Several months passed in the Hidden Land Village, and the young disciples could feel themselves drawing ever closer to their long-awaited breakthrough—the Foundation Establishment Stage.
The signs were clear in every breath, every heartbeat. When they trained, their Qi pulsed stronger; when they meditated, their senses sharpened; and yet, just beyond that progress lay an invisible barrier—so close they could almost touch it, yet still impossibly far.
Many of them realized that sheer effort was no longer enough. They could feel the edge of the threshold, but without perfect harmony between body, mind, spirit, senses, and knowledge, even the smallest imbalance could shatter their progress or weaken their foundation.
And so, under the strict supervision of the elders, they began training with even greater care and precision. Every movement, every breath, every thought had to be in balance. They no longer chased power recklessly; instead, they sought stillness within strength—control within chaos.
The elders guided them tirelessly, correcting posture, adjusting breathing, and teaching the fine rhythm between force and calm. Under Tong Chen's unyielding discipline, Yan Zhi Lan's sharp insight, Xiao Ling's serene patience, and Liang Shan's iron resolve, the young ones slowly learned what true cultivation meant.
Some of the youngsters confessed that without this guidance, they might still have broken through eventually—but at a heavy cost. Their foundation would have been unstable, their progress slower, and their future uncertain.
But now, guided by wisdom and tempered through hardship, they forged their balance like steel in fire.
At last, the subtle hum of their inner rivers began to align. The flow of Qi within them steadied, merging perfectly with their breath and heartbeat. In that harmony, each could sense the beginning of transformation—their bodies preparing to cross the final threshold.
They were no longer just children chasing strength; they were disciples standing at the dawn of a new beginning—the true path of Foundation Establishment, where mortal limits would finally be left behind.
The morning mist clung to the slopes, thin as breath, drifting over the training plateau where the young disciples sat in rows. Their eyes were closed, bodies still, yet the air around them trembled faintly with the rhythm of their efforts.
Every student was deep in meditation, guiding their blood-energy through the body's inner channels. For some, the Qi rushed like a wild river—surging up one moment, collapsing the next. Their breathing faltered; their shoulders tensed. At times the energy pressed against their skin with a dull ache, as if the body itself could no longer contain it.
The mountain top seemed to echo their struggle: the soft hum of unsteady power, the faint pulse of hearts trying to find order in chaos. They were close—so close—to touching the first threshold of cultivation, yet each time they neared it, the balance slipped away like water through fingers.
At the far edge of the terrace sat Yan Rui, an eleven-year-old girl from the Yan family. She was known among her group for her lively spirit and unshakable cheer, the kind of presence that lifted others when fatigue bit hardest. But today, that usual brightness was replaced by quiet focus.
Her posture was straight but relaxed, hands resting lightly on her knees. Beads of sweat glimmered on her forehead, yet her expression stayed calm. Unlike many around her, her breathing kept an even rhythm—slow inhale, steady exhale. The faint heat of her blood-Qi rose and fell in tune with that breath, not perfectly smooth, but steadier than most.
Every few moments her shoulders would tighten slightly, then ease, as if she were adjusting the flow by instinct. The aura around her wasn't dazzling or bright; it was subtle, like warm air over a candle flame. The energy within her moved with effort but without panic—imperfect, human, and real.
From the ridge, the elders observed silently. Tong Chen's sharp gaze softened with approval. Xiao Ling and Liang Shan exchanged brief nods. But Elder Yan Zhi Lan, watching her clan's young girl, felt a quiet pride stir within.
"She's learning to listen to her body," she murmured. "Not forcing the flow, just guiding it."
It wasn't extraordinary power that surprised them—it was composure. While others fought against their Qi, Yan Rui worked with it, shaping disorder into rhythm a heartbeat at a time.
A small breeze passed across the plateau, carrying the scent of pine and damp stone. The children continued their struggle, faces tense but determined. And there, amid them all, Yan Rui remained steady—her eyes closed, her breath slow, a small, steady light in the storm of effort surrounding her.
