Jin’s arm still ached from crashing into that rock yesterday, dodging the beast. He kept walking anyway. The valley stretched ahead, green and misty, with sharp peaks cutting through the haze. Ryn led the way, her bronze charm jingling soft on her belt. The air hummed loud now, heavy on his skin. The jade around his neck buzzed with it, warm and steady.


    That fight stuck with him. The jade’s jolt—qi—kept him alive. Five roots, weak and tangled, but they moved. He’d watched Gu’s students for years, sitting cross-legged, breathing slow to pull qi. He’d tried it once, hiding behind the shack—nothing happened, just a stiff neck. Now, with the jade, it felt real.


    Ryn glanced back. “You’re limping, Five-Root. Slowing me down already?”


    “Nah,” Jin said, stepping faster. “Just sore. I’m fine.”


    She smirked. “Sure. Don’t fall too far behind.” She turned ahead, scanning the mist. “This place is packed with qi. Thick, wild stuff. We’re in deep.”


    Jin nodded, quiet. The hum shook his bones, and the jade pulsed hard. Hyeon Seo’s voice slid in, calm. “Stop here. Sit. Time to breathe right.”


    “What?” Jin muttered, eyeing Ryn. She didn’t hear, too busy moving forward.


    “Sit,” Hyeon Seo said. “You’ve seen breathing—messy, useless. I’ll fix it. The jade and this valley can wake your roots.”


    Jin slowed, dropping his sack. “Hey, Ryn—I need a break.”


    She stopped, frowning. “Now? We just started. You’re weak.”


    “My arm’s killing me,” he said, rubbing it. “Five minutes. Catch up soon.”


    Ryn sighed. “Fine. Don’t sit too long—valley’s not safe.” She walked off, charm glowing faint, fading into the mist.


    Jin sat on a flat rock, legs crossed like he’d seen back home. The jade sat warm on his chest. “Okay,” he thought. “How’s this work?”


    “Breathe,” Hyeon Seo said. “Your five roots—wood, fire, earth, metal, water—block each other. Most here have three, four, five—common junk, slow as mud. Two roots are rare—sharp, fast. One’s a myth. Your five clog qi—takes years to untangle alone. The jade’s my seal—cracked, leaking Ninth Heaven qi. Follow my breath, and it’ll break through.”


    Jin nodded to himself. He’d tried Gu’s way—suck air in, hold it, push it down. Nothing ever came. “Tell me,” he thought.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    “Three steps,” Hyeon Seo said. “First, breathe in slow—five counts, nose only. Feel the valley’s qi—raw, heavy. Second, hold it—five counts—let the jade drag it to your chest. Third, push it down—five counts—past your gut, into your roots. The jade’s qi cuts—sharp, like a blade. Do it.”


    Jin closed his eyes and started. In—one, two, three, four, five. The air buzzed in his nose, thick with power. The jade flared hot, pulling qi in. Hold—one, two, three, four, five. A tingle hit his chest, shaky but growing. The jade glowed green, and he felt it—Hyeon Seo’s qi, thin and fierce, stabbing into his roots.


    Push—one, two, three, four, five. Pain hit—gut first, like a punch, then arms and legs, burning. His roots woke—wood’s green spark, fire’s red, earth’s yellow, metal’s silver, water’s blue—all faint, all twisted. They fought, jamming up. The jade’s qi sliced through, hauling the valley’s wild qi along.


    “Again,” Hyeon Seo said. “Ten times. Build the ring.”


    Jin kept going, teeth clenched. Breathe in, hold, push—over and over. Each round hurt—sweat stung his eyes—but the roots took it. The jade forced them apart, linking the strands into a shaky ring in his chest. Gu called it the Mist Stage—qi spinning, not stuck. Most took months—Kang Tae with his four roots still hadn’t hit it last Jin saw.


    After ten cycles, the pain eased. Jin opened his eyes, panting. His body felt lighter, tougher—like he could carry wood without gasping. The ring spun slow inside, weak but there.


    “Mist Stage, Level 1,” Hyeon Seo said. “Your five roots drag—too messy to move quick. The jade’s Ninth Heaven qi cuts the tangle, pulls valley qi in. Without it, you’d crawl a year. With me, you’ve got a jump.”


    Jin wiped his face. “Level 1? Just breathing?”


    “You watched scraps,” she said. “I gave you my breath—three steps, my qi leading. Others stumble with weak tricks. Ninth Heaven beats this mud.”


    Jin grinned small. Kang Tae fumbled months with four roots—Gu barking, no edge. Jin’s five were junk, but Hyeon Seo’s way got him there fast. Ryn’s two roots were rare—sharp, a prodigy’s gift—but Jin had something too.


    The mist swirled thicker, and a faint shimmer caught his eye—green light flickering in the haze, like the jade’s glow bouncing back. The valley felt alive, humming deeper. Hyeon Seo’s voice came, low. “That’s qi moving—valley’s waking. Get up. Catch her.”


    Jin stood, grabbing his sack. His legs didn’t ache as bad—Level 1 wasn’t much, but it worked. He jogged after Ryn, following the charm’s faint glow ahead. The jade hummed steady, and he breathed—five in, five hold, five push—testing it. The ring spun a little faster, small but growing.


    He caught up, panting. Ryn stood by a jagged rock, staring into the mist. She turned, eyebrow up. “You’re back? Took you long enough.”


    “Had to rest,” Jin said, shrugging. “Feel better now.”


    She squinted at him. “You look… different. Less dead. What’d you do?”


    Jin scratched his neck. “Just sat. Valley’s air’s good.”


    She snorted. “Weird. Keep up—something’s ahead.” She walked on, charm glowing brighter.


    Jin followed, jade warm. Level 1 was small—Ryn’s Level 3 could crush him—but it was real. Kang Tae crawled; Jin leapt, with Hyeon Seo’s breath and the jade’s kick. Five roots bent for him.


    The valley loomed, mist swirling thick. Jin breathed it in, ready for more.