Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Drawing In Qi

If mornings in the Heng Yun world felt different, Zhao Chun decided it was because the air seemed cleaner.

She pushed open the window. The three Senior Sisters had already gone out to take their assignments.

Yesterday had been the last day of the month, so they’d been allowed a day of rest. Normally, they left before dawn and didn’t return until sunset.

With so many hours eaten away, cultivation naturally slowed. Menials worked themselves raw for a month and earned only 15 Cui Stones. Life stayed tight, so they buried their heads and kept grinding, day after day, sinking deeper.

Zhao Chun closed her eyes, steadied her breath, and let out a long sigh.

“Why are you sighing the moment you wake up?”

Zhou Pian Ran stepped out, pushing her door open. “Come on. Let’s eat breakfast first. We have class afterward.”

Probationary disciples had major classes and minor classes. Minor classes were held twice a month and taught by disciples who had officially entered the sect. Major classes were held once every ten days and taught by a Foundation Establishment elder.

Today was the first day of the month, which meant a minor class. It started at chen hour and ran straight to the end of wei hour, without a break.

The study hall stood behind the disciples’ living quarters. Disciples who had arrived from Small World were assigned to the Thirty-Ninth Court. Each courtyard held a thousand people, and seating was arranged by cultivation level and talent combined.

Those at the front were already at the third level of the Qi Refining Stage, close to reaching the mid stage—senior brothers and senior sisters. Then came the second and first levels. Only after that were the newcomers who still hadn’t drawn qi into the body.

When cultivation was equal, those with better talent were placed farther forward.

Zhao Chun’s seat was behind the first-level disciples, meaning she sat ahead of most newcomers.

By the time she arrived, many people were already there. She hurried to her spot, near the center of a row of worn desks.

Faces surrounded her on both sides—strangers. Peng Zheng sat behind her. Two other three-root disciples from Small World were nearby as well, but she didn’t know them and had nothing to say.

Going alone had its advantages. Zhao Chun took out the Scripture of True Sensory Insight, laid it on the desk, and silently memorized it.

In a hall full of a thousand people, the front half was silent. The newcomers in the back didn’t dare speak loudly; they only whispered in low voices, trying to recognize one another.

Zhao Chun’s neighbors rested with their eyes closed, but two students farther forward spoke in a soft back-and-forth, as if a more experienced senior brother were answering questions.

“Senior Brother, how is class taught here?”

“Our court is taught by a late-stage Qi Refining disciple—Senior Brother Xun Xian. He’s a three-root water cultivator, so his explanations of water spells are especially detailed.”

“And what kind of person is he?”

“Senior Brother Xun is kind. Not too strict.”

The speaker paused, then added with a note of resignation, “He only teaches and answers questions. He doesn’t take responsibility for our body cultivation. Whether you work hard or slack off has nothing to do with him.”

It sounded a lot like certain professors Zhao Chun remembered from her university days.

When she’d first entered, she’d noticed the front rows were a strange mix: children her age, and youths 17 or 18. Talent and effort braided together, producing scenes that would have looked absurd anywhere else.

She memorized the meridian-and-acupoint diagram twice more. Then Xun Xian entered with his hands clasped behind his back. He sat cross-legged on the platform and spoke without preamble.

“Outer Sect senior disciple Xun Xian. I’m responsible for instructing the Thirty-Ninth Court.”

By seniority, he was a senior brother, but no one actually addressed him that way. They called him “Mentor Xun,” a title meant to show respect.

He deserved his reputation. As a late-stage Qi Refining cultivator, he spoke of drawing qi into the body, washing the meridians, opening acupoints, and other fundamentals as if he were reciting common knowledge. His explanations were painstaking. Zhao Chun didn’t dare miss a word. Only when he paused to drink tea did she scribble quick notes.

Listening and writing at the same time, she filled in gaps the scriptures had never touched.

Spirit roots weren’t only divided by element. They also had “momentum.” For some, momentum was evenly distributed across each spirit root. For others, it leaned—heavier toward one element, or toward a pair.

Zhao Chun’s momentum leaned strongly toward metal and fire, with wood comparatively weak. That meant she could choose one of those as her main cultivation attribute. Mentor Xun himself had three roots—wood, water, and earth—yet his momentum favored water. He focused on water cultivation and found success that way.

Those with a clear lean were better off than those perfectly balanced. Zhao Chun wrote down metal and fire. She would likely choose one of them.

Multi-element cultivators existed, but the path was too troublesome. First, she needed to shed her probationary disciple status. Only then could she think farther.

The portion about drawing qi into the body came early in Mentor Xun’s lecture. Afterward, he focused more on meridians and acupoints. Zhao Chun listened selectively, absorbing what she needed most.

When the theory ended, Mentor Xun opened the floor for questions.

Most newcomers were still digesting the flood of information. Those with real questions were usually disciples already at the second or third level.

Zhao Chun’s understanding felt solid. She planned to return to her room and try it herself. When she glanced toward the back, she saw a sea of strained faces—some muttering to themselves, some staring at their books as if willing answers to appear. A few even slept with their heads on their arms.

One familiar face stood out: Xie Bao Guang, propping his head in one hand, eyes half shut.

So he really didn’t care. Zhao Chun shook her head faintly.

Three bell chimes signaled the end of class. Mentor Xun didn’t wait to see if anyone still had questions. He stood immediately.

“That’s all for today. If you still have questions, bring them next class.”

