As the hazy light filtered through the trees growing from the shallow lake, an unassuming man sits in his rowboat; fishing pole in hand. The sun hung low in the orange sky, with plants stretching up above the early morning fog to receive its golden light. The fisherman had his straw hat draped over his tired old eyes, seeming to be entirely unaware of his surroundings.

Despite his unimpressive appearance, in reality the fisherman was a hidden master of the art of cultivation. While the man appeared to be asleep, he was so attuned to the energies of the world that he could sense the Qi, or life energy, of all the wildlife in the lake below him. He sought only to catch what he needed to feed his four disciples and not a fish more, so as to not disrupt the delicate balance of the ecosystem. A cultivator of his level, nearing the fifth stage of the Earth realm, has no real need to eat as their bodies can sustain themselves on Qi alone.

The cultivator had only heard of three others, the Elders of his old sect, who have progressed past his cultivation level. With this power disparity, he could easily lay claim to a large portion of this world, but such unnecessary displays of power didn’t interest him in the slightest. He had no intention of “defying the heavens” as his sect elders taught him to. All he wanted now was to live peacefully and raise his disciples.

His four disciples were more like children to him than students. They were deemed “too weak” to join the sect and were taken in as servents. As time went on, their treatment from the sect elders became worse and worse until one day when the youngest of them spilled tea on the Grand Master’s robe. The grand master sought to execute the child, but the cultivator stood up for them and eventually decided to take them away from that terrible place.

From that moment on, the cultivator raised the children as his own. He taught them the ways of cultivation, but not to defy the heavens. No, he taught them to respect the Earth and all of its children. The cultivator had no doubt in his mind that he had done the right thing in taking the children away from the sect. There was no doubt in his mind of the love he felt for them and there was no end to the pride he felt in the young adults they have grown to be.

Interrupting his introspection, the cultivator felt a tug on his fishing line. He had gotten so lost in his own thoughts he forgotten what he was doing. Carefully, so as to not cause the fish excessive pain, he pulled the fish out of the water to inspect it. It was a large mature male of a common species in this region, big enough to easily feed everyone. If it were an adolescent or a potential mother, he would have thrown it back and tried for another, but this would do. He gently placed his hand on the wriggling fish and quietly thanked it, the lake, and the earth for supplying his children with sustenance. After a moment of silence, he painlessly dispatched the fish.

With the fish tucked away in his basket, the cultivator rowed his small boat back to his quaint little cottage. In the distance he could see three of his disciples meditating in the water along the shore. The youngest must still be in bed, the lazy scamp. A small smile emerged on the cultivator’s face. Today was going to be a good day.