n the space of just three measured breaths, Li Yan felt an alarming frenzy as the spiritual energy within him began to deplete. Only moments ago he had almost regained seventy to eighty percent of his inner power, but in that brief interval, roughly ten percent had vanished without warning.
Earlier, he had been so caught up in the exhilaration of newly mastering the ability to project his divine sense that he hadn't even noticed the rapid rate at which his spiritual energy was draining from him. Now, faced with this unnerving loss, a headache steadily crept over him. How could he possibly afford to expend his power at such a rate?
After a few more moments of reflection, the answer became clear. It appeared that his sudden crisis was due to his being only at the beginning of the second tier of the "Congealing Qi" stage. Even as he mentally reviewed the condition of his five spiritual energy reservoirs, it was obvious that only his water reservoir still held even a mere fraction of the required strength. Moreover, the process of externally projecting one's divine sense was designed, by necessity, to be supported only by someone who had reached the third tier of cultivation. In other words, his current technique—relying solely on the formidable Gui Shui Manual—was simply drawing on a reserve of psychic energy that was insufficient for such advanced maneuvers. Li Yan could only hope that as his cultivation progressed, this fundamental shortcoming would gradually be remedied.
But no sooner had this thought taken form than a new worry struck him: his pace of cultivation was crawling at a pace that reminded him of a turtle. Such slow progress hardly matched the legendary efficiency touted by the five great sects' techniques. If this were truly how he advanced, then what use was his fabled "Five Spiritual Roots" constitution? After mulling over the matter for a while, a possibility dawned on him—a possibility so staggering it caused his face to change color. If his suspicions were correct, he would have missed an extraordinary opportunity.
He knew he had to trace the root of the problem as soon as possible. Yet with his relatively limited knowledge of the mysterious ways of cultivation, how could he explain such a phenomenon? And in his current state, he could not risk asking others, for that might lead to exposure of the Gui Shui Manual's sacred secrets. What was he to do?
Unable to contain his agitation, Li Yan rose from his seat and began to pace restlessly around his room. As his mind raced and his heart pounded, a sudden glimmer of insight ignited like a spark in the darkness—a memory of the Gui Shui Manual as he had once encountered it within the vast Sea of Consciousness. Perhaps within those deep records there lay hints that he could adapt, some technique or subtle principle that might light the path forward.
The very mention of the Gui Shui Manual filled him with bittersweet memories. Ever since his last foray into the Sea of Consciousness—his sole venture to extract a new cultivation method—he had not dared return. Not because he lacked a burning desire to delve deeper, but because Junior Master Ji had pressed him relentlessly. Even the smallest lapse in concentration in those days could have spelled doom, and for weeks he had alternated between frenzied cultivation and painstaking devising of ways to outmaneuver Junior Master Ji. In the whirlwind of that period, the treasures hidden deep within the Sea of Consciousness had become secondary, almost neglected entirely.
Resolute, Li Yan sat cross-legged on the floor, closed his eyes, and let his mind settle into a state of meditative calm. Slowly, he retracted his divine sense and let it sink inward until, in the next moment, he found himself standing at the edge of the Sea of Consciousness. Before him stretched a vast, placid black lake—its stillness so profound that he felt as though he had stepped into another realm. For an instant, he was overcome with a sense of unreality, his features blurred by a haze of wonder.
After a short while, Li Yan concentrated once more. Minding his inner focus, he directed his spiritual energy toward the surface of that inner lake. In a breathtaking instant, countless golden characters began to ripple across the water like shimmering script. He observed these mystical symbols for a brief moment before letting out a long, relieved sigh.
It became clear what had happened. During his earlier visit to the Military Strategist's residence, when he had been distracted and only half-focused on mastering the first-tier incantation, he had missed several subtle hints embedded in the preface of the Gui Shui Manual. Those clues—the guiding words that should have directed his precise cultivation—had slipped from his consciousness amid his daily struggles. Now, as he probed once again with his spiritual energy, he discovered that the incantation of the first tier had already been replaced by a new set of lines. With a single discerning glance, he realized these dozen or so lines were not the familiar words he had previously committed to memory. Only then did the forgotten advice from the preface whirl back into his mind.
