Closed door cultivation originated as the practice of closing off the cultivator from as much stimulus as possible, leaving them alone with nothing save a source of appropriate qi and the dao. In the Celestial Origin Sect the term had acquired a distinctly non-literal meaning. Relying primarily upon stellar qi, which emanated from the sun, stars, and other celestial bodies, they could hardly choose to lock themselves away in bunkers or caves with the sky concealed.

  Despite this, the general principle remained central to progress on the path of enlightenment. The dao, being infinitely vast and varied, tended to retreat away from sight when surrounded by the bustle and concern of everyday existence. Mortals had hardly any chance to touch it at all, overwhelmed with the needs of survival as they commonly were, but even cultivators insulated from such day to day needs struggled to overcome the intrusion of common stimulus and reach the sublime. Doubtless someone, somewhere, possessed a dao suitably gregarious and interactive that their advancement accommodated or even demanded continual contact with human society; the number of paths to the dao being as infinite as it was itself, but the Celestial Origin Sect was not nearly so varied in its approaches. History noted such creatures as true oddities.

  Qing Liao, certainly, was no such exception. Though he possessed his own reasons for deviation from the sect's traditional methods, he was otherwise a fundamentally orthodox cultivator. Quiet, isolation, and the elimination of external distractions remained key prerequisites to achieve immersion in the currents of qi cloaking the world.

  Traditionally, members of the sect had solved the paradox of a closed room that relied upon access to the heavens in a fairly literal manner. They constructed turret rooms, open spaces atop towers with high crenelations on all sides so the eye could gaze upwards only. Each of the towers on the Starwall belonging to the Grand Elders had just such a room on its highest level. The remainder of the sect primarily utilized open-roofed pagodas, purpose built for such meditations. Each of the twelve pavilions possessed such a structure.

  A significant portion of the sect's membership considered the isolation of any space within the sect grounds, where it would inevitably be exposed to the qi usage of other cultivators no matter how well-shielded, insufficient. They produced their own closed chambers instead. The hidden land was festooned with them, making it such that it was a rare high point that did not feature at least one such outpost, passed down through the sect's records for use from one generation to the next. At any given time most were empty, reserved for use by various elders who were not presently in seclusion. No one would ever dare to intrude in such a deeply personal place. Even should the cultivator who created such a space pass away, it would not be touched for many years, centuries even, until nature and neglect served to recycle it to new purpose.

  Eventually the Grand Elders would tear down such lost foundations, but they would wait until none save the immortals recalled the deceased. That such a thing might take over a millennium to unfold did not bother them. It was not in the nature of such eternal beings to act in a hurry.

  Qing Liao had attempted to make use of the traditional pagoda-based chamber belonging to the Textiles Pavilion, mostly as a test of compatibility. Those in the body refining realm had little call to engage in the greater mysteries of the dao, especially any aspect that extended beyond the reach of their own bodies. Despite that, isolation had it uses from time to time, mostly during the process of extending their qi circuits to encompass a new meridian and ascend another layer within the realm. He did this twice during his advancement, but though the concentrated environment had been helpful, it had also triggered bad memories that worked in opposition to his growth. Confinement, especially in proximity to the Starwall – a mountain of ordered and directed qi structured such not even the best canceling techniques could fully erase its influence – unlocked the phantom sensation of incoming demonic qi all across his mind.

  Nothing real, of course, merely a trick of recalled sensation through troubled associations. In truth, the Starwall, and the formations and rituals embedded in it from foundation to mortar to walkway served to ward out demonic qi absolutely. The continued survival of Mother's Gift's mortal population, recently risen to measurably greater than one million for the first time ever thanks to new initiatives, served as a testament to the efficacy of those protections.

  Qing Liao knew this, intellectually, but whenever he closed his eyes near the Starwall he could not help but feel as if demons were near. Being enclosed, in the dark, made it much worse, summoning an itchy sensation that crawled across his skin and through his meridians at the same time. The presence of the stars, and their soothing pure qi, helped, but not completely.

  “Battle stress is known to linger,” Grand Elder Itinay had explained this phenomenon. As one of the very small number of people who truly knew what he'd endured during the last demon horde incursion she was best positioned to analyze this reaction. She had not been unkind in her pronouncement, but she had been equally absent any sympathy. “You will overcome it, given time, or not. The sect library holds descriptions of useful exercises, should you seek a more concrete method of mitigation.”

