a journey into immortal cultivation

Visitors Arrive

Wang Lin watched Zhang Hu’s back for a long time, then sighed, the yellow slip clenched in his hand. A dull sorrow rose in him. Zhang Hu had been his first friend in Hengyue, and now things had come to this.

“This talisman is the very root of the trouble.” He glanced at the yellow paper, and his expression changed. Though it looked no different from the leave-of-visit talismans given to registered disciples, the spiritual energy inside it far surpassed the others—and there was even a faintly dangerous aura seeping from it. Startled, Wang Lin couldn’t tell what it was, but it was definitely a treasure.

After a brief hesitation, he put the yellow slip away. Looking at the corpse on the floor, he sighed. If it wasn’t handled, Zhang Hu would never outrun the sect’s pursuit.

Fortunately, his storage pouch had space enough for a body. After wiping away the bloodstains in the room, Wang Lin slipped out without a sound, found a mountain ravine, and dumped the body into the torrent below, then cautiously returned to his quarters.

He set his thoughts aside and took out the talisman to study it.

At a glance it seemed identical to the visit talismans, but on closer look both the material and the cinnabar strokes far exceeded those crude slips.

Wang Lin pinched the talisman and pondered. He didn’t know what it did. Ever since he’d almost died from drinking dew on a whim, he’d grown wary of “immortal” things and didn’t dare use them lightly. That faint aura of danger only made him more cautious. He slid the talisman into his pouch to research later.

Then he took out the mysterious bead and entered the dreamspace.

This time, he didn’t pour all his effort into breathing exercises; he carved out time to practice the Attraction Art as well.

After using it on Senior Brother Liu, he’d found the art very practical, so he threw himself into drilling it. He started by using a gourd as his target, casting the art to lift it at a distance. The gourd was light; after several tries he finally got it to rise. The instant he succeeded once, Wang Lin cut the art off and started over from the beginning.

His thinking was simple: the Attraction Art had to follow the heart—ten casts, ten successes. If it failed even once at a critical moment, it was useless no matter how “powerful” it was.

By his current level he could only manage three or four successes out of ten—far below his own bar.

Time in the dreamspace rushed by. When the tearing sensation came, he returned to reality. He didn’t waste a breath. As soon as he opened his eyes he drank several gulps of springwater and sat to circulate his breathing. Once his spiritual energy felt full, he took a deep breath, eyes bright, and silently reviewed Qi Condensation: Three Chapters.

Besides the methods for each layer, the text recorded two crucial activation chants.

Those chants were the true keys to Qi Condensation. There were fifteen layers in all. Only the first could be reached naturally; the other fourteen each required its own opening chant. Now that he had finished the first layer, without the second layer’s chant he could never step up—he’d only circle the threshold forever.

Wang Lin intoned the chant in his mind. At once, the spiritual energy in his body began to shift. The change was mild at first, then grew fiercer, until it surged through him like boiling water.

Before long, his energy ran short. It stuttered and leaked into every part of him. Sour, numb, itchy, aching—sensations swept through his body. He felt as if he were riddled with holes, and spiritual power was the root of it.

Qi Condensation: Three Chapters had a line highlighted in a prominent place:

The activation chant will not succeed every time. Talent, spiritual energy, opportunity—each is critical. Some succeed once. Some need ten times. Some, a hundred…

After a long while, the sensations faded. Wang Lin was drenched in sweat; the energy in him was completely spent. But he knew from the text this emptiness was temporary—one session of breathing would restore it. He hadn’t opened the second layer. Failure was failure, yet he wasn’t discouraged. This had only been a probe. Clearly, the spiritual energy he held now was not enough to unlock the next step.

He’d only just stepped into the first layer. He wasn’t in a rush. With his springwater gourds, he could keep refining the first layer until it reached its limit—then try the second again. The odds would rise.

With that plan, he returned to the grind. His spiritual power steadily accumulated; the Attraction Art grew more reliable.

He also tried the second-layer chant again and again during this period, but each time failed.

Half a month in the real world—three months in the dreamspace—passed. One day, while Wang Lin was circulating his breath and waiting out the dreamspace’s interval, he saw the time was still early. He hesitated, then silently recited the second-layer chant and prepared to try once more.

He no longer remembered how many attempts he’d made. Each time ended the same way: his spiritual energy emptied out, and the door stayed shut.

An hour later, drained, he lifted his head. His energy was gone again. He smiled bitterly to himself. “Failed again. This second layer is really too hard to open.” Suddenly, his expression shifted. His gaze flicked to the door.

“Brother Wang, come out and see me.” A cold voice sounded from outside.

The voice was familiar. Wang Lin rose and pushed the door open. A black-robed youth of twenty-seven or twenty-eight stood there, face indifferent.

“Black robes.” Wang Lin’s heart tightened. He recognized him—the Zhang who had brought Wang Lin, Wang Zhuo, and Wang Hao up to Hengyue, and the same man who had carried his father to the base of the cliff to find him.

Back then he’d worn white. In just a few months he’d advanced to black robes! Wang Lin suddenly recalled what the Third Senior Brother in the pill hall had said at the village tests: the man was at a critical point in cultivation, and the sect master had sent him to preside so as not to disturb his breakthrough.