It was now obvious why his overall cultivation had been so excruciatingly slow. Attempting to use an incantation designed for the first tier to refine his technique in the second realm was, by any stretch of the imagination, an exercise in futility. With the mystery unraveled, Li Yan exhaled deeply, a burden of worry momentarily lifted from his shoulders.
He wasn't questioning the validity of the Gui Shui Manual at all—if it were defective, then why would Dong Fu Yi have struggled so fiercely to restore him? No, his concern was more personal: the fear that his "Fractured Toxic Body" might have undergone changes that rendered it unsuitable for further advancement using the Gui Shui Manual. Just a few moments ago, the very thought had sent shivers of dread coursing through him. Aside from the Gui Shui Manual, he couldn't fathom any other method that would be compatible with his debilitated spiritual constitution.
Determined now, Li Yan took a deep breath and meticulously recited the new, second-tier incantation over and over in his mind. Once he had verified every detail with unwavering certainty, he abandoned the Sea of Consciousness and returned to his physical state, confident that he now understood what was needed.
An hour later, he opened his eyes with a smile creasing his face. The results were unmistakable—by using the new incantation, he had managed, in about an hour of cultivation, to restore that elusive half-reservoir of water spiritual energy. He knew full well that any additional progress in increasing his power would have to come through relentless self-improvement and dedicated training.
Feeling buoyed by his small victory, Li Yan stood up and stepped out into the wide courtyard. Although the space spanned only a few dozen zhang, it was more than ample for his needs. Still riding the high of his recent success—and having just replenished his repositories of spiritual energy—he decided it was time to try something he treasured above all else: flight.
Aside from his earlier flights within the Sea of Consciousness, and the daytime excursion earlier that day when Li Wu Yi had demonstrated flying skills, Li Yan yearned to experience soaring through the air on his own in the real world. With an eager pat to the pouch at his waist, a flash of light rippled forth, and before him materialized a tiny, shuttle-like device. Li Yan knew that this so-called "flying talisman" could be activated either by infusing it with spiritual energy or by embedding a handful of precious spirit stones into it. Naturally, he resolved not to expend his invaluable spirit stones unless absolutely necessary.
Instead, channeling his spiritual energy with a practiced, graceful motion, he activated the talisman. In response, the small artifact lifted effortlessly off the ground by about a foot. Within only a few breathing cycles—and under the steady guidance of his infused spiritual power—it expanded until it reached a height of five or six chi. Surveying the size of the courtyard, Li Yan tweaked the setting downward ever so slightly. Confident in his adjustments, he stepped onto the talisman and began to fly.
That midnight, Li Yan found himself lying in bed with a satisfied smile lingering on his lips, still amused by the memory of stumbling through the courtyard in his dreams as he soared clumsily through the air.
At dawn, he awoke to the sight of a brilliant blue sky visible between the gently swaying bamboo leaves outside his window. Stretching lazily, he recalled that the previous day had been utterly exhausting—from the early hours, he had been busy managing a troublesome cultivator surnamed Yu, and only later, well into the night, had he practiced refining his divine sense and the art of flight.
Refreshed after a full night's sleep, Li Yan went about his morning routine. After washing up and temporarily deactivating his magical wards, he made his way to the courtyard's entrance. A pleasant surprise awaited him: lying on the ground was a bamboo box exuding a delicate fragrance. Clearly, his status as a disciple was paying off. The previous day, after he had arranged for an assistant to deliver his meals at predetermined times, the food had arrived punctually that very morning.
The meal, though simple and unpretentious, satisfied him thoroughly. It was neither an extravagant feast nor overly sumptuous—just light and refreshing fare that perfectly suited his tastes at that moment. After finishing, Li Yan retired to his cultivation chamber and settled into meditation. Conscious of his late entry into this world of immortal cultivation, he knew he must redouble his efforts if he were to catch up. Every minute was precious, and any time lost would be a step further away from his goals.
