The morning mist clung to the village like a lover's breath—cool, damp, and slow to leave. Lin Yuan's back ached as he straightened from watering the last row of withered millet. The air carried the faint, sour scent of poor soil and yesterday's rain. Thin earth, stubborn stones; this land gave nothing easily. At twenty-two, he had already learned to measure life in calluses rather than dreams.
He wiped sweat from his brow with the hem of his rough tunic, then crouched to rest. His fingers brushed something smooth and cold beneath the surface.
Not stone. Too perfect.
He dug carefully, nails scraping dirt, until a small gray bead rolled into his palm. It was the size of a marble, dull as river clay, yet its surface felt strangely warm against his skin—like a living thing that had been waiting in the dark.
The instant his calluses met its cool smoothness, the world tilted. Darkness swallowed him.
When light returned, he stood on a single acre of black, fertile soil beneath a pale, sourceless sky. The air here was thick, sweet with spiritual energy that slid over his tongue like warm honey. Every breath filled his chest with something electric, something alive. The ground pulsed faintly beneath his bare feet, a slow heartbeat that matched his own racing pulse.
"This… is inside the bead?"
A wordless awareness bloomed in his mind: a private realm, bound only to him. Time crawled here. The soil hungered for seed.
Lin Yuan dropped to his knees, scooping rich earth that crumbled like dark cake between his fingers. The scent rose—deep, loamy, intoxicating. His skin prickled as spiritual energy seeped into him, warm and insistent, pooling low in his belly like the first stirrings of desire.
"If I plant here…"
He did not need to finish the thought. The possibility alone sent heat racing through his veins.
Three days later, tender green shoots pushed through the soil—impossibly fast, impossibly vibrant. Lin Yuan brushed a fingertip over the newest leaf, feeling its velvet softness, the faint thrum of life beneath. A strange warmth spread through his chest, sinking lower, tightening something deep inside him. For the first time, effort had answered with immediate, generous reward.
He spent days tending the outer fields under the harsh sun, nights inside the bead's gentle glow. Each visit left his body lighter, muscles subtly stronger, senses sharper. Spiritual energy soaked into him like warm oil over bare skin, leaving him restless, skin too sensitive, breath coming shorter.
On the seventh day he bundled the ripened herbs—stems thick, leaves glossy and fragrant—and carried them to town.
The market assaulted him: the sharp tang of sweat and spices, the clamor of haggling voices, the press of bodies. Lin Yuan slipped through the crowd until he reached a quiet stall at the edge.
Behind it sat a woman in plain, deep-blue robes that clung softly to mature curves. Her hair was bound in a simple knot, a few silver strands catching the light. She was not young—time had shaped her rather than diminished her. Full lips, calm eyes, the quiet authority of someone who had long ago stopped needing to prove anything.
When she lifted her gaze to him, the noise of the market seemed to fade. Her eyes were dark, steady, and warm, like embers banked under ash. They traveled over him slowly—taking in the dust on his clothes, the strength in his shoulders, the faint flush on his cheeks from the bead's lingering energy.
"Those herbs," she said, voice low and smooth, curling around him like smoke. "Where did you grow them?"
The question brushed his skin like fingertips. Lin Yuan's pulse thudded in his throat.
"I grew them myself."
She studied him longer this time. Not the herbs—him. Her gaze lingered on his hands, rough and earth-stained, then drifted to his mouth, his neck, the line of his jaw. There was no haste in it, only patient appraisal, as though she already knew the taste of what she was considering.
Heat gathered under Lin Yuan's skin. He shifted, suddenly aware of the bead's warmth resting against his chest, the way her robe shifted when she breathed, revealing the soft hollow at her throat.
Finally, her lips curved—not a flirtatious smile, but something deeper, knowing.
"I'll buy them," she said. Her fingers brushed his as she took the bundle, a deliberate, lingering touch that sent sparks up his arm. Her skin was warm, smoother than he expected. "And if you bring more… come directly to me."
She paid him generously, coins clinking softly into his palm. Yet the true weight was in her eyes when they met his again—quiet promise, quiet hunger.
Lin Yuan walked away through the crowd, heart beating hard against the bead. Spiritual energy still thrummed in his blood, heightened now by something more earthly.
The path of cultivation was dangerous. It demanded strength, allies, wisdom.
And something told him, with absolute certainty, that the women who would shape his fate would not be wide-eyed girls chasing dreams.
They would be women who had already lived them—women whose desires ran as deep as their experience, whose touch would demand as much as it gave.
With the bead warm and pulsing against his chest like a second heartbeat, Lin Yuan stepped back into the dust of the road, the scent of her—faint jasmine and something darker—still clinging to his senses.
This was only the beginning.
Lin Yuan did not return to the village right away.
He took the long road home, the dusty path winding through fields heavy with the scent of sun-baked earth and distant wildflowers. The silver coins in his pouch clinked softly with each step—a solid, satisfying weight—but what burned hotter in his memory was Madam Shen's gaze. Calm. Measured. Unhurried. It had lingered on him like warm fingers tracing the line of his jaw, seeing past the dirt on his sleeves to the man beneath.
"She said to bring more…" he murmured, the words tasting faintly of the market's spice-laden air still clinging to his tongue.
