Keshav had learned to hide his hunger.
Every day, he practiced restraint. When he passed the glowing spirit lanterns lit at dusk, he kept his hands to himself. When young cultivators trained in the outer courtyard, drawing in qi with steady breath and practiced motion, he stayed far away. His body responded too easily—too greedily—to their presence.
And yet, despite his efforts, the signs had begun to appear.
The Dull Garden
Old Lai, the gardener, grumbled more often now.
"The herbs don't grow the same near the eastern wall," he muttered, stooping to examine a wilted row of mistvine. "It's like the qi just... disappears."
The senior servants chalked it up to bad soil or weak seeds, but more than one had noticed the same pattern: plants withered faster where Keshav liked to sit. Birds avoided the willow tree entirely now, as if something beneath it whispered danger.
Even Keshav couldn't deny it anymore.
The willow was dying.
Then an accident happened.
It happened during chores.
Another servant boy, Harun, had snuck up on Keshav while he was scrubbing tiles near the training yard, splashing him with a bucket of water in jest.
Keshav laughed at first—then froze.
In that brief moment of touch—skin to skin—he felt it.
A pull.
Unintended. Instantaneous.
Harun stumbled back, face pale. His limbs trembled as if his strength had been sapped. He blinked, dazed, then collapsed with a dull thud.
Keshav rushed to his side, panic rising in his throat. "Harun?!"
The boy stirred a few moments later, weak but alive.
"Just... tired," he mumbled, unaware of what had really happened.
But Keshav knew.
He had drained him.
Not enough to cause serious harm—but it had happened. Without focus. Without intent. Just... contact.
He ran.
He hid beneath the dying willow, curled up in its roots like a scared animal.
That night, someone watched him.
Unseen from the shadows of the outer courtyard, a figure in servant robes lingered longer than they should have.
A steward. Mid-Qi Gathering realm.
He had seen the garden's fading, had heard the boy Harun describe a "coldness" that washed over him, and now... he watched Keshav curl beneath a tree that should be rich with life, yet looked as though autumn had passed through it.
He made no move yet. But the whisper had taken root:
"That boy... there's something wrong with him."
Keshav didn't sleep that night.
Instead, he sat cross-legged beneath the deadening willow, heart pounding, mind spinning.
He looked inward—not into a dantian, for he had none—but into his flesh.
He focused, remembering the feeling when energy flowed into him, the subtle warmth that chased cold from his blood, the pressure behind his eyes when he absorbed too much.
He found it—not a core, not a soul flame—but a presence.
A pulsing network of cells, vibrating with energy. Each of them slightly different now. Sharper. Denser. More attuned to the spiritual flow around them.
He began to guide it—not through thought or will, but through instinct.
Instead of devouring every strand that touched him, he began to slow it down. Let it trickle. He focused on maintaining balance, absorbing only what his body could process without hunger.
It was like holding back a storm behind a paper wall.
But he succeeded.
And for the first time, he realized: he wasn't powerless.
The Quiet Breakthrough
In the days that followed, he tested his limits carefully.
He began to control which parts of his body absorbed energy—suppressing it in his hands, allowing it in his feet. He discovered that movement helped regulate the flow—walking circulated qi more efficiently than stillness.
And then, something shifted.
One morning, as he bent to sweep the courtyard, the broom in his hands cracked—not from wear, but because his grip had strengthened. Muscles twitched with unnatural density. His bones felt heavier. He could jump higher, lift more, see further.
He had not "broken through" like others did.
There was no thunderclap. No golden core. No spiritual glow.
But he was stronger. Faster. Sharper.
And no one had noticed.
Not yet.
A young noble from the main family passed by the outer servant quarters one afternoon, his presence leaking refined qi like perfume. Keshav was sweeping nearby when the noble paused, frowning.
He looked at Keshav.
Then at the dying willow.
"Who told you to loiter here?" he asked, voice sharp.
Keshav bowed. "Apologies, young master. I was finishing my duties."
The noble narrowed his eyes, stepping forward—then paused. A flicker of unease crossed his face. He turned abruptly and left without another word.
That night, another steward was seen speaking privately with an elder.
And the next morning, a message was passed quietly:
"Watch the servant boy. The one under the willow. Something about him... isn't normal."