The Verdant Lotus Valley awoke under a pale morning sky, the air heavy with the scent of dew and anticipation. Arin Jinhwan stood at the edge of the small plot he'd planted days ago, his hands on his hips, his eyes fixed on the faint green sprouts pushing through the soil. The Amrita Grains had begun to grow, their silver-hued stalks shimmering with faint qi, a testament to his efforts. Nearby, the Whispering Vines had taken root along the riverbank, their tendrils curling upward, whispering softly as they sensed the valley's qi currents. It was a small victory, but in a land scarred by war and deprivation, it felt monumental. The villagers had started calling him the Jade Farmer in earnest now, their whispers carrying a mix of hope and reverence.
Yet, Arin felt a flicker of unease. The qi in the soil was uneven, stronger in some patches than others, and the sprouts reflected that imbalance—some thrived, their stalks tall and vibrant, while others wilted, their qi fading. He knelt, pressing his hands into the earth, murmuring "Om Bhumi Namah" as he'd done countless times on Earth. The mantra grounded him, but the qi beneath his fingers felt restless, like a stream struggling against unseen obstacles. He'd channeled too much energy into some areas and too little into others, a novice mistake in a world where balance was everything.
Footsteps approached, soft but steady. Naya Seorin appeared, her robe shimmering with lotus patterns, a basket of tools slung over her shoulder. Her dark hair was tied back, the bindi-like qi rune on her forehead glowing faintly in the morning light. She'd been his anchor since he'd arrived in the Murim world, her knowledge of qi and the valley's history guiding him through the unknown. "They're growing," she said, her voice warm but tinged with concern as she knelt beside him. "But they're uneven. The qi's out of balance."
Arin nodded, brushing dirt from his hands. "I can feel it," he said. "I don't know how to fix it. Back home, I'd adjust water or fertilizer, but qi… it's different." Naya's eyes softened, a small smile tugging at her lips. "It's not so different," she said. "Qi is life, just like water or sunlight. You need to distribute it evenly, let it flow naturally. My mother taught me a technique for balancing qi in the soil. I'll show you."
She placed her hands on the ground, her fingers spread wide, and closed her eyes. "Feel the qi first," she instructed. "Don't pull it—just sense its flow." Arin followed her lead, his hands sinking into the earth, the mantra echoing in his mind. The qi pulsed beneath his fingers, a tangled web of energy, some strands strong, others weak. Naya's voice was a steady guide. "Now, imagine a net," she said. "You're not forcing the qi—you're spreading it, like smoothing a blanket. Let it settle evenly across the field."
Arin focused, picturing the irrigation channels he'd built with his grandfather in Rajasthan, the way water would flow evenly across the fields when the channels were clear. The qi responded, its tangled strands unwinding, spreading through the soil in a gentle wave. The golden glow around his hands softened, the energy flowing more smoothly now. He opened his eyes, watching as the wilted sprouts perked up, their qi stabilizing. The thriving stalks calmed, their energy no longer overwhelming. The plot glowed faintly, a harmonious hum emanating from the earth.
Naya sat back, her smile widening. "You're a quick learner," she said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "The land trusts you." Arin managed a small smile, though exhaustion tugged at him. "I hope so," he said. "These grains… they could feed the village, give them strength. But I need to do more." Naya's gaze turned serious, her hand resting lightly on his arm. "You will," she said. "But you can't do it alone. Let the village help. They want to—they're just waiting for you to ask."