For someone who had just developed qi awareness, this was as far as they could realistically go for now. Techniques like the Microcosmic Orbit or the Macrocosmic Orbit were advanced practices—only possible after all the meridian pathways outlined in the manual had been fully opened, and one’s internal power had reached a certain level.

Ordinary people’s meridians weren’t entirely blocked, but they were severely constricted—so narrow that circulating internal energy required forcing it through, stretching the channels open. This meant that on the first attempt to circulate qi, one gained little benefit; instead, precious energy was consumed simply to widen the pathways. Naturally, this process incurred significant loss.

At this stage, Shen Hao’s internal energy was barely more than a wisp—about as thick as a single strand of hair and half a finger in length—continuously generated from his dantian. It couldn’t truly be called “internal energy” yet; “qi awareness” was the more accurate term.

Every time this qi advanced through a meridian, it diminished—thinning out, losing potency. To continue, he had to repeatedly draw fresh qi from the dantian. Without constant reinforcement, the meridians wouldn’t stay open; they’d gradually contract back to their original state.

His current task, therefore, was simple but demanding: keep shuttling newly generated qi from the dantian to repeatedly strike and widen the meridians. Only after every channel marked in the Sunflower True Scripture had been permanently opened and stabilized would the first layer be considered complete.

The second layer—known as the “Acupoint Penetration Chapter”—would then begin: systematically unblocking each acupoint along the established meridian pathways. Once an acupoint was opened, it would serve as a temporary reservoir, allowing internal energy to rest there without dissipating during circulation.

Thus, the goal of the second layer was clear: fully connect and stabilize all designated meridians and acupoints.

But for Shen Hao right now, all that was still far off. His immediate focus was simply stabilizing the initial meridian pathways he’d just opened.

Meridians possessed a kind of elastic resilience—they’d naturally narrow again unless repeatedly expanded through sustained qi circulation. This work was undeniably monotonous, even tedious. Yet for someone who had just awakened to internal energy, it felt like a child playing with a brand-new toy. No matter how repetitive, the sensation of guiding qi through his body filled him with fascination and joy.

He practiced through the night without sleep, only stopping when he noticed his internal energy moving sluggishly and his meridians aching with fatigue. Reluctantly, he concluded his session.

Opening his eyes, he found the room brightly lit.

Outside the window, night still reigned.

Checking his phone, he saw it was already past 11 p.m.

He’d started practicing at 7 p.m.—four hours had flown by unnoticed. Immersed in cultivation, he’d felt as though only minutes had passed.

It was the perfect time to sleep.

For someone newly attuned to qi, cultivation was intensely mentally taxing. Now, exhaustion weighed heavily on him, and sleep called irresistibly.

Just as he prepared to stand, he realized his body felt sticky. Looking down, he saw his thermal underwear was completely soaked with sweat. A faint sour odor confirmed it. He quickly got up—and discovered even the bedsheets bore damp imprints.

He winced inwardly. I really should get a dedicated meditation mat next time. If I keep soaking the mattress, how am I supposed to sleep?

Though utterly drained, he had no choice. He stripped the soiled sheets, tossed them into the bathroom to wash later, and decided on a quick rinse. But once in the shower, he ended up lathering up with body wash—a proper bath, after all.

After drying off and blow-drying his hair, he was so sleepy he could barely keep his eyes open. Back in his room, he collapsed onto the bed, pulled the blanket haphazardly over himself, and instantly fell into deep slumber.

He awoke the next morning feeling astonishingly refreshed—more energized than he’d been in ages. He couldn’t help but marvel.

Though he’d collapsed from exhaustion the night before, he now felt vibrant and clear-headed. It must be the effect of cultivation.

After dressing, he yanked open the curtains—only to find thick fog blanketing the world outside, as dense and hazy as ever. The weather would likely stay like this for days, but he didn’t care.

Glancing at the clock—6:40 a.m.—he realized he’d woken earlier than usual. Perfect. Time for a morning run. And perhaps… he might finally spot that woman, Bai Mudan—the mysterious sender of the Sunflower True Scripture—in the woods where she’d once appeared.

After brushing his teeth, washing his face, and changing clothes, he set off along his usual route, soon arriving at the forest edge of the park.