As he left, quiet complaints rippled through the hall. “Next class has next class’s problems. Who can remember what we asked today?”

Zhao Chun, however, felt satisfied. The lesson had been dense and practical—exactly what she needed.

The only flaw was the lack of breaks. Her stomach was hollow, and Zhou Pian Ran’s looked no better. They gathered their things and hurried to the dining hall.

After eating, they returned to their rooms. It was only shen hour. Zhao Chun shut her door and prepared to attempt drawing qi into the body.

According to the scripture and Mentor Xun’s lecture, she had to activate her spirit roots, sense the spiritual qi around her, then guide it—slowly—into her dantian.

She closed her eyes and sat cross-legged.

Without sight, her other senses sharpened. She could feel the warmth of her palm resting on her knee. She could smell the faint rot of old wood in the room.

She saw nothing, yet it felt as if she saw everything.

In the darkness behind her eyelids, three traces of color appeared. Gold and red twisted together, tangling and biting at each other. A green shadow trembled below them, shrinking away.

So she’d successfully stirred her spirit roots.

She “looked” outward. In the blackness, gray-white mist drifted like flowing water.

She reached toward it—and a glowing hand appeared in front of her. Small. Childlike.

Her own.

Humans were said to be the most spiritual of all beings. At birth, they still carried a thread of innate spiritual qi. As they grew, that qi scattered. Filth from the world seeped into flesh and blood, clogging meridians and acupoints—even the skin itself—until a person no longer held spirit and fell into an ordinary mortal body.

The path of cultivation began with returning to a spiritual body. The first step of the Scripture of True Sensory Insight was nurturing the body: clearing the skin and flesh, building a bridge so spiritual qi could enter.

Zhao Chun tried to draw the mist closer, but failed again and again. It drifted around her, circling, never entering by even a hair.

So the problem was the nurturing step. She hadn’t reached the threshold for drawing qi.

With no class to attend, days grew quiet. Zhao Chun stayed in her room to cultivate most of the time. Zhou Pian Ran, on the other hand, couldn’t sit still. She was gentle and friendly, and she made a few acquaintances in the Daylily Garden.

Whenever they were together, Zhou Pian Ran brought gossip and news, as if afraid Zhao Chun would become completely cut off from the world.

She spoke of Zheng Chen Qing—the one who had delighted Elder Lin so much. After meeting the Sect Master, it turned out he was unusually suited for the sect’s secret technique. The Sect Master took him as a personal disciple, and he rose in a single step.

She spoke of Elder Qiu, the one they had seen on the day they arrived in the Heng Yun world. Her name was Silhouette. The Sect Master had adopted her when she was still swaddled in cloth. With three spirit roots, she broke into the Essence Condensation Stage at 25 and became famous even in the Heng Yun world.

Most of what Zhou Pian Ran repeated, though, was smaller—petty rivalries within the Ling Zhen Sect.

The Heng Yun world was filled with sects. Beyond them were clans supported by great cultivators, tightly linked to the sects. Elders held positions within the sect, and the younger generation entered as disciples.

Those with backing were never treated the same as ordinary disciples. Even within the Outer Sect, an unspoken hierarchy had formed: disciples from Small World at the bottom, those born in the Heng Yun world above them, and those from cultivation clans at the top.

The Thirty-Ninth Court was mostly filled with disciples from Small World, which made the atmosphere calmer. Other courts weren’t so peaceful. Where multiple factions mixed, conflicts broke out easily.

Zhao Chun wanted no part of it. She focused on cultivation and aimed to become an official disciple as soon as possible. She also warned Zhou Pian Ran to stay away from disputes. They had no one behind them; they couldn’t afford to offend anyone.

“I know,” Zhou Pian Ran promised. “I only listen here and there. I won’t draw attention.”

She held a cup of hot tea in both hands and studied Zhao Chun. “How is it going?

“You’ve been even more withdrawn lately. You’re always in your room.”

Zhao Chun had been running the body-nurturing formula for seven days. The dark blotches that once marred her skin had completely faded. It felt like the right time.

“Tonight decides it,” she said. “I’m sure I’ll succeed.”

“Then I’ll wait for good news.” Zhou Pian Ran smiled, bright with belief. “Senior Sister said that once you become an official disciple, you can share some easier work with them.”

“The Senior Sisters have been good to me,” Zhao Chun said quietly. “I won’t let them down.”

During her hard cultivation, the Senior Sisters had looked after her in practical ways—food, clothing, little daily needs, all handled. There was an element of wagering on her future, but their kindness was real.

That night, Zhao Chun sat on a cushion on the floor. Cui Lan E had dug it out for her from storage. A canopy bed was inconvenient for cultivation; cushions like this were common.

Her body glowed faintly in the dark, pale as white jade. The mist no longer shied away as it had before. It hovered close, circling her skin, testing.

Zhao Chun recognized the moment.

She activated her spirit roots. The three colors swirled into a vortex, and she pulled at the spiritual qi with sheer will.

At first the qi scattered, startled, refusing to obey. Then it sensed the calm intent Zhao Chun offered—something like welcome, like gentleness—and hesitated.

Under the steady pull of the vortex, it finally reached forward and entered.

Once one strand entered, another followed. The qi gathered and wrapped around her, flowing through the vortex and into her dantian. The resistance eased, then vanished, replaced by something close to familiarity.

The moment it settled, Zhao Chun knew.

Drawing qi into the body was complete.

She had stepped onto the path of cultivation at last—a first-level cultivator of the Qi Refining Stage.