In the blink of an eye, half a month had passed. During this time, Shen Hao hadn’t started practicing the martial art right away—mainly because the hospital was far too busy and noisy. His parents and the assigned psychotherapist could walk into his room at any moment. If they saw him suddenly sitting cross-legged on the bed, meditating, they’d probably think he’d gone mad.

And that would be the better outcome. What if he was interrupted mid-practice and suffered the legendary “qi deviation”—the dreaded “running wild with inner energy”?

So, he held back. Instead, he repeatedly read through the manual, meticulously studying the diagrams of meridians and acupoints. This effort wasn’t wasted; thorough preparation would make actual practice much smoother later on.

During this period, he also underwent multiple medical examinations to assess his internal organs. The results were far better than expected.

His attending physician advised against rushing into cosmetic or breast augmentation surgeries. Instead, they recommended starting with estrogen-based hormonal therapy to see if his body could naturally undergo secondary development.

This process would likely take about six months to show results. If his body responded well and developed naturally—even modestly—it would eliminate the need for artificial augmentation. Natural development, after all, was always preferable to surgical implants. Only then would they reassess whether minor cosmetic procedures might still be necessary.

Outwardly, Shen Hao agreed to the plan—but inwardly, he had other ideas. He hadn’t shared this with his parents, choosing instead to keep it to himself for now, waiting for the right moment to reveal his true intentions.

...

The sound of flowing water filled the bathroom.

Shen Hao tilted his head back, eyes shut, letting the shower spray cascade over his face. The water streamed down his hair and cheeks, tracing paths along his skin.

It was early April in southern China—spring still clinging to winter’s chill, with temperatures swinging unpredictably between warmth and cold, sunshine and rain. The weather was as fickle as a woman’s heart, impossible to predict.

One moment, the sun blazed for three or four days straight, making it feel like summer had arrived early; the next, relentless rain poured for days on end, plunging temperatures back into winter’s grasp.

These past few days had been like that—persistent drizzle, and a lingering chill in the air.

After stripping off his clothes, his body gradually adjusted to the hot water. Steam filled the bathroom, wrapping everything in a milky haze.

After a while, he turned off the shower, swept the remaining droplets from his face with his hand, grabbed a dry towel hanging on the wall, and first patted his face dry, then his hair. Only then did he finally feel comfortable.

Hanging the towel back, he stepped in front of the mirror and wiped away the fog. In the slightly warped reflection, he examined his body.

He stood at 176 cm tall. His once-cropped military-style haircut had grown out during his hospital stay, now reaching about a finger’s length—messy but soft.

His face was small and unremarkable, not particularly handsome, but clean and youthful-looking. Despite being a year out of college, people sometimes mistook him for a middle schooler—a fact that secretly annoyed him.

His neck was slender; perhaps due to his intersex condition, his Adam’s apple was barely noticeable, and he had no facial hair at all—which only added to that boyish, underdeveloped appearance.

Below that, his chest was flat, but his arms were toned—a result of his regular exercise habits. He’d always enjoyed running and the occasional cycling trip. Though he hadn’t developed defined abs, he’d certainly avoided becoming overweight.

At first glance, aside from the haircut, he looked exactly as he had before the surgery.

But that was understandable—it had only been three days since he’d left the hospital.

He’d stayed at his parents’ home for just two days before making up an excuse to return to his rented apartment in Huihai District.

Now that his surgical wounds had healed, staying cooped up at home wasn’t practical. More importantly, he needed a quiet, undisturbed place to begin practicing the so-called True Scripture of the葵花 (Sunflower)—and his Huihai rental was perfect for that.

So here he was, back in his familiar space, ready to give cultivation a serious try. Once he settled into a routine, he’d start looking for a new job.

Truthfully, his appearance hadn’t changed much. His ID card and diploma were still valid. To the outside world, he still looked like an ordinary young man. Unless he volunteered the truth—or stripped completely naked—no one would ever suspect his secret.

In hindsight, quitting his job had been a rash decision. Back then, he hadn’t fully figured out what he wanted. Now that he had clarity, the job was already gone.

As mentioned earlier, he had his own plan: he didn’t want to become a woman—not in the literal, physical sense. He’d accepted the surgical removal of his male anatomy and the creation of female genitalia, yes—but he had no intention of altering his outward appearance further. He wouldn’t take estrogen to induce breast development or undergo cosmetic procedures to feminize his features.

The medication the doctor prescribed—aside from a few essential drugs—he’d already thrown away. His core medical issue was resolved; the rest was optional, and he chose to opt out.

