After the last round of sparring, Lin Xun lingered at the edge of the training terrace, letting the light fade a little further before packing up. Echo Step still hadn't clicked. His stance was unstable, his balance inconsistent, and his Qi timing wouldn't land where it needed. It wasn't failure that bothered him—just the feeling that he was close to something and hadn't quite reached it.
Eventually, he slipped away and began the walk home.
The path led him out through the school's western gate and down into the deeper gridlines of Qinghe District, a mid-tier city built atop a reclassified spirit vein. In older times, a vein like this would have been jealously guarded by a martial sect or ancient clan, used to raise core disciples in mountain compounds. But that era was long past. After the Fragment Wars, Qinghe's vein was annexed, folded into the national cultivation infrastructure, and rerouted through spiritual regulators and formation towers.
Qinghe wasn't prestigious. But it was stable, and that meant something.
Its planners had done well. Through decades of engineering, the city's Qi grid transformed natural energy into a clean, steady flow. Formation towers managed pressure levels. Tethered conduits fed spiritual density into districts based on population, merit, and registered cultivation demand. Most people didn't think about it—they just breathed easier, healed a little faster, and saw better results when they trained in designated zones.
He passed under walkways strung between apartment towers, jade rail-lights pulsing faintly. The pavement beneath him shimmered with low-grade spirit threads, feeding Qi from the central grid to the residential sectors. Some stores had glowing indicators beside their doors, confirming a stable flow. Elevated lanes remained pressurized and clean. A faint herbal tinge in the air meant someone nearby had activated a household purifier.
This was what modern cultivation looked like. Not mountaintop temples or wild forests, but systemized access. Structured growth.
Everyone in the Radiant Immortal World cultivated now—students, office workers, engineers, even cleaners. From the moment children could cycle breath, they were taught to refine their Qi. The state provided manuals for the early stages of cultivation and circulated daily stabilization protocols. Low-grade refinement pills and foundational techniques were available at district dispensaries for anyone who could pay or qualify through merit.
Technically, anyone could become strong. But progress came in degrees.
His family's neighborhood was just south of the training quarter, behind a quiet mid-rise block reserved for mid-stage cultivator families. The building was clean and well-warded. A spirit-lock shimmered as he pressed his palm to the panel, letting him in.
Inside, the house carried the scent of warming herbs and rice. His mother was at the stove, plating dinner—jade-root slices and seasoned spirit beans over steamed grain. She turned when she heard the door.
"Back later than usual."
"Stayed out to train."
"Set the table then. Your sister's finishing her exercises."
He washed up and helped bring dishes out. Their home was modest but well-kept, with three bedrooms, a shared cultivation room lined with patterned arrays, and a central wall-screen that cycled through local updates and academy news. Their bookshelf held old manuals, class materials, and several sealed scrolls passed down from his father's time in the field.
A few minutes later, they gathered at the table.
His father had just finished his own training cycle and still wore his outer bureau shirt. A quiet man with a steady gaze, he worked as a cultivation technician along the district's perimeter—handling patrol shifts, minor formation adjustments, and early-stage breach reports. The job wasn't glamorous, but it kept their family in the cultivator tier and carried a steady bonus track.
Dinner settled into routine. The wall-screen played a soft-loop segment showing academy showcases and sector-wide notices.
His father glanced up from his bowl.
"You're moving differently."
Lin Xun looked over.
"Breath holds longer. Center's stronger."
He nodded. "I broke through this morning. Fifth stage."
His mother stopped mid-bite. "Already?"
His sister looked at him, mouth still full. "You didn't say anything."
"I was waiting until we were all here."
His father gave a small nod, "Don't skip maintenance cycles. Rushing builds up gaps."
"I'll stay on pace," Lin Xun said.
The screen shifted to footage from the Azure Radiant Sect's academy. Students soared through air-anchored formations, light tracing their sword arcs in complex weaves. A commentator mentioned early scouts already dispatched to regional centers.
"Your school started prep yet?" his mother asked.
"Yeah. Teacher Rong said the district finalized the schedule. All exams will be held on the same weekend."
His sister straightened in her seat. "Qinghe's one of the host sites, right?"
Lin Xun nodded. "We're a regional center."
"You think any of the top five will send scouts?"
"They usually focus on the capitals, but if someone stands out, it's possible."
His mother glanced at the screen, then at him. "Your father tested here too, you know. Back when everything was chalk circles and projection crystals."
"I remember."
"He made it into Xuanling Tech Institute," she added for his sister's benefit. "Not top-tier, but still respected."
His father made no comment, just kept eating.
"You still thinking about going to Minghe?" she asked Lin Xun.
"It's solid. Their movement instruction's strong."
His sister leaned in. "But what if you get noticed?"
"I'll take the shot if it comes," he said. "But I'm not betting on it."
They finished dinner with the sound of bowls clinking and the soft hum of the wall-screen in the background. The next segment showed a test site in another province, cultivators lining up in uniform rows. One of them wore a golden recommendation token at their hip—Northwell Pavilion's insignia etched across its surface.