For the elders, that steadiness was the truest sign of growth. Not brilliance, not raw strength—but balance. She was not breaking through yet, but she was standing at the very doorstep, ready for the next step when the time was right.
Time flowed quietly atop the mountain. The mist had thinned, leaving the young trainees beneath the clear, pale light of the afternoon sun.
Yan Rui remained seated in the same spot, her small frame steady as she continued the long, demanding cycle of guiding her blood energy through every channel of her body.
At first, the process had seemed almost simple—rhythmic, even comforting. She had learned to breathe with her Qi, to let it flow without resistance. But as the hours passed and she repeated the same process again and again, the challenge began to unfold.
The first ten cycles were smooth; the energy moved like warm water through the veins.
By the fiftieth, her body began to ache, as if her blood carried weight with every turn.
At the seventieth, her breath grew shallow, the pressure building in her chest like an unrelenting tide.
Still, she pressed on.
She had completed ninety circulations, and the energy within her now pulsed with visible strength. Her skin glistened with sweat, her lips pale, yet her eyes still burned with focus. Each cycle carried the energy deeper into her limbs, refining her inner channels, strengthening the bridge toward the threshold of Foundation Establishment.
But nearing the end, something changed.
At the ninety-eighth cycle, the calm rhythm she had built began to twist. The Qi inside her no longer flowed easily—it turned sharp and heavy, pushing against her meridians like molten iron. A deep ache spread through her arms and spine, and every breath felt as if she was drawing fire instead of air.
Her hands trembled slightly. Her vision blurred.
Her will screamed for her to continue, but her body had reached its limit. She knew that forcing one more circulation could break her balance, perhaps even make her faint.
For a long moment, she hesitated—caught between determination and exhaustion.
Then a gentle but firm voice broke the silence.
"Yan Rui."
Elder Yan Zhi Lan stepped forward from the edge of the terrace, her crimson robes rustling softly in the mountain wind. In her hand she carried a small jade vial glowing faintly with a soft amber hue.
She knelt beside the trembling girl, her eyes calm but full of quiet pride. Without a word, she unsealed the vial and held it out.
Inside shimmered a few drops of Essence Elixir, a mild but pure tonic made to steady the flow of blood-Qi.
"Continue," the elder said softly, her tone gentle yet unwavering. "You are at the edge—one step away. Take this, and let it ease your flow. But remember, child…"
Her gaze deepened, voice lowering with quiet gravity.
"This elixir will not break the wall for you. It will only help you endure the pain. The real step forward must come from your will. Everything now depends on you."
Yan Rui looked up, her breath uneven, her small hands shaking as she took the vial. She drank the elixir, its cool sweetness spreading through her chest, calming the storm just enough for her to breathe again.
Then, with one final, steady exhale, she closed her eyes and began the ninety-ninth circulation—her body trembling, her will burning brighter than ever.
Yan Rui's breathing slowed as she began her ninety-ninth circulation. Her body was trembling slightly, yet her eyes stayed closed, calm and steady.
Inside her, the flow of blood energy surged again — stronger, faster, more intense than anything she had felt before. Each heartbeat echoed through her chest like a drum.
The warmth spread through her limbs, up her neck, across her shoulders — a burning tide that made her muscles tighten and her skin prickle. She tried to hold steady, to guide that rushing power with her will alone, but it was like trying to contain a storm inside her veins.
Her strength reached its edge.
The blood within her seemed to boil, pushing against every corner of her body, and no matter how she tried to calm it, it only grew wilder.
"I can't… stop it," she thought, gritting her teeth. "It's too strong now…"
Then, suddenly, the pressure burst outward.
A faint shimmer rose from her skin — soft at first, then deepening into a dim red glow. The air around her rippled, and the ground beneath her hands felt warm. Within seconds, a faint mist of red light began to gather, swirling gently around her seated form.
The others noticed it immediately.
"Whoa—look at her!" Luo Tang gasped, pointing.
Ye Chen's eyes widened. "That's her blood energy… it's coming out of her body!"