  This was, Liao admitted begrudgingly, more attention than any other member of the sect with such low cultivation as his own was liable to receive from a grand elder. Nor was he even close to the only one with similar difficulties, however unique the flavoring of his specific role in repelling the demons. It helped that Itinay was, for all her coldness, fundamentally correct. It did get better, slowly, one tiny increment at a time. Hard as it might be for one still in his natural youth to recognize, time and patience accomplished much, and a proper cultivator had both in abundant supply.

  Despite such adjustments, he chose to modify his personal approach to closed door cultivation when the time came to take the matter seriously. His first step was to dispense with doors. His second was to disregard the use of a tower entirely, or at least one constructed of stone and mortar.

  Wandering about while obeying the convoluted and occasionally idiosyncratic dictates of Sayaana's training regimen, he'd discovered a small and isolated patch of forest in the midst of a large, little-utilized marsh. It occupied the region north of the Starwall under the custody of Grand Elder Itinay. Being unsuitable for farming, the sect did not bother with it much. Mortal fisherman, trappers, and other gatherers also gave the marsh a wide berth, for the cold-eyed grand elder had a terrifying reputation among the portion of the populace aware of her existence. Liao, under obligation to accept her patronage for more than one reason, chose to consider this an opportunity. The largely empty space made an ideal location for training and isolated cultivation.

  In the center of the little forest grove he found a standing dead tree, one slain by boring insects some years ago, but still structurally sound. The periodic attentions of the local woodpeckers had not yet sufficed to set it on the long road to steady collapse. A windstorm had served to split the top off with remarkable shearing efficacy, leaving an almost perfectly flat surface across the remaining trunk. This, Liao had recognized almost immediately upon discovering it, would serve him as the perfect center of a cultivation chamber.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Using wood taken only from nearby trees, primarily a stout pine recently felled and stripped by beavers, Liao built his little tree house by hand. He did all the work himself, fully aware that this made it take easily three times as long as it would have asking for aid from his fellow sect members in the Carpentry Pavilion. This was not merely pride, though that certainly was a component, but a matter of insuring no foreign qi sources polluted the location. The resulting construction of plank floors and walls nailed together roughly was simple and bare. The chamber itself had no doors, the only way in or out was to jump through the absent ceiling. This made little difference to Liao. He needed the wood merely for structural support.

  All of it would be covered over in time.

  Over the next several months, whenever he had the spare time, he would go out, hunt a wild pboar, tan the hide, and then treat the soft leather prior to incorporation into the interior walls of his chamber. He would dress the remainder of the animal and donate all other parts to the appropriate portions of the sect. Meat to the cooks, bones and hooves to the shapers, and the guts to the alchemists. Though this gained him some measure of credit with his fellow cultivators, the cost of the wax necessary to waterproof his roofless leather box cost him far more than he could gain from such minor hunting excursions. His stipend drained away like the rain flowing between the planks as a result, leaving him almost penniless by the end.

  He would have cared more if he'd had anything else to spend it on, but the enforced isolation from the rest of the sect did wonders for his tendency to save.

  The completed chamber blocked the wind and offered a smooth, yielding surface suffused with the refined qi given off by the creations of his own hand. The resulting space was attuned to his personal path, with foreign influences dampened down as much as any cultivator of the body refining realm might conceivably manage. It was as if the entire space between the walls was as far under his influence as the air within his clothing.

  Ambient qi, drawn from the surrounding forest, passed between the organic materials of the cell and mingled with the stellar qi streaming down from above. The two influences blended together within. Imperfect, this solution, but effective. Life was, in the end, dependent upon the sun, and that was simply another star placed much closer to the world that all the others.

  Liao remained amazed at this revelation, but a bizarre contraption formed of glass and brass in the Shaping Pavilion existed that was used to prove that truth. He'd been taken to make the observation himself upon reaching the fourth layer of the body refining realm. The point at which his eyesight improved sufficiently to resolve the distant disk of the nearest star when magnified. It shocked him still, to contemplate such things. Other suns, other worlds. The vastness beneath the heavens made him feel very small.

  “The qi balance here is quite good,” Sayaana stepped out from the edges of his peripheral vision to appear leaning casually against the nearest wall. “Though I doubt it will last long without a roof.” The green-skinned and bark-and-needle seeming remnant soul sounded more than a little amused by this. It was a common expression of hers.

  Over time, Liao had come to recognize that such bemused detachment was simply part of how she held herself together. A means to mitigate the extreme strain of her bodiless state. The distance provided by humor served as a bulwark against contemplation of all that she could observe but never touch. He did not know if he could survive in such a state, trapped in a world that one could see and hear, but never truly feel. An existence made of qi and dao alone, no other true companions.

