The Difficulty of Drawing Qi

Inside the room, the candle had long burned out, leaving only a wisp of blue smoke spiraling in the dimness.

Chen Ping sat cross-legged on the cushion, eyes shut tight, maintaining the five-hearts-facing-heaven posture for three full days.

His breathing was faint, almost imperceptible, as he followed the obscure incantation of the Everlasting Spring Technique, trying to grasp that elusive thread of "Qi" drifting between heaven and earth.

But there was nothing.

All was silent, save for the piercing numbness in his legs from poor blood circulation. His Dantian remained utterly empty.

Chen Ping slowly opened his eyes, bloodshot. He summoned his panel, and the line of text glared back at him:

[Cultivation Technique: Everlasting Spring Technique (Not Yet Mastered 1/10000)]

"Three days of sitting still, and only one point of proficiency..."

Chen Ping twitched the corner of his mouth, bitterness flooding in.

At this rate, to even master it, he'd have to sit motionless for thirty years.

He stood up, working his stiff joints until they cracked like popping beans.

Walking to the window, he pushed it open a crack and gazed out at this bustling yet filthy mortal county town. In that moment, clarity struck.

For a cultivator, this mortal realm was a desert of spiritual power.

Without water, no matter how hard a fish flips its tail, it can only wait to die on the dry riverbed.

"Since heaven won't provide, I'll have to rely on this."

Chen Ping reached into the hidden pocket against his chest and pulled out the Low-Grade Spirit Stone Ye Muqing had given him.

The dim room seemed to light up like a faint lamp flickering to life.

The spirit stone lay in his palm, radiating a soft, milky-white glow. Even before absorbing it, just holding it brought a soothing, refreshing coolness.

This was his only lifeline, the key to knock on the gates of immortality.

"If even this is useless..."

Chen Ping suppressed the anxiety churning in his heart, sat back down cross-legged, gripped the spirit stone tightly, and began circulating the Everlasting Spring Technique incantation once more.

This time, it was completely different.

The moment the incantation started, a vast, irresistible chill surged from his palms.

It felt like a parched, cracked land finally receiving a long-awaited downpour.

That cool stream of energy poured wildly through his Laogong acupoints, violently scouring his dry, blocked meridians.

The numbers on the panel began to jump frantically.

[Everlasting Spring Technique Proficiency +1]

[Everlasting Spring Technique Proficiency +1]

Chen Ping had never experienced anything like this. If martial arts was like hauling bricks to build a wall, then cultivation was like riding the wind on a flying sword.

Every pore was cheering, every inch of flesh greedily devouring this energy.

The ecstasy of a life-form leaping to a higher level far surpassed any worldly pleasure—it was intoxicating, making one never want to wake.

He didn't know how long passed. Outside, the sky shifted from pitch black to fish-belly white.

Suddenly, Chen Ping felt a tremor in his Dantian, as if something had shattered.

That cool stream of energy that had coursed through his body now converged like a hundred rivers flowing into the sea, gathering at the center of his Dantian. It condensed into a single, extremely thin, extremely weak, yet undeniably real—Magical Power.

It was no thicker than a strand of hair, faintly tinged with pale green, but it swam stubbornly within his Dantian, radiating vibrant life.

Chen Ping snapped his eyes open. A sharp gleam flashed through them like lightning. Every speck of dust in the room was now crystal clear to his sight.

[Realm: Qi Refining Layer 1 (1%)]

[Cultivation Technique: Everlasting Spring Technique (Mastered 1/100)]

He'd done it!

He looked down at the spirit stone in his hand.

The once crystal-clear stone had already dimmed by half, with fine cracks spreading across its surface.

Just one night, and half its spiritual power was gone.

This cultivation path was truly a devourer of wealth.

But the returns were astonishing.

With the birth of that thread of Magical Power, Chen Ping sensed subtle changes in his body.

The Longevity of Pine and Crane, which had hit a bottleneck, began circulating on its own, resonating strangely with this thread of Everlasting Spring Magical Power.

The panel refreshed:

[Lifespan: 20/120]

"One hundred and twenty years..."

Chen Ping stared at the number, his heart pounding violently.

A mortal reaching seventy was already considered a long life, yet he now possessed a lifespan of one hundred and twenty years!

Not only that—when he closed his eyes, the world around him seemed to have a layer peeled away.

In the courtyard, the sound of a cricket rubbing its wings in the grass was crisp and clear;

In the adjacent room, Yun Niang's light, steady breathing, even the rustle of her blanket as she turned over, all reached his ears.

His range of perception had doubled entirely!

Was this the world as seen by a cultivator?

Suppressing the wild joy within, Chen Ping's gaze fell on the last page of the Everlasting Spring Technique fragment.

There, it recorded a minor spell that required no hand seals, only the urging of spiritual power—the Flicking Finger Technique.

"Let's test its power."

He walked to the corner of the study, where a hardwood post stood upright for training.

Chen Ping mobilized the pitiful thread of spiritual power within his Dantian, guiding it to the index finger of his right hand.

A swelling sensation immediately shot through his fingertip, as if a needle were about to burst through the skin.