Wu Chen leaned forward, disbelief and admiration in his voice. "I didn't know it could be seen like that!"
The glow thickened slowly, not blinding or fierce — just steady and alive — until it formed a thin red shell around Yan Rui, like a cocoon woven from mist and warmth. Inside, she sat perfectly still, her body glowing faintly with each heartbeat.
The younger disciples could only stare, half in awe, half in envy.
"She's really close…" Ye Chen whispered.
"She might reach the stage before anyone else," Liang Yin murmured, her tone filled with excitement and worry.
On the higher ridge, the elders watched quietly.
Elder Tong Chen's expression was calm, though his eyes reflected approval. "Her blood has reached full circulation — the body's limit is responding. This is the sign of nearing stabilization."
Beside him, Elder Yan Zhi Lan's lips curved into a faint, proud smile. "Her balance held even under pressure. The red mist means her blood and body are aligning — preparing to solidify the foundation."
Below, the younger ones whispered among themselves, their faces lit by the faint crimson glow.
"It's like the air itself is breathing with her," Luo Tang said softly.
"Yeah," Ye Chen replied, eyes gleaming. "She's not breaking through yet… but her body's ready. She's almost there."
The red cocoon pulsed gently, as though following her heartbeat — a living rhythm of warmth and power.
For a long moment, no one spoke. Even the mountain seemed to grow still, holding its breath as Yan Rui's body adapted, shaped, and steadied the wild energy within.
The red mist around Yan Rui thickened, swirling slowly like smoke in still air. Inside it, her small figure sat unmoving—legs crossed, back straight—but her expression showed quiet strain. Her lips were pale, her hands trembling slightly on her knees.
Within her, the blood energy surged again, stronger than before—rushing, coiling, pressing.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
It was no longer calm; it was alive, wild, fierce.
"What's happening to me…?" she thought, struggling to keep her breath steady. "My blood… it's changing."
A strange sensation spread through her veins—like something small and alive was moving inside her blood, writhing and crawling through every part of her body. It wasn't pain alone—it was transformation. Her blood wasn't just flowing; it was refining itself, growing denser, heavier, filled with a faint heat that made her skin tingle.
The feeling reminded her of every hardship she'd faced in the last year and a half—every mountain climbed, every tank carried, every muscle that had screamed under training. But this time, all that weight seemed to press inward, as though her own strength had turned against her.
The pressure grew unbearable.
Her veins tightened, her chest burned, and her head rang with the pounding of her pulse. It felt as if mountains of iron were pressing against her heart, trying to crush it from within.
Still, she did not stop.
Her breathing grew ragged, her vision darkened, yet her mind held onto one thought—the barrier.
That invisible wall that had stopped her after ninety-nine circulations still stood, faint but unmoving.
She focused on it with every ounce of will left in her body.
"Not yet…" she whispered to herself through clenched teeth. "I'm not stopping now…"
Outside the cocoon, the young trainees stood frozen. The red cloud around Yan Rui pulsed faster now, flickering like flame in a storm.
"Her blood pressure—it's increasing!" Ye Chen cried, her voice tense.
Wu Chen frowned, concern flashing in his eyes. "That glow's too strong. Can her body hold that much energy?"
Luo Tang shook his head, half in awe. "She's either about to break through… or collapse."
The elders said nothing.
Elder Yan Zhi Lan's eyes stayed fixed on the red cocoon, her expression calm but her fists tight behind her back. "Hold on, child," she murmured under her breath. "Don't lose your focus…"
Inside, Yan Rui's consciousness wavered between pain and clarity. Her blood felt like it was boiling, the energy within her body shaking every fiber of her being. The barrier before her—so solid for months—began to tremble at last, like glass about to crack.
She took one final breath, every muscle screaming, every vein aflame.
Her whole body tensed—
—and the barrier shattered.
A deep, muffled boom echoed from within her body, like the beating of a giant heart. The red mist around her burst outward in a single wave, scattering across the plateau before reforming into faint trails of warmth.
Then the world itself seemed to hold its breath.
