Damaged Foundation

Li Tui returned to his room, latched the door behind him, and stood in the darkness with his back against the door panel for a long time.

His body felt like it was burning—not just warm, but scalding. The toxicity of the medicinal pill remained in his meridians, and every time his qi circulated, it scraped against them, causing sharp pain. What was even more dire was that the qi was too volatile and completely uncontrollable; if it continued to surge like this, his meridians would rupture in less than two hours.

He caught his breath, moved to the edge of the bed to sit down, and closed his eyes to circulate the Wood Essence Qi-Guiding Technique.

The moment the technique began, the toxic qi erupted, rampaging even more violently. The gentle wood-attribute qi tangled with the fire poison of the pill, and every collision made his vision go black with pain.

Li Tui let out a muffled groan, cold sweat sliding down his temples.

He had already completed the qi-guiding stage and should have been nourishing his meridians, waiting until he was ready to open his main meridians. But now, this cursed pill was forcing his qi to slam against unopened acupoints, each impact harder than the last.

If it kept slamming, the acupoints would surely shatter. But if he tried to forcefully suppress it, the backlash of the qi would be just as fatal.

Li Tui wiped the blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.

An ordinary person at this stage would have no choice but to endure it. But he was not willing to give up.

He stared into the darkness before him.

This qi, spurred on by the pill, was far more ferocious than what he had cultivated himself. If he could go with the flow and use it to force open his acupoints...

He would gamble.

Li Tui took a deep breath, suppressed all distracting thoughts, and sank his consciousness into his body.

He first located the few acupoints being battered by the qi.

Then, he stopped suppressing it and began to guide it with extreme caution. He slowly gathered the rampaging qi, twisted it into several strands, and directed them toward the acupoints.

At the same time, he mobilized his own qi to wrap around the acupoints, both to prevent them from shattering under too much force and to provide an extra push at the critical moment.

This work was delicate; a moment of carelessness would lead to a backlash.

The first spot: the Qingling acupoint in his left arm.

The qi slammed into it fiercely.

With a dull thud, the acupoint wall shook violently, but it did not open. A sweet taste rose in Li Tui's throat, and blood seeped out again. He gritted his teeth, slowed his force, and used his gentle qi to slowly grind away at it.

After grinding three times, he slammed into it on the fourth.

Crack. A fine fissure appeared on the acupoint wall.

He patiently continued to grind. By the seventh time, all his qi condensed into a single strand, and he slammed it with all his might.

The acupoint opened.

The scalding, stinging qi surged into his left arm. Li Tui had no time to rest and immediately turned to the next spot.

The Fengshi acupoint in his right leg.

This time was even more strenuous. He mobilized every bit of qi he had left in reserve, combined it with the remaining medicinal power of the pill, and twisted it into an even fiercer strand to slam against it.

The acupoint opened.

But the impact was too violent; the shockwave made the surrounding fine meridians feel as if they were tearing apart. Li Tui spat out a mouthful of blood, his vision blackening as he nearly collapsed. He forced himself to steady his stance, mobilized the little remaining gentle qi to nourish the newly opened acupoint, and calmed his trembling fine meridians.

With two main acupoints open, his qi flowed much more smoothly.

But before he could even catch his breath, the remaining fire poison from the pill, having lost its target, began to burrow into his most fragile peripheral meridians.

Li Tui's heart sank.

The peripheral meridians were too thin to withstand the scorching of the fire poison. If they were destroyed, every time his qi reached these areas in the future, it would cause pain; even if his path of cultivation wasn't severed, it would be crippled.

He gritted his teeth, pulled back every last bit of controllable qi, and used the most primitive "Origin-Returning" method to slowly wrap around and refine the rampaging fire poison.

The process was slow and agonizing, like trying to sift sand out of a boiling pot of oil.

Half an incense stick later, the last trace of fire poison was refined.

Li Tui opened his eyes and spat out another mouthful of black blood. His face was devoid of color, and his entire body was shaking violently.

Two main acupoints were open, but the price was too high. His peripheral meridians had been scorched by the fire poison, throbbing with sharp pain. His spirit was also severely exhausted, and his temples were pounding like drums.

He knew he couldn't delay treating these injuries.

Before dawn, he stood up by leaning against the wall and stumbled out the door, making his way toward the residence of Zhao Minglai.

Zhao Minglai had just risen and was draped in an outer robe; seeing him enter in such a state, his brows furrowed tightly.

"Hand."

Li Tui extended his wrist.

Zhao Minglai placed his fingers on it and channeled a strand of qi inside. After probing for only a moment, his expression darkened.

"Foolish!" He withdrew his hand, his voice laced with anger. "Who told you to do this? Borrowing such impure, external force to open acupoints—do you not know what your meridians look like right now?"

Li Tui lowered his eyes and briefly explained how Zhao Yuanchong had made him test the pill.

Zhao Minglai didn't speak after hearing this. He paced the room twice, walked to a cabinet, rummaged for a while, and took out a coarse clay jar, setting it on the table.

"Liqi Powder," he said, his voice cold. "It can slightly smooth your qi and stop some of the pain, but don't expect anything else."

He glanced at Li Tui, the expectation that had once been in his eyes long gone, leaving only detachment and even a hint of annoyance. "You've damaged your foundation this time. The fire poison has scorched your peripheral meridians; your future cultivation... will be difficult."

Li Tui said nothing. He picked up the jar and opened it; inside was a grayish-brown powder mixed with bits of grass stems, giving off a pungent odor.

He poured some into his hand, tilted his head back, and swallowed it.

The powder was bitter and astringent, turning into a lukewarm breath once it went down, easing the burning pain in his peripheral meridians ever so slightly, though it was merely a drop in the bucket.

"Thank you, Teacher." He endured the dizziness and bowed in salute.

Zhao Minglai waved his hand, the meaning clear: leave at once.

"You are the one I brought in; I cannot ignore it if something happens to you," he said, sitting back in his chair and watching the flame of the oil lamp with a flat voice, "but there are some things you must remember."

"The foundation of cultivation is the most important thing. Being greedy for speed and reckless like you is self-destruction. From now on, look after yourself."

"Serving the Third Young Master is fine, but see clearly who you are and don't harbor thoughts you shouldn't have."

The words were blunt, even harsh. That shred of master-disciple sentiment was shattered completely by this speech.

Li Tui stood where he was, his face expressionless, only replying, "This disciple understands."

He understood perfectly.

Zhao Minglai's attitude had changed. Before, seeing he had some talent, he had been polite enough; now that he knew his foundation was damaged and he was useless, that politeness had been retracted, leaving only a desire to distance himself.

This world is just like that; people are only good to you when you are useful.

Zhao Minglai stopped looking at him and waved for him to leave.

Li Tui turned and walked out, closing the door behind him.

The corridor was cold and dark. He walked back slowly, the effects of the Liqi Powder dissolving within his body, yet the pain in his meridians and the emptiness of his soul remained.

He looked down at his hands, which were still trembling slightly.

Too weak.

So weak that a single pill or one forced attempt could cut off his future path.

So weak that when others see you have no value, they can't even be bothered to maintain a facade of kindness.

If you can't find the book title, try searching for the author; perhaps the name has simply been changed!

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