Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem-Chapter 812: Qi Gathering

There were no colors. No scenery. But he could feel the network of his meridians pulsing somewhat weakly, three minor channels specifically:

One traced along his back.

One coiled through his chest.

And one wound around his lower abdomen.

They were all sluggish. Dim. Like ancient canals barely touched by water in years, if not centuries.

At the center of them all sat a tiny point deep within his dantian, a void-like core nestled just below his navel. It was pitifully small. Barely holding a pinprick of pale mist within. His Qi.

He was at the Qi Gathering stage, and not even far into it. The truth was humbling. He thought he was ready to begin opening his main twelve meridians, but now that he saw reality with his own two eyes, he knew the old man was right.

If he’d rushed, he would have failed. Perhaps with his primordial cheat of a body, he could’ve gotten the meridians opened, but what about the next stages? Quinlan knew that he needed a proper foundation to build off of. He didn’t want to be a house of cards.

’So this is what it means to start from the bottom...’ he thought. ƒreewebηoveℓ.com

But he didn’t complain.

He simply breathed.

In.

Out.

He opened his senses outward into the world and slowly, very slowly, reached for the Qi in the air around him.

It was thin. Scattered. Hard to grasp, like trying to catch mist with bare fingers.

But still, he pulled.

It trickled into his body, tiny streams flowing into his three lesser meridians. The process was slow and uneven. At times, the Qi halted or moved in awkward spurts. He had to focus, adjust the rhythm of his breath, and slowly refine the way he drew it in.

Once stabilized, the three meridians fed the gathered Qi inward, toward the dantian. The mist inside grew denser by a fraction, but it was barely noticeable.

Still, Quinlan wasn’t dismayed. Growth was growth, no matter how little.

’This might take some time...’ he thought, thinking about his girls, whom he was already missing greatly. Separation wasn’t new to him, as he didn’t see them for over a decade in the Iris simulation and for a year in the elemental trial, but it was different now. Back then, he knew how time passed in Thalorind. Now, the Soul Records hadn’t informed him. Perhaps that itself was meant to be a challenge, see if he would rush, make a stupid mistake. See if he trusted the people he surrounded himself with.

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At that thought, Quinlan smiled. ’Trust my girls? But of course I do! They’re the most awesome beings in existence!’

So, with a steady heart and calm mind, he didn’t stop. With the sun overhead and the sounds of the wind rustling through the plateau, Quinlan Elysiar gathered Qi for hours.

Time passed on the wind-blasted plateau.

Days blurred into one another beneath the ever-burning sun and starlit skies. Each morning began the same: a cold breeze, gruff orders from the old man, and brutal training that left Quinlan sore to the bone. After lunch hours were spent gathering Qi in still silence, it was time for a second round of training in the afternoons. The nights brought tasteless meals of charred meat and barely edible roots that Feng foraged.

It was a hard life.

But it was also simple. Focused.

Quinlan would lie if he said he wasn’t having fun. Slowly building his dantian and core muscles filled him with a sense of achievement, and while Feng Jiai was certainly a handful, the one thing she most certainly wasn’t was ’boring.’ Her presence made his mundane days more colorful.

And after a week, something began to change within him.

Even after the afternoon’s grueling drills—after his arms ached and his legs screamed with exhaustion—Quinlan didn’t stop.

When the old man grunted and hobbled off toward his little shack, Quinlan remained seated, spine straight, fingers resting lightly on his knees, breathing in tune with the world itself. The elder didn’t order him to stop. And to Quinlan, that silence meant everything.

It meant permission.

It meant he wasn’t making a mistake by training as hard as he could.

And in just one week, the results were nothing short of astounding.

His dantian, once a faint mist barely visible within, had grown noticeably denser, like the early wisp of a cloud beginning to take form. The once wild, rebellious Qi of the atmosphere was now easier to guide. He no longer had to fight to tame each thread. His breath harmonized with the flow, and the three lesser meridians—back, chest, and lower abdomen—welcomed the energy like familiar guests. There were still hiccups, blockages here and there, but he adapted quickly.

He was learning. Evolving.

With the sun dipping behind the distant cliffs, Quinlan finally stood with his bones popping and muscles twitching. He made his way to a shallow pond tucked between two weather-beaten stones. The water was cold, clear, and numbing. He stripped down and stepped in, letting the chill bite at his sore limbs. It stung, but it also soothed.

After scrubbing away sweat and grime, he returned to camp with droplets still clinging to his skin.

Feng was crouched near the shack, crushing herbs with a round stone on a flat surface. Her expression was serious, tongue slightly out in intense concentration. She didn’t even notice him approaching.

Quinlan leaned against the wooden wall, exhaled deeply, and let his body begin to relax. He crossed his arms behind his head and closed his eyes, ready to doze off.

That was when he heard soft footsteps.

Followed by the sensation of his robe being opened.

His eyes cracked open to find Feng kneeling beside him, a tiny frown of focus on her face as she dipped her fingers in greenish paste.

"For your sore muscles, Uncle," she said softly, not quite meeting his gaze. "You’re the rudest, meanest man I’ve ever encountered, but..." She hesitated, then gave him a small smile. "Your hard work is inspiring. You deserve some help. I hope it’ll make you feel good. It’s an emergency recipe I learned back home to be used on missions."

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Quinlan nodded and moved away from the shack to give her full access to his body. She began rubbing the paste gently along his shoulders, down the tight lines of his back, and over bruised ribs. Her touch was surprisingly delicate, the herbal concoction cool and numbing. It smelled of mint and pine. He didn’t ask question nor made small talk, deciding to let the girl work.

When she finished, Feng Jiai didn’t speak. Instead, she wrapped herself in his oversized robe, shuffled closer, and—with a quiet yawn—settled herself into his lap. Her head found his chest.

"While it’s a fact that you’re one rude bastard, your warm body and big muscles make the perfect pillow..." she mumbled, already half-asleep.

Quinlan smirked faintly, closing his eyes again and resting his chin atop her head. The wind howled around them, but beneath the open sky, he felt strangely at peace.

He didn’t know what the next day would bring.

But for tonight, this was enough.