The clear sky above suddenly dimmed, and a shadow rolled over the training ground. Red-and-black clouds gathered from nowhere, swirling above the mountain peak. They weren't vast, but dense, heavy, and pulsing with strange light.
Faint streaks of crimson lightning danced through them, lighting the air with an eerie glow.
Gasps filled the plateau.
"W-what's happening now?" Luo Tang stammered.
Ye Chen's eyes widened. "It's… reacting to her?"
Wu Chen whispered, "The heavens… they're watching."
Elder Tong Chen's gaze lifted toward the storm, his voice calm but firm.
"When a mortal breaks the wall of flesh, heaven itself will test the worth of her foundation. The storm brings both guidance—and punishment."
A crack of thunder rolled across the sky.
Bolts of reddish lightning fell, striking the air around Yan Rui's cocoon. They didn't burn the ground but wrapped her in trembling waves of light. Each flash carried heat, pressure, and weight—slamming into her body like invisible blows.
Then, with a sharper crack, one bolt struck directly above her, its force scattering the red cocoon around her like shattered glass.
Fragments of glowing mist burst outward, spinning through the air in fiery arcs before dissolving into the wind.
For a heartbeat, the entire plateau glowed crimson, the falling sparks raining around her like embers from a forge.
The young trainees shielded their faces, eyes wide in shock.
Luo Tang shouted over the thunder, "Her cocoon—it's breaking apart!"
Ye Chen's voice trembled. "No—it's not breaking… it's being refined!"
Inside the storm, Yan Rui's body shook violently. The lightning didn't wound her; it judged her—searing weakness, hardening strength.
Her blood boiled, condensed, and grew heavier, her skin faintly steaming from the pressure. Each strike made her body tremble—but also strengthened it, forging it like steel under a hammer.
"If this is punishment," she thought, "then I'll accept it… and make it mine."
The thunder deepened. Every strike sent ripples through the air; her blood pulsed faster, refining itself under the storm's rhythm. The pain built to its peak—then began to fade, replaced by a deep, warm stillness. The lightning no longer hurt; it harmonized, becoming part of her.
The red-and-black clouds slowly thinned, the thunder fading into silence. Only the scent of rain and iron lingered in the air.
Then, as the last flicker of light faded, Yan Rui's body jerked forward. She coughed hard, and a mouthful of thick, dark-red blood spilled onto the stone beneath her. The blood steamed faintly, carrying a metallic scent sharper than iron.
"Yan Rui!" Ye Chen cried, stepping forward before Wu Chen caught her arm.
"Wait!" he said quickly. "Look… the color—it's not normal blood."
The elders' eyes narrowed as they watched. Elder Tong Chen nodded slightly. "It's the body's impurities—forced out during refinement. The heavens burned them away."
Elder Yan Zhi Lan's voice softened with rare emotion. "She endured the guidance and the punishment both. Her body has expelled the waste, and the remaining blood… it's cleaner, stronger—the beginning of a cultivator's foundation."
The dark blood on the ground quickly lost its heat, turning dull and lifeless. But within Yan Rui, the remaining blood felt lighter, purer—each heartbeat now deep and steady, filled with quiet strength.
Slowly, she opened her eyes. Her body still hurt, her limbs still weak, but her expression carried a faint, tired smile.
The red cocoon had vanished, leaving only faint streaks of crimson drifting through the air like fading fireflies. The storm within had calmed.
Around her, the other youngsters stood speechless—awed and inspired.
Luo Tang finally broke the silence. "That… that was insane."
Ye Chen nodded slowly, eyes shining. "She really broke through…"
Wu Chen smiled faintly. "No. She didn't just break through—she faced heaven's trial and built her foundation right in front of us."
The elders exchanged a glance, the faintest pride in their eyes.
For the first time, Yan Rui's body had become more than human strength alone—it was now a vessel tempered by both her will and the world's judgment.
And though she had yet to step into the Foundation Establishment stage fully, everyone there knew—
the moment she opened her eyes, the next chapter of her path had begun.