He intended to live the rest of his life looking exactly as he did now: unmistakably male in appearance. He had no plans to marry or date. Maintaining this status quo was enough for him.

He hadn’t told his parents this yet—he feared their anger and disapproval. He’d wait, observe their reactions over time, and find the right moment to gently test the waters.

Standing silently before the mirror, watching droplets roll slowly down his skin, his gaze drifted downward—finally settling on the concave hollow between his legs.

That was the greatest change his body had undergone.

His “younger brother” had been cruelly eliminated; his “younger sister” was now forced into service.

But apart from switching from standing to squatting while using the restroom, he hadn’t noticed much difference.

His mind was now calm—so calm that even if a stunning beauty performed a striptease before him, he’d remain utterly indifferent.

“Hmph! So what if she’s gorgeous? I’m a scholar!”

He recalled an old film—The Last Eunuch in China.

But now, it seemed he was the true last eunuch.

After all, wasn’t a eunuch someone who’d been castrated? He’d undergone something similar—just with a slight anatomical adjustment. The difference was negligible.

He gave a bitter, self-mocking smile at his reflection, then dried his body thoroughly, slipped into thermal underwear, and returned to his bedroom.

Outwardly composed, inwardly, he was brimming with quiet excitement—he just didn’t show it.

Ever since receiving the Sunflower True Scripture, he’d endured half a month of restraint. Now, finally alone in a peaceful sanctuary, he was ready to test whether “inner energy” truly existed in the modern world.

Standing beside his bed, he lightly slapped his cheeks to steady his nerves. Then, barefoot, he climbed onto the bed, sat cross-legged in the center, placed the book before him, took several deep breaths, and opened it.

He admired the peony illustration on the frontispiece once more, then carefully reread the introductory preface—so familiar by now it was nearly memorized. Finally, he turned to the first chapter: “The Chapter of Drawing Yin Qi.”

He studied the illustrated figure and the accompanying incantation with meticulous attention.

Though he’d already reviewed this section countless times in the hospital—so thoroughly he could recite it by heart—he read it again now out of caution, terrified of making even the smallest mistake.

Everything checked out: the text was correct, and he was ready.

Taking two more deep breaths, he closed his eyes.

Clearing his mind of distractions, he focused his spirit, regulated his breathing, and visualized a point one cun and three fen below his navel—his dantian.

At first, it was deliberate visualization. But gradually, he lost awareness of his breath, his heartbeat, even the room around him. The world fell utterly silent. Without realizing it, active visualization shifted into passive focus—his entire consciousness converging on the dantian.

And then… a faint sensation emerged.

At first, it was barely perceptible—a wisp of something formless yet tangible, weak yet potent, slowly coalescing into a compact ball of energy.

The qi-ball swelled like an inflating balloon, as if fed by an invisible pump.

When it reached a critical point, it suddenly ruptured—not scattering, but bursting outward from the dantian, flooding toward his limbs and meridians.

Panicking that the energy would dissipate uselessly, Shen Hao swiftly summoned his willpower, gathering the qi and guiding it according to the “Qi-Drawing Formula” from the first chapter:

“Circulate through the Nine-One Pathway. Hold the primal qi in the mouth. Pass through Renying, Shuitu, and Qishe; traverse Quepen and Qihu; flow through Rong and Chengman; then return along the meridian—borrow yang to nourish yin, until yin overflows and fills completely…”

As the energy coursed through his channels, the initial bloated sensation transformed into a cool, refreshing chill—as if he’d swallowed mint, radiating from within his core outward.

According to the scripture, this meant he’d successfully completed the initial stage of qi induction.

Next, he needed to use his mind to guide this energy through all the body’s meridians, nourishing them and gradually unblocking key acupoints.

Shen Hao didn’t know how long this first breakthrough typically took others. But for him, it had happened astonishingly fast.

Was he a once-in-a-century martial arts prodigy? Or was this stage simply easy—and the real challenge lay in opening the acupoints later?

The thought flickered through his mind, but he quickly dismissed it, refocusing on guiding the delicate thread of inner energy.

All great martial arts—whether orthodox or unorthodox—demanded patience and relentless repetition. Only through daily, disciplined practice could one accumulate true power.

It was tedious work—but for Shen Hao, who’d just tasted his first success in qi cultivation, it felt exhilarating.

He could feel the energy—its presence, its movement through his meridians. Following the circulation diagram in the Sunflower True Scripture, he guided the qi from the dantian and back again.

Over and over. Round after round. Circulating, refining, returning.

A new path had opened—and with it, a new fate began to unfold.