On the seventh day of lectures, Lin Feng didn't teach in the pavilion.
He taught in the garden.
It wasn't a whim. It wasn't him "returning to habits." It was deliberate - almost ruthless in its simplicity.
Most masters taught disciples in halls, on platforms, before carved tablets and incense smoke. They built an atmosphere that reminded everyone that what I say is important. Respect me.
Lin Feng didn't need that.
The garden already carried his authority.
Not the authority of a sect title, but the authority of countless years lived in sincerity - watering, pruning, harvesting, and cultivating while believing he was ordinary.
If a cultivator could not understand cultivation while looking at living things, then they didn't understand cultivation at all.
His six disciples arrived one by one, quiet and attentive. They had changed over the last few days. Not in the realm - the realm was a shadow of the true matter now. They had changed in something deeper: the way they listened.
When Lin Feng first began teaching them years ago, they listened for hidden meanings and secret techniques.
Now they listened the way a soldier listens to a general before battle: not for mystique, but for survival.
Lin Feng knelt by a row of herbs, fingers brushing soil. The earth was dark and soft, rich from decades of spiritual spring water. The herbs themselves looked ordinary to a mortal. To a cultivator, even the "weeds" near the edge of the plot could be mistaken for heavenly treasures.
Lin Feng didn't look up at them at first.
He simply worked, slowly, as if this were the only thing in the world.
Only after he had pressed the soil around a newly planted stem did he speak.
"Today," he said, "we speak about cultivation as it truly is."
Shen Yue perked up automatically, half instinct and half habit. "Is this the part where you tell us a secret technique that makes us invincible?"
Lin Feng didn't even look at her.
He didn't scold her either.
He only said, flatly, "No."
That single syllable cut the playful mood cleanly.
Shen Yue swallowed and straightened.
Lin Feng continued, voice steady, still kneeling as he spoke. "Cultivation is not about gaining. It is about matching."
The disciples quieted.
Liu Mei, who usually clung to every word with shining eyes, blinked as if the sentence had struck her forehead.
Wei Ling's gaze tightened. Zhou Yuan's expression sharpened. Chen Bo's eyes remained calm, but his attention deepened. Bai Ling looked confused—then worried, as if he feared he wouldn't understand and would be left behind.
Lin Feng brushed the soil off his fingers.
"Qi refining matches the breath," he said.
"Foundation matches the bones."
"Core matches the heart."
"Nascent Soul matches the mind."
He paused, then added, "Beyond that, realms are less about power and more about whether your existence matches the principles you claim to understand."
Wei Ling exhaled slowly. "Law and Dao."
"Yes." Lin Feng picked up a leaf between thumb and forefinger. A simple leaf—green, slightly veined, with a faint sheen of moisture. "When you say you cultivate a Law, the world asks: does your existence embody it?"
He let the leaf go.
It drifted downward and landed perfectly atop a stone, as if guided.
No wind. No movement. Just inevitability.
The disciples' expressions changed—not awe, because they had seen odd "inevitabilities" around Lin Feng countless times. It was recognition. The kind that came when a scattered truth finally aligned into a line you could follow.
Lin Feng continued, and now he finally looked up at them.
"All of you have been relying on Tranquil Peak," he said. "Even if you think you aren't."
Liu Mei opened her mouth, then shut it.
Shen Yue frowned. "Master, isn't the peak… ours?"
"It is," Lin Feng said. "But if your strength exists only because you are standing in a paradise, then it isn't truly yours yet. It's borrowed."
Zhou Yuan nodded once. He understood immediately.
Wei Ling asked, "Then what should we do?"
Lin Feng's gaze sharpened slightly. "Make your cultivation portable."
Shen Yue tilted her head. "Portable?"
Lin Feng held up his hand and opened his palm, as if showing them something invisible.
"Right now," he said, "if I throw you into a barren wasteland with thin spiritual energy, what happens?"
Shen Yue hesitated.
Liu Mei looked pained, because she already knew the answer: her cultivation would slow; her heart might panic.
Bai Ling looked terrified, because he had lived in places like that.
Wei Ling answered honestly, "Our cultivation speed drops. Our mind becomes restless. The sense of safety disappears."
Lin Feng nodded. "Correct."
Then he said, quietly, "And if the coming enemy arrives, it will not fight you in conditions you prefer."
The garden fell silent.
Even Xiao Hong, perched on a nearby beam, didn't cluck. Her ancient eyes were half-lidded, as if she were listening to something that reminded her of older wars.
Lin Feng turned back to the herbs and adjusted a small vine around a wooden support.
"Now," Lin Feng said, "listen carefully. During my closed-door seclusion, I will build a new technique."
The disciples stilled.
"Version 01," Lin Feng said.
Liu Mei whispered, almost without thinking, "It sounds… plain."
"It is plain," Lin Feng replied. "It's mine."
He sat back on his heels, looking at his hands. For a moment, his face wasn't that of a master.
It was that of a man from another world - remembering that in his old life, "cultivation" had been a joke concept from novels, something impossible… until it wasn't.