"Go!"

He flicked his finger.

"Pop!"

An extremely brief yet sharp crack exploded in the air, like a firecracker going off right by his ear.

Three meters away, a finger-sized deep pit appeared on the hardwood post, splinters flying. The pit's edges were charred black, carbonized by the intense heat.

Chen Ping's eyelid twitched.

This power was even more terrifying than a pistol from his past life!

If it struck a person, even clad in iron armor, it could pierce through with a single finger.

But the next second, a wave of intense weakness surged over him like a tide. Chen Ping's legs gave way, and he nearly collapsed to the floor.

The faint green spiritual power he had painstakingly gathered in his Dantian had vanished without a trace, not a drop remaining.

"One strike..."

Chen Ping gripped the corner of the table, gasping heavily, cold sweat beading on his forehead.

"Just one strike, and it drained all my spiritual power."

This was the awkwardness of a low-level cultivator—possessing a cannon, but only one shell.

He instinctively picked up the dim spirit stone, intending to recover his power.

Yet the moment he began to absorb, the already crack-ridden stone let out a crisp "crack" and turned into a pile of gray-white powder in his palm, slipping through his fingers.

Chen Ping froze, staring at the stone dust on the floor. The soaring ambition that had just risen in his heart was gone without a trace.

The spirit stone was depleted.

In this mortal world, thin in spiritual energy, without a spirit stone, relying on meditation to recover that thread of power would likely take ten days to half a month.

And to continue cultivating and advancing—that was nothing but a fool's dream.

"The path is cut off."

Chen Ping slumped into his chair, gazing at the rising sun outside the window. His eyes grew clear, then turned cold.

The resources of the mortal world could not sustain a cultivator.

Even if he was a Tanhua of the Imperial Military Examination, even if his family was wealthy, he could buy no trace of spiritual energy here.

To keep growing stronger, to seek immortality, he had to leave this place and find the Cultivation World that Ye Muqing spoke of.

"Creak—"

The door was pushed open softly.

Yun Niang entered carrying a tray, on which sat a steaming pot of old hen soup.

"Ping Lang, you've been shut in here for three days..."

Seeing Chen Ping's pallid, paper-white face and the cold sweat on his forehead, the tray in her hands trembled, and her eyes instantly reddened.

She hurried over, set down the soup, and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his sweat, her voice pained:

"How can you train like this? You'll ruin your body. I don't ask you to become an immortal or a sage—our life is already good enough..."

As she spoke, tears fell like broken beads.

Chen Ping hid the coldness in his eyes, letting her wipe him, then reached out to hold her warm hand, gently rubbing the thin calluses on it.

"I'm fine, just a bit tired."

His voice was gentle, as steady and reassuring as always.

He picked up the chicken soup and downed it in one gulp. The warmth slid down his throat into his stomach, slightly dispelling the hollow emptiness in his body.

Watching Yun Niang bustle about, draping a robe over his shoulders and tidying up the cluttered study, Chen Ping's eyes held a tenderness that masked a deep, gnawing ache.

He had a hundred and twenty years left to live—and more to come.

But what about Yun Niang?

Even in silks and fine food, a mortal's span was but a fleeting century.

In a few decades, she would age, her hair turn white, and eventually she'd become a handful of dust, while he remained young.

Just the thought of that scene made it hard for Chen Ping to breathe.

"I have to find a way to grant mortals lifespan extension, or a method to obtain a Spiritual Root."

Chen Ping swore silently to himself.

"Oh, by the way, Ping Lang."

Yun Niang finished cleaning up the stone dust from the floor and spoke with some worry, "When I was buying vegetables this morning, the neighbors said word from the county office is that Jin Zhenshan of the Iron Palm Martial Hall has been acting strange lately."

Chen Ping's gaze sharpened. "What do they mean?"

"They say Jin Zhenshan has been feasting outlaws at the Drunken Immortal Pavilion frequently these past few days, and even people from the Black Wind Stronghold outside the city have come in. Everyone's saying Master Jin is planning something big—that trouble's brewing."

Yun Niang's face was clouded with concern.

Chen Ping listened, his eyes narrowing as his fingers tapped lightly on the table.

Jin Zhenshan.

That name was like a thorn, always lodged in his heart.

The enmity of a murdered son was irreconcilable.

The only reason Jin Zhenshan hadn't acted was his fear of the authorities, of the County Magistrate who kept him in check.

But now, the old dog couldn't sit still anymore, stooping to collude with desperadoes. Was he ready to burn it all down, or had he found some new backing?

Chen Ping stood and walked to the window.

The rising sun spilled across his face, but it couldn't reach the abyss in his eyes.

Since he had already stepped into the First Glimpse of immortality, since he had decided to leave the mortal world in search of a celestial fate, then before he left, some hidden dangers had to be rooted out cleanly.

No filth could be left in his home.

"Don't be afraid."

Chen Ping turned back, offering Yun Niang a warm smile, his tone as light as if he were discussing what to have for dinner, "Just a few locusts after autumn—they won't be hopping for long."