The morning after his humiliating encounter with the hiker, Li Wei woke with a fire in his chest that had nothing to do with qi. The hiker's mocking laughter still rang in his ears, a taunt that fueled both his shame and his resolve. He sat up in his damp sleeping bag, the chill of Mount Tai's predawn air seeping through his thin jacket. The scroll lay beside him, its edges curling slightly from the mountain's humidity, but its words remained his lifeline. If he was to prove himself—to the hiker, to the heavens, to himself—he needed to build a foundation, both literal and spiritual, for his cultivation. The scroll spoke of a "Foundation Establishment" stage, a critical step where a cultivator solidified their qi into a stable core. Li Wei was determined to make it real.
His clearing, a modest patch of flat earth surrounded by twisted pines and moss-covered boulders, was too exposed, too chaotic for true cultivation. The scroll emphasized harmony with the environment, a sacred space to channel heaven's energy. Li Wei decided to transform his camp into a proper sanctuary, a place worthy of an aspiring immortal. He spent the morning gathering materials: smooth stones from the nearby stream, fallen branches sturdy enough to form a frame, and broad leaves to patch his tarp into a more robust shelter. His hands, soft from years of office work, blistered as he hauled rocks, but he welcomed the pain as a sign of his commitment.
By midday, he'd constructed a small altar at the center of the clearing, stacking stones into a rough pyramid as the scroll suggested for "aligning with the earth's pulse." He placed the scroll reverently atop it, surrounded by the remaining "Spirit Root Herbs" he'd foraged, their silvery leaves glinting faintly in the sunlight. The altar wasn't much—more a pile than a monument—but to Li Wei, it was a temple, a beacon for the qi he was certain flowed through the mountain. He stepped back, wiping sweat from his brow, and felt a flicker of pride. This was his domain now, a step toward transcendence.
With the physical foundation set, Li Wei turned to the scroll's next instruction: a chanting ritual to "awaken the meridians." The text described a series of low, resonant tones to be intoned at specific intervals, aligning the body with the "rhythm of the cosmos." Li Wei had no idea what that meant, but he sat cross-legged before the altar, the scroll open in his lap, and began to chant. The words were strange, a mix of archaic Chinese and what seemed like nonsense syllables, but he poured his heart into them, his voice wavering at first, then growing stronger. The forest seemed to listen, the usual chatter of birds falling silent as his chants echoed off the rocks.
Hours passed, his throat dry and his legs numb, but Li Wei persisted. The scroll promised that perseverance would draw qi into his meridians, the invisible channels through which life energy flowed. He closed his eyes, visualizing streams of light weaving through his body, pooling in his dantian. The familiar warmth from his previous meditations returned, faint but persistent, like a candle flame in a drafty room. He clung to it, willing it to grow, ignoring the ache in his back and the gnawing hunger in his stomach.
Then, the sky darkened. A low rumble rolled across the mountain, and fat raindrops began to splatter the clearing. Li Wei's eyes snapped open as the wind picked up, whipping his tarp loose and sending his carefully arranged herbs scattering. The altar wobbled under the onslaught, a few stones tumbling free. Panic seized him—this was his sanctuary, his foundation! He scrambled to save the scroll, tucking it into his jacket as the rain turned into a deluge. The clearing became a muddy quagmire, his sleeping bag soaked, his fire pit reduced to a puddle.
As lightning cracked overhead, Li Wei stood in the downpour, clutching the scroll to his chest. The rational part of his mind screamed to find shelter, to admit defeat and retreat to civilization. But another part, the part that had tasted qi and believed in immortality, saw this as something more. The scroll had mentioned "tribulations," trials sent by the heavens to test a cultivator's resolve. Wasn't this storm just such a test? A heavenly tribulation to forge his spirit?
Emboldened, Li Wei raised his face to the sky, letting the rain lash his skin. "I will not break!" he shouted, his voice swallowed by the storm. He resumed his chant, louder now, defying the thunder. The warmth in his core flickered, then surged, a pulsing heat that seemed to push back the cold. His soaked clothes clung to him, but he felt stronger, as if the rain was washing away his mortal frailties. Lightning illuminated the clearing, and for a fleeting moment, he swore he saw his altar glowing, the stones pulsing with a faint, otherworldly light.
The storm passed as quickly as it came, leaving the clearing drenched but serene. Li Wei collapsed beside his altar, shivering but triumphant. His notebook, half-ruined by the rain, lay open to a page where he scrawled: "First tribulation endured. Qi strengthened. Foundation begun." He didn't care that his shelter was in ruins or that his body trembled with cold. The scroll had promised trials, and he had faced one. The warmth in his dantian, however faint, was proof of his progress. As the stars emerged above Mount Tai, Li Wei lay back, exhausted but unyielding. The heavens had tested him, and he had not faltered. His foundation, both in the earth and in his spirit, was taking root.