He breathed in slowly.
"Every breath you take already cultivates," Lin Feng said. "You inhale the world. You exhale yourself into it. You just do it unconsciously."
He looked up.
"Version 01 will make cultivation automatic with each breath. No sitting posture required. No 'sessions.' No dependence on conditions."
Shen Yue's eyes widened. "That's… ridiculous."
Lin Feng nodded once. "It is. That's why it's necessary."
Zhou Yuan asked the sharper question, as always. "Then what is the restriction?"
Lin Feng's gaze deepened.
"The restriction is that it will not gift comprehension," Lin Feng said. "It will not upgrade you by feeding you external truth. It will only provide the structure - the engine."
He tapped his chest lightly.
"All laws, all Dao, all concepts… must be cultivated by yourself. One by one."
Wei Ling's breath caught. She had lived three hundred years chasing comprehension. She knew what he had just said.
"That is the hardest path," she said quietly.
Lin Feng looked at her calmly. "I'm done walking easy paths."
He did not say "system" or "golden text."
He did not mention the voice.
But the disciples understood the meaning anyway: the Master had stepped onto a road so steep that even immortals avoided it unless forced.
Lin Feng's expression did not change.
"This is not only for me," Lin Feng said. "You will all take the principles of Version 01 and adapt them to your own paths."
Shen Yue blinked. "We can… learn it too?"
"Not my full version," Lin Feng said. "That one will be built for my breath, my body, my boundary. But the direction—yes. You can take the direction."
He stood and walked to the spring. He cupped water in his hands and let it run down slowly between his fingers.
"Look," he said. "Water doesn't 'try' to flow. It flows because it is water. Cultivation must be the same."
He turned, eyes steady.
"Most cultivators force themselves into cultivation for a few hours, then return to ordinary living. Their hearts are split. Their breath is split. Their mind is split."
Lin Feng closed his fist gently.
"Version 01 begins with unity: one breath, one cultivation, one existence."
The disciples listened with an intensity that would have made sect elders proud.
Lin Feng drew a line on the ground with his toe, dividing a patch of soil.
"Direction one: Breath."
He pointed at the first half.
"Your inhale is not 'taking qi.' Your inhale is aligning with the world's rhythm. If your inhale is greedy, the world resists you. If your inhale is calm, the world accepts you."
He pointed at the second half.
"Your exhale is not 'wasting qi.' Your exhale is returning what you don't need. If you refuse to release, you become stagnant. If you release too much, you become hollow."
Zhou Yuan murmured, "Balance."
Lin Feng nodded. "Yes. But not balance as an idea. Balance as a habit."
He stepped over the line and walked slowly, deliberately, as if demonstrating something invisible.
"Direction two: Boundary."
Wei Ling's eyes sharpened.
Lin Feng said, "If your boundary is weak, then your cultivation is vulnerable to invasion - by fear, by illusion, by strange laws, by enemy intent."
He looked at Bai Ling.
Bai Ling stiffened instantly.
Lin Feng didn't soften his gaze. He didn't want Bai Ling to rely on softness. He wanted him to grow strong enough that softness was a choice, not a need.
"Bai Ling," Lin Feng said, "when you suppress your aura, what do you feel?"
Bai Ling swallowed. "Like… I'm going back to being powerless."
Lin Feng nodded once. "That is your boundary leaking. Not qi. Identity."
Bai Ling's eyes trembled.
Lin Feng continued, "Version 01's direction is this: your breath must remain yours even when your power is sealed, even when your aura is suppressed, even when the world calls you nothing."
He stepped closer, then stopped—carefully.
He did not touch Bai Ling.
Not today.
He let the words be the pressure instead.
"You are not your status," Lin Feng said. "You are not your suffering. You are not your fear. You are your breath continuing."
Bai Ling's lips parted. He nodded hard, as if swallowing something heavy and necessary.
Lin Feng turned back to the others.
"Direction three: Self-review."
Shen Yue blinked. "Review?"
Lin Feng nodded. "Version 01 requires constant review. Because an automatic engine without review becomes a demon."
Wei Ling's pupils contracted slightly. She understood: an automatic cultivation method could easily create hidden deviations that worsen quietly until they explode.
Lin Feng said, "If you cultivate automatically with every breath, then every flaw in you also repeats with every breath. Anger becomes law. Pride becomes law. Fear becomes law."
He lifted a hand.
"You must review yourself like an accountant reviews accounts. Not to condemn. To correct."
Zhou Yuan asked, "How often?"
Lin Feng answered immediately. "Daily. Briefly. And monthly, deeply."
Shen Yue groaned softly. "Monthly deep review sounds awful."
Lin Feng's gaze flicked to her. "Good. Awful things keep you alive."
She shut up.
Lin Feng continued, "Direction four: Personalisation."
Liu Mei leaned forward slightly.
Lin Feng said, "Your constitution differs. Your Dao differs. Your personality differs. Version 01 direction is a skeleton; you add flesh."
He pointed to each disciple.
