Lu Haotian stood at the edge of the pool.
The five-colored seed hovered above the surface, rotating slowly. Its colors were clear and distinct—earth-yellow, water-blue, metal-white, fire-red, wind-green. None overpowered the other. They existed together, steady and calm.
He stared at it for a long moment.
This thing had dragged him through trials meant to break him. It had torn apart his understanding of cultivation, taught him how to use his spirit roots to absorb qi while also being in balance and rebuilt it piece by piece.
Lu Haotian raised his hand.
His fingers trembled slightly, not from fear, but from exhaustion. His body still remembered pain. Still remembered collapse.
When his fingertips touched the seed—
There was no explosion.
No light.
No warmth.
The seed sank into his palm as if passing through water, slipping into his body without resistance. The five colors did not scatter. They stayed intact, flowing together like a controlled stream.
Lu Haotian stiffened.
He felt it move.
Not through his flesh.
Not through his veins.
Straight toward his core.
Toward his spirit roots.
The moment it reached them, his vision went white.
He felt it bury itself.
Not attach.
Not merge.
Plant.
Like a seed pressed into soil.
His original spirit roots—weak, tangled, uneven—shuddered violently as the five-colored seed sank between them. A crushing pressure spread inside his dantian, heavy and deep, as if something ancient had settled in a space never meant to hold it.
Then—
The demand began.
Qi rushed out of his dantian without his consent.
Lu Haotian gasped as his cultivation started to fall.
Seventh layer.
Gone.
Sixth.
Fifth.
The qi wasn't tearing out violently—it was being drawn, steady and relentless, funneled directly into the buried seed. His meridians burned as they emptied faster than they ever had before.
"This isn't refinement…" he rasped.
Fourth layer.
Third.
His breathing turned shallow. His limbs weakened. Cold spread through his body as his qi pool shrank rapidly.
Second.
First.
Each drop hurt.
Not physically at first—but in a deeper way. Cultivated qi wasn't just power. It was time. Effort. Survival. Watching it vanish felt like years of existence being erased.
Then—
Emptiness.
His cultivation collapsed completely.
Lu Haotian's body convulsed as the last trace of qi drained from his dantian.
He was mortal.
The seed did not stop.
With no qi left to draw, it turned inward.
His original spirit roots screamed.
Lu Haotian felt it clearly now—pain sharper than anything before. The five weak roots he had been born with cracked under pressure, their already-fragile structure collapsing as the seed pushed outward.
Cracks spread.
Then breaks.
His meridians followed.
One after another, they ruptured.
Qi paths he had used for years shattered like dry glass. Blood vessels burst. Nerves burned. His body curled in on itself as agony flooded every part of him.
Lu Haotian screamed.
Sound tore out of his throat, raw and broken. His consciousness wavered as his cultivation foundation was destroyed from the inside.
Roots—gone.
Meridians—ruined.
Dantian—empty.
There was no strength left to resist.
He fainted.
There was no sense of time.
Only pain.
Sometimes he drifted half-awake, barely aware of his body trembling as something inside him continued to work. The seed remained buried where his spirit roots once existed.
And slowly—
It began to change.
Without qi, it could not grow.
So it endured.
The shattered remnants of his old roots were absorbed, dissolved completely, erased as if they had never existed. His broken meridians were ground down, reduced to nothing. Everything flawed was stripped away.
Hours, days passed.
Then—
The seed pulsed again.
This time, it reached outward.
The white space responded.
Qi returned.
Pure, dense elemental qi flooded in from all directions, drawn irresistibly toward Lu Haotian's broken body. Earth, metal, water, fire, wind—balanced, equal, obedient.
The seed drank.
And began to germinate.
Roots spread outward from it—new roots. Perfect roots. Five of them, each clear and distinct, yet connected at the center. Heaven-grade Five Elements Spirit Roots took form where destruction had once been.
Lu Haotian's body reacted violently.
His dantian reformed.
Not repaired—rebuilt.
New meridians grew alongside the roots, wider, tougher, capable of carrying far more qi than before. Blood surged. Bone rang faintly. Flesh tightened as structure returned.
Qi surged back into him.
First layer.
Then second.
Third.
The advancement did not stop.
Qi poured in nonstop, cycling naturally through the five roots without clash or resistance. Each breakthrough was clean, stable, unquestioned.
Fourth.
Fifth.
Sixth.
Lu Haotian's consciousness snapped back sharply.
His eyes flew open as his body arched violently, qi roaring inside him like a rising tide. Pain followed power, but it was no longer destructive—it was transformative.
Seventh layer.
His body trembled.
Eighth Layer.
Everything stabilized.
The qi slowed.
Then stopped.
Lu Haotian collapsed flat on his back, chest heaving, drenched in sweat. His limbs felt numb. His mind was blank.
He lay there for a long time.
Finally, he moved.
Slowly, painfully, he raised one hand.
Qi responded instantly.
Clean.
Balanced.
Obedient.
He sat up, breathing hard, and looked inward.
What he saw made his fingers tighten.
No trace of his old roots remained.
Only the five perfect ones—rooted deep, steady, alive.
Lu Haotian sat there for a while, breathing like someone who had almost drowned.
"…That was horrible," he muttered hoarsely.
His legs felt weak. His head ached. His whole body felt wrong—too light in some places, too heavy in others. He bent forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing his face with both hands.
He didn't feel enlightened.
He didn't feel powerful.
He just felt tired.
Really tired.
He peeked inside his body again, half-afraid of what he'd find.
The roots were there.
Five of them.
Clear. Strong. Stable.
Not like before.
Five Elements Heaven grade roots