No one else had looked at him that way. The other merchants had dismissed him with quick, indifferent glances. But her eyes—dark, steady, framed by faint lines that only deepened their intensity—had held something patient and hungry at once.
That night, he slipped into the spatial bead.
The realm welcomed him with its familiar hush, the air thick and sweet, laced with the rich perfume of fertile soil and growing things. The pale sky glowed softly overhead, casting a gentle light that made every leaf shimmer. Lin Yuan moved between the rows, his bare feet sinking into the warm, loamy earth. Each harvested stem released a sharp, green fragrance that filled his lungs, sending curls of spiritual energy spiraling through his veins—slow, insistent heat that pooled low in his belly and left his skin tingling.
He worked carefully, deliberately. Greed would spoil this place, and he was learning patience.
As he breathed in the bead's dense energy, warmth gathered in his dantian—gentle, coaxing, like a lover's palm pressed flat against his lower abdomen. His breaths deepened, chest rising and falling in a rhythm that felt almost sensual, every exhale easing tension he hadn't known he carried.
"So this is cultivation…" he whispered, voice rough in the quiet.
No masters. No manuals. Just him, the land, and this slow, intimate awakening.
Two days later, he returned to town.
The market assaulted his senses again: the sharp tang of sweating bodies, roasting meat, and crushed herbs; the clamor of voices rising and falling like waves. Lin Yuan wove through the crowd, pulse quickening as he approached the quiet stall at the edge.
She was there—Madam Shen—seated with the same poised grace, her deep-blue robes draping softly over the generous curves of her body. A few more silver strands glinted in her dark hair, catching the sunlight like secret invitations. When she looked up, those calm eyes locked on him immediately, and the noise around them seemed to fade into a distant hum.
"You came," she said, her voice low and smooth, wrapping around him like silk dragged slowly across bare skin.
"Yes," Lin Yuan answered, setting the fresh bundle of herbs on the table. Their fragrance rose between them—clean, vibrant, alive. "As promised."
This time, she did not reach for the herbs right away. Instead, she lifted a simple clay pot and poured tea into two small cups. The faint scent of jasmine and something earthier drifted up with the steam. She slid one cup toward him, her fingers brushing the edge of the table near his hand—close enough that he felt the warmth radiating from her skin.
"Sit."
It was not a command, yet his body obeyed before his mind caught up. He settled across from her, the wooden stool creaking softly, suddenly aware of how near she was: the subtle rise and fall of her chest beneath her robes, the soft hollow at the base of her throat where a single bead of perspiration rested in the heat.
"My surname is Shen," she said, lifting her cup. Her lips touched the rim delicately, leaving the faintest trace of moisture. "You may call me Madam Shen."
"Lin Yuan," he replied, voice quieter than he intended.
She repeated it, slow and deliberate, as though savoring the shape of the syllables on her tongue.
"Lin Yuan." A pause, her gaze drifting over his face—his eyes, his mouth, the faint stubble along his jaw. "A good name. Easy to remember."
Only then did her attention shift to the herbs. She lifted a sprig, brushing it beneath her nose, inhaling deeply. Her lashes lowered, and the faintest smile curved her lips—approval, and something warmer.
"These are even better," she murmured. "Richer. More… potent."
"You can tell?"
"I've lived long enough to recognize many things." Her eyes returned to his, steady and knowing. "Including potential when it stands right in front of me."
Heat flared low in his stomach, mirroring the slow burn of spiritual energy that never quite left him now. He shifted on the stool, aware of every inch of space—or lack of it—between them.
They spoke little after that, yet the silence thrummed with unspoken currents. The tea cooled untouched in his cup; he was too aware of her nearness, the faint jasmine scent of her skin mingling with the herbs, the way her fingers occasionally brushed the edge of the table as if tracing idle patterns only she could see.
When she paid him, her hand lingered a fraction longer than necessary as she pressed the coins and a small jade slip into his palm. Her skin was warm, softer than he expected, and the brief contact sent a shiver racing up his arm.
"A simple breathing method," she said casually, though her eyes never left his. "Nothing profound. But it will guide the energy you're gathering… help it settle deeper."
He swallowed. "Why give this to me?"
She leaned forward slightly—just enough that he caught the warmth of her breath, the subtle curve of her neckline shifting with the movement.
"Because I choose my investments carefully," she answered, voice a low murmur that seemed to stroke along his nerves. "And because you, Lin Yuan, strike me as a man who knows how to wait… and how rewarding waiting can be."
He accepted the jade slip with both hands, fingers brushing hers again. This time neither pulled away immediately.
As he rose to leave, her voice followed him, soft but unmistakable.
"Lin Yuan."
He turned.
"When you grow stronger," she said, eyes dark and unwavering, "this world will try to rush you. Remember—true power is patient. And some things…" Her gaze flicked briefly to his mouth, then back up. "Some things are worth the slow unfold."
He nodded, throat tight.
That night, deep inside the bead's embrace, Lin Yuan practiced the breathing method until the pale sky brightened with false dawn. Warmth coiled tighter and deeper within him, spiraling through his limbs like liquid heat, leaving him breathless and aching with new awareness.
And for the first time, he understood:
The path ahead would not be walked alone.
Somewhere between shared tea and lingering touches, between patience and unspoken promise, something vital had already taken root—and it was growing faster than any herb in his secret realm.