The trial of False Immortality, with its daring leaps from the valley's cliffs, had left Li Wei battered but defiant, his belief in his cultivation unshaken despite the pain in his knees and the fever that clung to him like a persistent shadow. The hidden valley, with its shimmering pool, ancient tree, and glowing blossoms, pulsed with an energy that seemed to affirm the warmth in his dantian—a warmth he saw as his nascent Golden Core, nurturing a fledgling Nascent Soul. Azure Dragon, his scruffy spirit beast, remained a loyal companion, curled by the stone altar as Li Wei pored over the scroll, its worn bamboo slats a sacred guide through his trials. Yet, the scroll's latest passage stirred a moment of introspection: "Seek the True Path, for the cultivator's heart may wander in delusion. Refine the spirit through clarity, lest the Dao be lost."
In the cultivation novels Li Wei had devoured in Beijing, the "True Path" was a moment of reckoning, where cultivators confronted their motivations and stripped away illusions to align with the Dao. The scroll's words were less dramatic but equally profound: "The mind weaves dreams of power; the heart seeks truth in simplicity. Return to the beginning, and the path shall unfold." Li Wei, tempered by lightning, betrayal, and countless trials, felt a pang of doubt. His visions—of boars tamed, demons banished, and cosmic fireworks—had driven him forward, but the scroll's warning echoed the mockery of the hiker, Wang Hao, and the online forum. Was his Golden Core real, or a delusion born of hunger and fever? The warmth in his dantian felt undeniable, but the scroll urged clarity, and Li Wei resolved to seek it.
The valley, with its mystical aura, seemed the perfect place for introspection. Li Wei sat by the altar, the scroll, jade slip, Starstone, and stolen booklet arranged before him, their faint glow a ward against doubt. Azure Dragon watched, head tilted, as Li Wei fasted, sipping only the valley's crystal-clear water, which he believed carried spiritual essence. The scroll suggested a return to "the beginning," so Li Wei revisited his earliest practices—simple breathing exercises and the Celestial Crane Posture, stripped of the complex rituals he'd adopted. He meditated under the ancient tree, its blossoms glowing softly, and focused on his dantian, letting his qi flow without forcing visions or grand gestures.
Hours passed, his body trembling from weakness, his feverish haze lingering. The warmth in his dantian pulsed steadily, but no visions came—no radiant souls, no cosmic paths. Instead, a quiet clarity settled over him, a sense of simplicity he hadn't felt since his first meditation in Beijing. He thought of Old Chen's words: "Wisdom is in living, not dreaming." Had he been chasing illusions, mistaking fever for qi, exhaustion for transcendence? The scroll's call to "return to the beginning" felt like a rebuke, urging him to ground his cultivation in reality rather than fantasy.
In a moment of resolve, Li Wei decided to test his path through action. He dismantled parts of his altar, keeping only the scroll and Starstone, and walked to the pool, its surface reflecting the stars. He performed the Celestial Crane Posture, moving slowly, focusing only on his breath and the warmth in his core. The valley's whispers seemed to soften, their murmurs a gentle encouragement. No sparks trailed his movements, no voices spoke, but the warmth in his dantian felt purer, as if stripped of pretense. He realized the True Path was not in grand trials but in the quiet persistence of his practice, the daily choice to believe despite doubt.
He scribbled in his notebook, hands steadier than before: "True Path sought. Returned to simplicity, qi clarified. Delusion questioned, Dao endures." The valley's energy seemed to approve, the ancient tree's blossoms glowing softly. During the next video call with the Order of the Jade Dawn, Li Wei shared his introspection, admitting his doubts about his visions. Zhang Wei, ever enthusiastic, urged him to trust his qi, while Liu Mei, her serene face lit by moonlight, praised his clarity: "The Dao is in the quiet moments." Chen Xiu and Zhao Feng, inspired, shared their own struggles with doubt, though their debates hinted at the sect's ongoing tensions.
As dawn broke, Li Wei sat by the pool, the Starstone warm in his hands, Azure Dragon snoring softly. The scroll promised that the True Path was a foundation for greater trials, but for now, Li Wei felt a rare peace. His Golden Core, real or imagined, pulsed with a steady warmth, and his Nascent Soul, however faint, seemed clearer. With his sect's support and the scroll's guidance, he resolved to refine his path, grounding his pursuit of immortality in simplicity. The valley's whispers chanted softly, and Li Wei, for the first time in months, felt not just a cultivator, but a man seeking truth, one breath at a time.