A Song For The Ages

The mountain loomed again, its vast weight pressing on every bone and tendon as Feiyin began his climb. The familiar ache returned, yet today felt different. Elder Fjord's words from the day before echoed in his chest: the body is a treasury, and each organ a sacred treasure to be unearthed.

Feiyin slowed his breathing, letting his oscillation sense spread inward. His awareness mapped his own body as though it were a great cauldron of refinement. The heart thundered with a steady rhythm, fire contained in flesh. The lungs expanded and compressed, hollow yet full, like twin bronze horns. The liver quivered with vitality, taut as lute strings. The kidneys pulsed in flowing cadence, echoing like bamboo flutes. The spleen hummed with grounding timbre, deep as a zither's base note anchoring all.

He tried to refine them as he would ingredients. Guiding threads of essence qi into his chest, he sharpened the rhythm of his heartbeat. A faint warmth flickered, then faded. Shifting focus, he drew breath into his lungs, imagining bellows tempering ore. For a moment, his breath grew sharp, resonant. Then the rhythm faltered. His organs were alive and constantly changing, not dead herbs or ore. The resonance was there, but elusive.

By the time he reached his usual limit, sweat poured and his body trembled. Yet his spirit surged with excitement. He could feel the raw shape of a path forming. His body was not only enduring the mountain- it was beginning to form it's own song.

When he descended, Elder Fjord was waiting, seated upon a boulder, his massive form outlined against the sky. His gaze was deep, unreadable.

"You've begun to meddle," Fjord said without preamble.

Feiyin bowed respectfully. "I tried to listen inwardly, to guide my organs as I would herbs. There was… a flicker of resonance."

The elder's face darkened with memory. "Be careful, boy. Herbs and metals are inanimate things. They may crack, spoil, or break, but they are lifeless. Your organs are alive. If you force them as you would a pill, you risk turning them into corpses inside you. Many proud youths thought as you do, and many fell."

Feiyin straightened, the weight of Fjord's tone sobering him. "What happened to them?"

Fjord's voice rumbled like distant thunder. "They sought to polish their treasures too hastily. My own son was among them. He refined his heart with reckless zeal, chasing after the glory of our ancestors. For a time, he shone like fire incarnate. But one morning, his heart ceased to beat. His path ended. His life ended."

Silence stretched. The sorrow in Fjord's words was heavy, yet his eyes remained firm. "That is why I tell you: walk carefully. Refine gently, slowly. Balance life and tempering. Only then may your treasures awaken without breaking."

Feiyin bowed lower. "Thank you, Elder. I will remember."

That night, beneath the moon's pale glow, Feiyin sat cross-legged within his stone chamber. His cauldron rested by his side, but tonight he looked inward rather than outward. His yin refinement had reached nearly ninety percent, and the changes within him were undeniable. In his inner vision, each of his three qi nexuses glowed brightly, each circled by a silver moon. The moons were clearer than ever, luminous and steady, as though reflecting the true moon outside.

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Yin energy coursed through him like cool rivers, weaving with his prismatic qi, condensing it further, gradually shifting from formless to real.

The following morning, Fiona and Finn intercepted him as he returned from the mountain. Both siblings carried different expressions: Fiona's eyes were bright as the dawn, her smile wide and genuine, while Finn followed with arms folded, his face tight in an effort to hide the admiration that burned there.

Fiona tugged at her brother's arm and stepped forward eagerly. "Fei! Thank you for the pill you gave us," she said, her voice ringing with cheer. "Father says it has strengthened me already. Is it true you climbed so high on the Heavy Mountain?"

Her words made Finn glance over despite himself, his ears twitching as he tried to appear indifferent, yet leaning closer to catch Feiyin's reply.

Feiyin sat on a boulder so their towering figures would not feel so distant. "I did climb further," he admitted softly, "but only because the mountain teaches me with each step. Pills and training both take patience."

Fiona nodded vigorously. "I'm learning patience too- Father lets me help in his workshop. I get to grind herbs and prepare ingredients! One day, I'll also be a real alchemist."

Finn huffed, looking away though his voice betrayed pride. "And I train with Mother. My strikes are already strong. Soon, I'll be stronger than Darak."

Feiyin chuckled, the weight of the climb easing at their simple words. "Then both of you are walking your own mountains. Remember- whether herbs or strikes" while winking with a smile at Finn," every step matters."

In the afternoon, he sparred with Darak on the training grounds. The young clan leader's strikes were thunderous, shaking the ground, but Feiyin's precision and speed allowed him to slip past, his leg flashing like lightning. Their exchanges drew a crowd of giants who cheered and roared with each clash. Darak grinned despite the strain, sweat gleaming. "You grow sharper every day, Fei. Soon, I'll have to take you seriously."

Feiyin chuckled, steadying his stance. "If you don't already, you'll regret it."

Later, as evening settled, Alaric, one of the clan alchemist, approached him with questions. They sat together, debating deep into the night. "If you refine marrow with too much fire essence," Alaric argued, "it will harden but crack. Water cools it, but too much water dulls the strength."

Feiyin nodded, countering gently. "Then perhaps alternating the two, as in alchemy- quench and temper, temper and quench- until the marrow sings with balance." Their conversation spiraled into theories, both alchemist and cultivator lost in thought.

Elder Fjord observed from a distance, his eyes glinting with something between pride and worry. He had warned Feiyin, but he also saw in him the cautious discipline that his son had lacked.

That night, when all was quiet, Feiyin sat alone on a ridge. The valley stretched below, lit by the silver light of the moon. In his hand was a small stone, its surface carved with lines tallying each day he had spent here. The marks were many now, nearing a complete week.

His heart tightened. He thought of his parents, their worried yet proud voices through the communication jade. He thought of Meimei's innocent laughter, of Baiyu's loyal presence, of his companions. He thought of the looming shadow of the Saint Spirit Sect's master, a threat not yet faced.

"I will need to leave soon," he murmured to the silent night. The moon above seemed to answer, its glow mirroring the moons circling his qi nexuses. "But not yet. I still need to climb higher."