"Shen Yue, your flaw is intensity. Your breath will try to become sharp. Your version must include softness—otherwise your automatic cultivation will turn into constant killing intent."
Shen Yue's face reddened. "Yes, Master."
"Zhou Yuan, your flaw is heaviness. You endure too much. Your breath can become stone. Your version must include flow - otherwise you will become unbreakable but unable to change."
Zhou Yuan's eyes softened. "Understood."
"Wei Ling, your flaw is seeking. You seek comprehension like a thirsty man seeks water. Your breath must include acceptance - otherwise you will drown yourself in hunger."
Wei Ling bowed deeply. "Yes."
"Chen Bo," Lin Feng paused, "your flaw is… almost none."
Shen Yue coughed like she was choking.
Lin Feng continued calmly, "Your flaw is that you disappear too well. Your breath can become too empty. Your version must include presence - otherwise you will survive, but you will leave nothing behind."
Chen Bo's eyes widened slightly—the closest he came to surprise. He bowed.
"Liu Mei, your flaw is giving. You give until you're hollow. Your version must include retention - otherwise you will cultivate others with your breath and weaken yourself."
Liu Mei's eyes turned moist. "Yes, Master."
"Bai Ling, your flaw is flinching. Your breath stops when the past reaches for you. Your version must include continuity - otherwise you will cultivate beautifully in peace and collapse under touch."
Bai Ling clenched his fists. "Understood."
Lin Feng stepped back.
"That is the direction," he said. "You will not receive a finished manual from me today."
Shen Yue opened her mouth -
Lin Feng raised two fingers.
She closed it again.
"You will draft your own," Lin Feng said. "Each of you. Tonight."
Wei Ling asked carefully, "Master, how do we draft it without knowing your complete Version 01?"
Lin Feng's answer was immediate.
"You draft a principle, not a technique."
He pointed at the tea grove.
"Write one sentence. The sentence you want your breath to embody when everything goes wrong."
The disciples fell silent, minds racing.
Lin Feng continued, "For example: 'My breath does not betray me.' Or 'My breath returns to stillness.' Or 'My breath remains mine even when the world changes.'"
Zhou Yuan exhaled. "So we create our own anchor."
"Yes," Lin Feng said. "And then you build a small breathing cycle around it - inhale with that sentence, exhale with that sentence. No qi forcing. No realm chasing. Just alignment."
Shen Yue frowned. "That seems… too simple."
Lin Feng looked at her, expression flat.
"Simple is what survives," he said. "Complicated things break under pressure."
That sentence landed heavier than any sword strike.
The garden remained quiet.
Then Lin Feng turned away and began watering again, as if the most profound thing he'd said today was merely "how to keep plants alive."
But the disciples knew better.
They sat down right there, among the herbs and vines, and began writing.
Not with ink.
With the mind.
With sincerity.
Even Bai Ling sat, trembling at first, then steadying, then writing his sentence again and again in the dirt until his hand stopped shaking.
Lin Feng watched them silently.
He didn't interfere.
This was their work.
This was the point.
When the sun began to set, Lin Feng spoke again.
"One more thing," he said.
They all looked up.
Lin Feng's voice lowered slightly. "If you succeed at building your personal Version 01 direction… You will cultivate even when I am sealed."
Zhou Yuan nodded.
Lin Feng continued, "And if you fail… then even if I stand beside you, you will still fail when the enemy arrives."
No one argued.
Because Lin Feng wasn't frightening them for drama.
He was speaking like a man who had already accepted that some futures were possible only if he became honest now.
That night, after the disciples returned to their training, Lin Feng sat alone and began reviewing himself - not his realm, not his treasures, but the shape of his heart.
He recalled his first vow: never take risks again.
He realised it hadn't been weakness that made him hide.
It had been trauma.
And he didn't hate himself for that.
He had survived.
He had built a home.
He had found people worth living for.
But now he had to evolve beyond survival.
If he faced the coming enemy with the heart of a frightened man, he might still win…
And still lose everything.
So he reviewed each weakness like an account ledger.
Fear of the outside world.
Need for quiet.
Avoidance of attention.
Attachment to routine.
He didn't condemn these things.
He simply acknowledged them.
Then he asked himself the only question that mattered:
If the world ends, will I regret not cultivating harder?
His breath slowed.
Yes.
That answer was clean enough to cut through everything else.
So Lin Feng cultivated again - right there, that same night, and every night afterwards.
No slacking.
No drifting.
Not because he wanted to "break through."
Because he refused to let his disciples face extinction while he still had unused breath left in him.
Somewhere in the quiet of Tranquil Peak, the outline of Version 01 began to form more clearly in his mind.
Not as a "gift."
Not as a miracle.
But as an engine built from sincerity, breath, boundary, and relentless self-review.
And as the seventh day ended, Lin Feng understood something he had never understood when he was weak:
A master's greatest teaching wasn't technique.
It was a responsibility.
And responsibility, once accepted, didn't allow excuses.
And Lin Feng's path - Version 01 - began to turn, breath by breath, toward a future that could no longer be avoided.