As he felt the flow of true breath within him, Li Xun let out a slow breath of relief.
He'd heard it a hundred times in the sect: "Cultivation is like rowing against the current—stop moving, and you fall back." But now? Now he wasn't so sure those old sayings were always right.
He hadn't trained properly for over two months. Sure, his true breath was a bit sluggish... but once the Golden Core True Breath Lock Structure ran a few full cycles, even that slight disharmony had been completely smoothed out and disappeared without a trace.
And not only that—maybe it was something that happened back on Guantao Slope, in that fleeting moment of clarity—but now, as his true breath flowed through him, there was something different. Gone was the rigid precision of before. In its place, a new fluidity, a living pulse.
If his control of true breath before had been like a scholar directing troops with a textbook—then now, it was more like a brilliant general, weaving tactics on the battlefield with instinct and flair.
That one tiny shift in nuance had completely transformed the nature of his Golden Core Breath-Lock Structure. It reminded him of those days when Lin Ge had taught him some subtle key insights... but this time, it hadn't come from someone else. It came from within—and it fit him perfectly.
Building the foundation for the Lingxi Art was a long and draining process, requiring immense focus. And across this grueling journey, only two things truly mattered: precision and efficiency.
Precision tested your will and conviction. Efficiency tested your talent and intuition.
Li Xun had no shortage of willpower. His conviction was solid. His intelligence was nothing to worry about. But when it came to intuition, well, that was another matter. Sure, he had a knack for catching on quick, for seeing connections others missed, turning one thought into ten. But those insights… they weren't deep enough to pierce the heavens, to grasp the workings of Dao itself.
He was cunning, shrewd, meticulous—traits that weren't flaws in themselves. Yet on the path of cultivation, nothing is more detrimental than a scattered heart and wandering mind. With his sharp and active thoughts, distraction came easily. And once the mind is dispersed and the spirit unfocused, how could one possibly perceive that faint, elusive mystery — that subtle truth in the vastness of heaven and earth, which seems to be there and yet not, clear and yet uncertain?
Maybe, if things continued this way, he might be able to progress step by step — slowly, methodically building up his cultivation, laying a solid foundation. And in the end, perhaps, by relying on some faint and far-off stroke of fate, he might eventually struggle his way along the path of immortality.
But as for truly attaining that pure, boundless, and infinite Dao of Heaven — he might as well forget it.
And yet—Heaven's will is never easy to guess.
Just today, when Li Xun's mindset shifted—when his heart truly changed—something stirred in the void.
A seed. You could call it a spiritual seed… or perhaps a demonic seed. Whatever it was, it spun down from the depths of the unknown, drawn by that very moment of insight—and struck straight into the core of his spirit.
And right then—
Li Xun awoke.
In the end, he had awakened.
No matter what exactly he had comprehended, people could sum it up in a single phrase—the Great Dao is infinite.
The Heavenly Dao had granted Li Xun an opportunity—an opening to break through the barriers within himself and set foot, boldly, upon the immortal path. What he had long lacked—true intuition, the spiritual insight—had finally begun to take root. And with it, the first and most fundamental obstacle on his road of cultivation was swept away.
And so, in that moment, he took his first true step on the path of cultivation.
....
Li Xun focused inward, sensing the flow of true breath within his body, refusing to let even the most subtle of changes slip past him. The movement of true breath wasn't like the ordinary flow of rivers or streams—not something visible or tangible.
Instead, it was the ever-shifting resonance of qi—the ceaseless interaction between the body and Heaven and Earth's primordial energy. This "Heaven and ManResponse" threaded itself through his meridians, flesh and sinew in ways that were subtle and profound, producing what we experience as flow.
A truly wise cultivator must not be deceived by these outer appearances. He must see through the surface—straight to the hidden intricacies within.
Just as Li Xun did now.
Though what he felt was the lively circulation of his true breath, somewhere deep in the haze of his perception, he caught a glimpse of something far more mysterious—something profound nestled in the deepest part of his body.
The true breath moved in patterns around the golden core in his Yellow Court (lower dantian). The complexity of this motion—this web of shifting qi—could easily involve billions of delicate transitions. To count them one by one would be madness. To isolate the single most crucial thread among them? That was something no sane person would even attempt.
And yet—perhaps due to the residual clarity from his earlier moment of insight—guided by the sudden brilliance of his inner vision, Li Xun did catch it. That tiniest, most elusive of openings.
It was the core's *spiritual seed*—the most refined, most spiritually resonant element within the body. For cultivators, this was a sacred treasure.
More importantly, within the foundation stage of the Lingxi Art, this seed was everything. It was the *key* to progress.
The Lingxi Art's foundation phase was divided into four levels: nurturing, refinement, sublimation, and evolution. Up until now, Li Xun had only been moving step by step through the first: nurturing.
But the sudden appearance of this spiritual seed had vaulted him forward, leaping him far ahead on his cultivation path.
In his spiritual perception, that spark of essence was like a faint starlight, flickering uncertainly as it floated within the vast golden core. Compared to this spark, the golden core itself seemed as vast as an endless void.
And wherever the spark drifted, it sent ripples through his qi—ripples that caused countless subtle changes. Changes he had never noticed before.
Who knew how long this miraculous state would last? Not daring to waste a second, Li Xun immediately employed a special heart method from the Lingxi Art, forging a link between his consciousness and the spiritual seed.
From this moment forward, it would never again escape his grasp.
He exhaled deeply and opened his eyes. Outside, the sky had grown completely dark. The room around him was swallowed in shadows.
Just as he was about to light the lamp, a sudden brightness filled the space. In the flash of light, the Yin Wanderer stood not far from him, watching him with a look of amusement. When she saw him open his eyes, she gave him a slow, meaningful smile.
"Quite diligent, aren't you?"
He didn't know why, but Li Xun suddenly felt a flicker of guilt. Deep down, he didn't want Yin Wanderer to know about the progress and breakthrough he'd just made. Maybe it was an instinct for self-preservation. Maybe… there were other complicated feelings mixed in, too.
In that moment, he couldn't fully sort it out. He could only bluff with a casual reply: "Just… training a little."
Yin Wanderer didn't press him. She merely nodded, and let the matter drop.
But Li Xun didn't dare act careless. He quickly stood. "What brings you here, Aunt-Master? Do you have any orders for me?" he asked respectfully.
Yin Wanderer was always hard to read. Her gaze swept over him—and suddenly, the room's temperature plummeted.
Panic surged in Li Xun's chest.
He had no idea what just happened. But this feeling…
Strangely enough, that oppressive force dissipated just as quickly as it came. And then, with a quiet voice that still echoed clearly in his head, she asked:
"Has there been any movement in the palace these last few days?"
"There has." Li Xun answered without hesitation.
The truth was, that fat emperor Longqing had been rather tame recently—just chatting daily about health and longevity. Li Xun had even used some of Yin Wanderer's gifted pills to impress him. Life had been easy enough.
Smack!
A sharp, ringing slap cut through the air. Li Xun was stunned—completely frozen.
Yin Wanderer smiled faintly, withdrew her hand, and turned to walk toward the door. Just before stepping out, her voice floated back to him from the darkness:
"Want to know why you got slapped? Come with me."
Then she vanished into the night outside the room.
Li Xun, like a fool, clutched his face and followed her out.