bun from behind the baker's shed (don't judge me), I headed east.
Past the well.
Past the crooked fields.
Past the last scarecrow with its head tilted like it'd seen too much.
Toward the forest.
Technically, I wasn't going in.
Just near it.
The Spirit Beast Forest, or at least the outermost edge of it, wasn't forbidden.
Farmers and gatherers often went there to collect herbs, moss, or very confused chickens.
The inner regions were dangerous — full of low-to-mid ranked spirit beasts, the kind that could maul a child in seconds.
But the edge?
If I kept to the bushes, moved slowly, and didn't act like prey, I'd be fine.
Probably.
The closer I got, the thicker the spirit energy became.
It was subtle at first — like the air was slightly sweeter.
Heavier.
Breathing didn't just fill my lungs now; it filled my soul core.
My skin prickled.
My breathing slowed.
Breathing Technique engaged.
Soul power absorbing: steady.
I took shallow breaths.
Soft.
Gentle.
A single deep inhale, and I might start moaning again like I'd been kissed by a lightning fairy.
The forest loomed ahead.
Tall pines.
Thicker than anything in the village.
The ground was damp with fallen needles and mist. Somewhere in the distance, a bird trilled a warning cry.
I didn't step in.
Instead, I sat on a moss-covered rock just outside the treeline, tucked behind a fallen log, mostly hidden from view.
And I breathed.
Minutes passed.
Then ten.
Then twenty.
I didn't absorb much.
But it was constant.
Like sipping from a faucet instead of chugging a waterfall.
This was cultivation.
No pills.
No gasping.
No sounds.
Just me, the air, and the slow rhythm of soul energy spiraling into my dantian.
I smiled faintly.
"I can do this," I whispered.
Something rustled.
I froze.
A small rabbit — with fur so white it practically glowed — emerged from a bush.
My smile froze too.
Its eyes locked onto mine.
I didn't move.
It sniffed once.
Then bolted.
I breathed out.
"...That's fair."
An hour later, I had gained nothing drastic — no new soul rank, no skills — but something had changed.
I felt settled.
Like my body and the Breathing Technique had finally agreed on a rhythm.
The weird tension in my chest had faded.
I no longer felt like a balloon about to burst into awkward noises.
This was progress.
I stood up, stretched, and glanced once more into the woods.
Deeper in, the trees were darker.
The fog thicker.
A line was there — not physical, but spiritual — a boundary I wasn't yet allowed to cross.
One day, though.
When I reached Rank 10 and needed a spirit ring, I'd return.