The inn was quiet again, yet Wen Liang could not sleep.
He lay on his side, staring at the pouch of spirit stones Zhang Wei had left behind. Their faint glow pulsed like tiny heartbeats, scattering soft light across the wooden floor.
He had helped someone. Truly helped them.
Not with pills, not with profound arts, but with the same calm words and gentle guidance he once gave on Earth. Only here, draped in the guise of an immortal, his words carried weight beyond reason.
And Zhang Wei had believed it. No—he had bowed, gratitude shining in his eyes.
Wen Liang sat up, pressing a hand to his face, muffling a sound that was half laugh, half sigh.
This can't last forever. If I don't learn more, the next visitor will see right through me.
His gaze shifted to the scrolls on the desk. He pulled one closer, set the lamp higher, and unrolled the crisp parchment.
The handwriting was steady and plain, as though copied countless times for wandering disciples.
The path of cultivation begins with Qi Sensing. Few succeed, for the mortal body is blind to heaven's essence. Thus, it is divided into six layers. At first, qi is no more than mist at dawn, fleeting and uncertain. The first and second layers bring only brief glimpses—tingling skin, warmth in the breath. At the third and fourth, one learns to draw fragile threads inward. At the fifth, drops of qi may gather faintly in the dantian. And at the sixth, the flicker stabilizes, an ember that endures. Only then is one said to have truly stepped upon the path.
Wen Liang froze, hand unconsciously drifting to his abdomen. The faint warmth he had coaxed earlier it was still there, dim yet steady, flickering like a coal refusing to die.
His breath caught. The sixth layer… I've already reached the Sixth Layer of Qi Sensing.
For a moment, disbelief hollowed his chest. He had stumbled into cultivation almost by accident, guided by desperation and half-remembered theories from Earth. Yet here he was, already standing at the end of the first realm.
He let out a shaky laugh, the sound soft in the lamplight. "Finally," he whispered, "I've stepped into a realm of cultivation."
The scroll continued.
When the ember steadies, the cultivator begins the long climb of Qi Refining, which holds nine layers. In the early stages, qi is stabilized and the dantian strengthened until it no longer flickers. The middle layers temper flesh and sharpen thought. The later layers smooth the meridians until qi flows like rivers, and at the ninth, qi and spirit act as one. Only then may the cultivator attempt to break free of mortal limits.
Wen Liang frowned. Six layers just to sense qi, nine more to refine it… fifteen hurdles before I even begin real cultivation. No wonder mortals rarely advance beyond the first step.
He read on.
When the nine layers of Qi Refining are completed, the cultivator attempts Foundation Establishment. This is the forging of roots body, mind, and spirit reforged into a stable base. Without this, the dantian would collapse under greater power. Those who fail at this stage lose all progress, their path broken forever. Those who succeed gain true longevity, their lifespan stretching far beyond common folk.
Wen Liang swallowed, the weight of those words pressing down on him. So that's why they call it "foundation." Fail, and everything crumbles.
The scroll's tone grew heavier as it described the next step:
Upon the foundation, one may attempt to condense a Golden Core. All qi is compressed into a radiant sphere within the dantian. This core becomes the cultivator's second life, their true essence. A golden core shines with brilliance, granting strength that defies mortal comprehension. From this stage onward, a cultivator is said to have truly stepped into the immortal ranks.
His eyes lingered on the phrase second life. A golden sphere pulsing in the body, sustaining vitality even if the flesh faltered it sounded more myth than truth. Yet the manual's certainty made his chest tighten with awe.
Finally, the scroll spoke of the last realm still acknowledged as real:
When the core matures, it eventually cracks. From the broken core, a new soul is born a Nascent Soul, infant-like yet radiant. This soul carries the cultivator's essence and may roam free of the body. Those who reach this stage wield power that shapes nations. To mortals, they are gods in all but name.
Wen Liang leaned back, staring at the lamp flame. The enormity of the ladder unfolded before him six layers of sensing, nine of refining, the deadly trial of Foundation, the miracle of Core, the birth of Soul. Each step higher than the last.
And he, somehow, had already climbed the first.
At least I'm not at the bottom anymore, he thought. One rung is still progress.
The ember in his dantian pulsed faintly, steady and real. He placed a hand over it, eyes soft.
"Still," he whispered to himself, "this is only the beginning."
By morning, the inn stirred with life. Merchants shouted, carts rumbled past, and the air outside smelled of fried dumplings and ink. Wen Liang dressed simply and slipped downstairs, intent on blending in.
But before he reached the door, the innkeeper's wife spotted him. She bowed so quickly he thought she might fall.
"Honored Master, forgive me," she whispered, voice trembling. "But… is it true? That you aided a cultivator last night?"
Wen Liang's chest tightened. Already? Word spreads that fast?
He forced a mild smile, neither confirming nor denying. "Rumors often exaggerate. Best not to repeat them lightly."
Yet as he stepped into the street, he could feel it the sidelong glances, the hushed whispers. No one dared approach openly, but their eyes lingered.
His gut knotted. If Zhang Wei spoke of me, others will come. I'm not ready… but maybe… maybe this is how I build a place here.
For a man who had once listened to troubled hearts across a couch, the thought of becoming a healer of cultivators was both terrifying and strangely fitting.
As he walked into the bustling city square, he realized his still water was no longer still. A single ripple one cultivator cured was already spreading outward.
And soon, the waves would reach him.