Dragon Domination: The Ultimate Legacy.

The sun had barely crested the eastern ridgeline when the villagers of Qinghe stirred. Smoke curled lazily from moss-covered chimneys, chickens began their noisy debates, and old men sat by the well, nodding at each passerby as if counting time through greetings alone.

In the back courtyard of the Lin family house, Yun Long stood barefoot in the early dew. The chill bit gently at his toes, but he didn't seem to notice. His eyes were closed, arms hanging loosely at his sides, breathing slow and deep.

Old Chen, his neighbor and the closest thing Qinghe had to a proper cultivator, watched from a worn bench under the peach tree. The old man puffed lazily on his pipe, eyes narrowed.

The boy was still and quiet. Not bad.

At least he listened.

"Again," Old Chen barked.

Yun Long's eyes fluttered open. His body tensed. Then he dropped into the Horse Stance, back straight, knees bent, breathing low. It looked awkward — as if his legs didn't know if they wanted to sit or run — but Old Chen didn't correct him.

He simply squinted and said, "Feel the earth."

"I… I'm trying," Yun Long said, sweat already beading on his brow.

Old Chen clicked his tongue. "Not with your legs, you little log. With your breath. Sink your Qi. From your lungs to your dantian. Slow. Steady. Down."

Yun Long blinked. "What's a dantian?"

Old Chen chuckled, spitting to the side. "You're asking the right questions. That's more than most your age. Your dantian is… well, it's where your Qi gathers. Below your belly, in the core of you. Like a little pond. The bigger the pond, the more it can hold."

Yun Long nodded seriously, repeating the words silently. He tried to feel it — some pond deep inside his stomach. Nothing happened.

Still, he held the stance.

Time passed.

Birds sang, the sun warmed his skin, and his legs began to tremble.

Old Chen finally said, "Good enough. For a brat."

Yun Long collapsed backward onto the grass, arms spread wide, grinning up at the sky.

"Am I cultivating now?" he asked, between breaths.

"Hmph." Old Chen snorted. "You're preparing to cultivate. There's a difference."

He stood, knocking ash from his pipe. "A body is like a house. You don't pour wine in a broken jug, and you don't gather Qi into a weak shell. What you're doing now is building your foundation — tempering the flesh, steadying the breath, clearing the mind." Old Chen said sarcastically.

He looked down at Yun Long with squinting eyes.

"You do that right, and when you start gathering Qi, you won't blow yourself apart."

The boy's smile faltered slightly.

Old Chen patted his head. "Don't worry. You'll be fine. Probably."

Yun Long laughed nervously.

As they returned inside, the warm smell of porridge and pickled greens greeted them. Aunt Lin waved them in, her eyes soft, her face lined with kindness. "Come, the food's getting cold."

Yun Long sat down beside his father, Old Yun, who handed him a bowl. The couple didn't say much, but their glances toward Yun Long were filled with quiet pride.

Outside, morning faded toward noon. The town resumed its slow rhythm.

But far in the northern woods, just beyond the eyes of men, something stirred.

A light breeze passed through trees that hadn't moved in years. A crow shrieked and took flight.

No one noticed. Not yet.

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