Not long after his meal, while deep in meditation, a gentle stirring in his divine sense roused Li Yan from his reverie. Opening his eyes, he glanced down and noticed that the token affixed to his waist was pulsing softly with a steady, pale green glow. The token's subtle luminescence was no accident—it was the magical messaging function of the sect's token. Designed to operate within a range of several thousand li, it was used to transmit communications instantly in place of traditional sound or signal talismans. Li Yan recalled that just the day before, both Li Wu Yi and Lin Da Qiao had already left their own imprints on his token by passing it among themselves.
He remembered that last night, when he had inspected his token, he'd seen nine small green dots blinking inside. It was clear these marks were not random; they were the seals left by his fellow disciples from Xiao Zhu Feng. With that matter settled in his mind, Li Yan wrapped up his meditation session, rose from his seat, and stepped through the door into the crisp morning air.
At the entrance of the bamboo courtyard, Li Wu Yi was waiting with a gentle smile. Watching Li Yan stride out in a calm, measured manner, Li Wu Yi greeted him warmly. The previous evening, Lin Da Qiao had taken the time to explain the layout of Li Yan's quarters and had given him a briefing on what to expect for the day ahead. Li Wu Yi, always meticulous in his duties, was confident that any detail he might have missed would be elaborated on in due course.
When Li Wu Yi learned that Li Yan—who had only just entered the second tier of the Congealing Qi stage—was capable of projecting his divine sense so effectively, he couldn't help but be momentarily stunned. It was an ability he had never expected from someone at such an early stage. Nonetheless, he felt a surge of pride and congratulations for his junior disciple; despite his so-called "Fractured Toxic Body," Li Yan was already exhibiting feats that belied his low cultivational level.
After exchanging a few brief pleasantries at the courtyard, Li Wu Yi produced his own flying talisman and effortlessly escorted Li Yan through the sky. Li Yan's own clumsy attempts at flight and his reliance on a lower-grade talisman paled in comparison, naturally falling into the background. Soon, as they descended further away from the cluster of buildings, they flew on for a dozen or so breaths until they reached a secluded spot on the mountain peak—a tranquil area hidden within a dense grove of ink-dark bamboo.
There, nestled amid the towering bamboo, was a small bamboo house no larger than three or four zhang across. Li Yan found himself pausing in surprise. This unassuming little dwelling was known as the "Treasure Pavilion." The name, however, was entirely at odds with the modest exterior that greeted his eyes. He remembered that just the day before, Li Wu Yi had taken him on a tour of the other four peaks. Although the view of the treasure pavilions on those peaks had been partially obscured by imposing formations and the inherent dangers of approaching too near, Li Wu Yi had nonetheless pointed out the exquisite pavilions on Ling-Chong Peak and Lao-Jun Peak—structures that soared, seven or eight stories high, exuding grandeur, dignity, and even a measure of awe. By contrast, the humble little bamboo house before him was hardly anything more than a crudely arranged room—even less impressive than the servant quarters he'd passed earlier.
Once he and Li Wu Yi had soared close to the bamboo house, only several dozen zhang away, Li Wu Yi gently descended and retrieved his talisman before leading Li Yan on foot toward the entrance. As they neared, around ten or so zhang from the doorway, Li Yan suddenly sensed a stray ray of divine awareness brushing against him—then, just as quickly, it was gone. In that fleeting moment, it became evident that someone was scanning for any intruders approaching the premises. Glancing upward at Li Wu Yi, Li Yan noted that his senior companion showed no sign of pausing or concern; he continued toward the bamboo house as if nothing were amiss.
Quietly, Li Yan mused to himself, "It appears the guardian of this Treasure Pavilion isn't particularly formidable. Otherwise, wouldn't he have detected our presence long before we were a mere dozen zhang away from the door?"
Peering through the open entrance of the little bamboo house, Li Yan could see inside—a simple room furnished with nothing more than a table, a chair, and a lone figure lying on the table, seemingly in a deep sleep. Approaching the door, he stepped closer so that the interior came into clear focus. To his further astonishment, the room was exactly as unassuming as its exterior: aside from the sparse furniture, there was no sign of any other possessions—even storage for books or trinkets was minimal at best.