  Elders, having reached higher realms of cultivation, often entered closed sessions lasting decades. Some grand elders had even broken the century mark. Such isolated sojourns surely served to build resistance against the deprivations Sayaana now faced, but decades were a long ways from forever.

  “If the elements break this down, I'll rebuild,” Liao told the remnant soul instead. It might be impractical, but he did not mind. At this stage of his cultivation, he'd not need especially long sessions. “A little rain doesn't bother me.”

  They both knew, without saying anything, that Sayaana's former sect had long ago built tree houses similar to this new creation. They would close them entirely within the canopy, or even inside the trunk of a truly mighty tree, and use those cavities to cultivate their dao. Such a means well served the ways of the Endless Needles Sect, but not his own. The compromise he'd manufactured instead served to fuse starlight and pine needles together, however imperfectly. Such a muddled mixture would not serve forever. Sayaana had said as much, and she worked hard to avoid teaching him the methods of her sect in order to minimize confusion. For now, in the early stages, it would suffice.

  “If you could make a leather panel fine enough to see through, then you could add a roof over the top,” Sayaana speculated slyly. “Wind might still bring trouble, but it would keep the rain off.”

  Something to consider. Liao did not believe such a thing could be done, but the capabilities of qi-assisted creation were as limitless as the dao itself. He'd need to check the archives, but he suspected that even if such a miraculous material existed it could only be made utilizing resources that Mother's Gift could not provide.

  Not everything was available within their little world, or replaceable if harvested. Ten years spent practicing trapping and skinning on all creatures he encountered had taught that lesson well.

  While holding this conversation, he slowly moved around the circuit of the little chamber. Carefully, making certain everything was perfect and ready, he tested each surface and cleaned the outer layers. At one side he placed a small bag filled with biscuits, nuts, and dried fruit. Water would not be in short supply, the coming spring season would offer sufficient rain to manage any needs, but hunger might rear its head in time. One at the edge of the body refining realm could resist that urge for some time, but not indefinitely. Ultimately, however long he might delay the stretch between meals, he required the same quantity of sustenance as a mortal.

  Three times Liao paused to hammer a new nail in place. Twice he planed down an errant section of board. Once he patched over a ripped leather panel. He shuffled about on hands and knees, staining his robes even through the deep green and brown dyes that saw him blend into the background amid leaf and branch. His mind wandered, lost in focus on the immediate task and drawn to willful neglect of the reason that he'd found it necessary to build this place at all.

  A cowardly, childish action, one he regretted indulging, intellectually. Despite that, he did not stop until the sun rose to its apex in the sky and Sayaana called out his hesitation. “You are dithering,” she admonished, and not lightly. Though the green-skinned remnant soul was most often jovial and friendly in the manner of a youthful aunt, there were times when the truth of her lengthy existence – over thirty years for even one of Liao's own – shone through. “If you don't think you're ready, then go do something else. Otherwise, get started. No sense wasting the day.”

  “I know,” it came out as a sigh, one lacking any rancor. She was correct, and he hated knowing that truth. Commitment to this path, his path, was something easily spoken, but far harder to demonstrate via action. “And I am ready.” He was, he could feel it easily, a simple glance within sufficed. Qi raced through his body, a cycle linking his dantian, the seven natural meridians, and even the turquoise jewel resting on his forehead that housed Sayaana's soul. It mirrored the one she bore, clad in silver setting, on her brow. The spiritual link of their body made such duplication possible.

  He held sufficient resources at the ready. Nor did he lack for knowledge. The principles were well understood, he had duly studied them until he could recite everything blind. Similarly, the elders had acknowledged his awareness and control of qi sufficient to take this step. If Grand Elder Itinay said he was sufficiently prepared and Sayaana agreed, then it must be true. Such a level of assurance vastly outstripped the confidence provided to most others in his position.

  Nor was he attempting to rush the process at some ridiculous pace. For all that the presence of an immortal bonded to his being accelerated insights, it had not allowed him to keep pace with Zhou Hua, recruited to the sect in the same year as he had been. The slender girl, rapidly acquiring a reputation as a true prodigy, had advanced nearly three full years previous.

  That knowledge, that recollection, sufficed to convince him that the time had come. He sat down in the center of the little room. “I'm going to get started,” he told his remnant companion.

  It was time to advance.