Silence. No sounds, no fresh footprints. He ventured deeper, searching carefully—but found nothing. Bai Mudan hadn’t come.

Disappointed, he shook his head. Why had she sent him the book if she refused to meet him? Was she in trouble? Hiding something?

Leaving the forest with unanswered questions, he resumed his run.

In the days that followed, Shen Hao’s life settled into a satisfying rhythm.

Though primarily a manual for internal cultivation, the Sunflower True Scripture also included, in its final pages, a martial form: the “Eight Yin Palms.”

During the day, when not practicing qi, he taught himself this palm technique.

Each evening, without fail, he cultivated from 7 p.m. to around 11 p.m., exhausting himself to the point of immediate sleep—only to wake each morning rejuvenated and ready for another day.

At first, this cycle held true.

But gradually, even after four hours of practice, he no longer felt utterly drained—just mildly drowsy, still able to stay alert.

Meanwhile, his “Eight Yin Palms” improved steadily. Every morning run now included a detour: he’d stop at the forest clearing, practice the form thoroughly, then continue. Since Bai Mudan never returned, and the secluded open space was quiet, spacious, and hidden from view, he’d unofficially claimed it as his personal training ground.

Perhaps one day, she’d appear—and find him there, practicing.

Beyond cultivation and martial forms, he also devoted time to studying traditional Chinese medicine, deepening his knowledge of meridians and acupoints—essential for any serious martial artist.

Days turned into weeks. A full month passed.

The “Eight Yin Palms” were now second nature. His qi awareness had matured into genuine internal energy.

And on this particular night, he finally broke through to the second layer—successfully unblocking every acupoint along the designated meridian pathways.

In that instant, he felt as though his entire meridian network had fused into a seamless circuit. Each acupoint now held a trace of internal energy. Every time qi flowed through, a new thread joined it. Even when depleted, each acupoint slowly regenerated its own energy—like an inexhaustible spring.

From now on, cultivation would no longer drain him. Instead, each full circuit would amplify his power.

This was how profound internal strength was built—layer by layer, cycle by cycle.

Only now could he truly call himself a martial practitioner—one with usable internal energy at his command.

After weeks of relentless effort, the reward had finally arrived. Joy lit his face as he savored the transformation: his internal energy, now as thick as a chopstick, coursed through his meridians with speed and agility—no longer the sluggish crawl of before, but swift and responsive like a racing bicycle.

One month wasn’t long—but to break through two layers in that time? He hadn’t expected it.

Surely, he mused with a private grin, this must mean he was a once-in-a-century martial genius! How else could progress be so swift and effortless?

Of course, he knew it was just wishful thinking. Without others to compare himself to, he had no idea whether his pace was fast or slow. Still, he was deeply satisfied with his progress.

Now came the third layer: Refining Qi.

This wasn’t the “Qi Refinement” of fantasy cultivation novels.

Here, “refining” meant exactly that—literally. According to the manual, this stage demanded two simultaneous tasks: first, continuously compress and purify the internal energy, making it denser and more potent; second, expand the meridians and enlarge the dantian to store and circulate greater volumes of energy.

Shen Hao realized this phase wouldn’t be finished in a month. It would be a long, patient grind—requiring steady, daily effort over an extended period.

In short: no shortcuts. Only time and persistence.

With his routine now stable, a practical thought surfaced: Should I look for a job? A whole month without income was starting to make him anxious.

As he showered later that day, lost in thought, he absentmindedly scrubbed his body with a loofah lathered in shower gel—mind far from the act of washing.

But then—sudden tenderness in his chest made him frown.

He looked down, startled.

Was that… real?

Doubting his senses, he pressed gently on his left pectoral area.

A firm lump. A dull ache.

Not an illusion.

His mind went blank—then erupted with a single, terrifying realization:

“Am I… developing?!”

He wasn’t a child. Though he’d never taken formal sex-ed classes, the internet had exposed him to all sorts of random knowledge over the years. He knew the signs: for adolescent girls, breast development often came with occasional soreness, swelling, and palpable hard nodules beneath the skin.

And that’s exactly what he was feeling now.