"Is this truly the revered Treasure Pavilion?" he thought bitterly. "It's awfully spartan." His mind flashed back to memories of a recent tour, when Li Wu Yi had shown him the lavish treasures and majestic pavilions that adorned the other peaks. How could such resplendent structures—imposing edifices of seven or eight stories that emanated authority and gravitas—be contrasted with this humble abode, which seemed hardly fit even as a modest dormitory?
At that moment, Li Wu Yi halted at the very threshold and bowed deeply before the open door. In a respectful, measured tone he announced, "Greetings, Master Gu—for I, your junior disciple, have brought a new disciple here today to select a cultivation method or celestial art." The formal courtesy filled Li Yan with a startling realization: he was now part of a system where juniors formally paid homage to their elders, a practice he had only just begun to understand. Could it be that the man before him was also a master of the Golden Core stage? Just the day before, Lin Da Qiao had described the fearsome prowess of practitioners in the early stages of foundation-building; it was said that their strikes could destroy entire mortal settlements. Later-stage experts made even more devastating use of their power—capable, in their case, of crushing opponents as if they were mere insects. Li Yan had long known that the Golden Core stage was a terrifying realm far beyond what he could imagine at his current level. And now, to see that this elderly man might be a Golden Core master—even as he casually examined him—it was almost laughable how limited his own conjectures about others' cultivation had been.
"Ah, so this is that much-discussed 'Fractured Toxic Body' fellow," murmured a languid, indifferent voice. Li Yan lifted his eyes to see the speaker slowly straightening his posture. Before him sat an old man—a diminutive, wizened figure, no more than seventy or eighty years old. His head was a crown of neat white hair, his weathered face crisscrossed with deep lines, and he was clad in a simple grey robe that only added to his air of relaxed indifference. His eyes, half-lidded and unfocused, scanned the room. Yet when his gaze fell upon Li Yan, an inexplicable shiver ran down Li Yan's spine. It was as if that single look had peeled back every layer of his soul, leaving not a single secret hidden within.
"Hmm? This kid seems to have some potential," the old man murmured with a wry chuckle. "His internal magical strength appears as deep as if he were at the third tier—entirely at odds with his current level. Could this be the unique effect of his 'Fractured Toxic Body'?" His first words were spoken to both Li Wu Yi and Li Yan, but the latter half of the statement drifted away like a private confession.
For a moment, Li Yan felt a weight lift from his shoulders—the dread of exposure, the terror of being completely unmasked—vanishing in an instant. And yet, those few seconds were enough to leave his back drenched in cold sweat.
Li Wu Yi quickly interjected in a respectful tone, "Reporting to Master Gu! The junior disciple, Ba, indeed bears the mark of the 'Fractured Toxic Body.'"
The old man's eyes softened imperceptibly as he replied, "Oh, I've only heard tales that millions of years ago our sect once saw such toxic physiques. I'm merely curious. Now, kid, come forward so that I may inspect you properly." Retracting his divine sense, the grey-robed master's tone grew almost playful as he beckoned Li Yan onward.
"Yes, Master Gu," Li Yan replied without hesitation. Summoning every ounce of composure, he straightened himself, bowed in respect just as Li Wu Yi had demonstrated, and moved forward toward the table.
When Li Yan reached the table, the old man leaned forward ever so slightly. With a withered yet surprisingly steady hand, he grasped Li Yan's wrist. Over time, Li Yan had grown accustomed to this sort of personal inspection—since joining the sect, such probing had become almost routine, and his heart had grown numb to the intrusion.
After a few lingering moments, the old man released his grip. His deeply lined face seemed to express a tinge of regret as he remarked, "Ah, that's enough… Yes, indeed, you're of ordinary spiritual roots. What a pity for such a promising physique."
Li Yan's heart sank as he registered the disappointment in the old man's tone, though the statement was delivered without malice—just a resigned sigh at fate's cruelty. The elder then resumed his relaxed, almost disinterested posture and continued in a bored tone, "Now, tell me… what is your name?"
"Disciple Li Yan," he responded softly and respectfully.