Becoming Discipline Elder Xuan Lin's registered disciple did not immediately turn Xiao Qi's life upside down. He did not move to the elegant quarters where inner court disciples lived, but remained in the low wooden hut in the servants' quarters. The only difference was that he no longer had to perform heavy manual labor; his daily tasks now involved following his master in cultivation and completing the more targeted assignments his master gave him.
Elder Xuan Lin taught disciples as he was himself—strict and rigid. What he passed on to Xiao Qi was Qingxu Temple's most basic, most balanced and harmonious "Qi Introduction Art," along with detailed explanations of the human body's meridians, acupoint locations, and methods for sensing the spiritual qi of heaven and earth.
"The path of cultivation begins with drawing qi. When qi sense arises, the spiritual roots stir, and only then can one draw the spiritual qi of heaven and earth into the body, tempering oneself—this is Qi Refining." Xuan Lin's voice echoed in the quiet chamber, clear and cold. "Your spiritual roots are chaotic; sensing spiritual qi is especially difficult. You must devote many times the effort of an ordinary person. Do not be impatient, but do not slacken either."
Xiao Qi sat cross-legged on the cold meditation cushion, struggling to memorize those obscure acupoint names and complex qi circulation routes. He knew few written characters, so understanding was particularly challenging; often, even after his master explained several times, he still grasped only half of it. Xuan Lin showed no annoyance, simply making him recite and copy repeatedly until he knew it by heart.
Yet understanding the method was only the first step; the real difficulty lay in "drawing qi into the body." Each morning, Xiao Qi would sit cross-legged in a secluded spot in the yard as described in the "Qi Introduction Art," with the five centers facing upward, emptying his mind and trying to capture that elusive "qi sense." But no matter how hard he tried, focusing his awareness to perceive, his surroundings remained silent. The sound of wind, insect chirping, the distant shouts of fellow disciples practicing swordplay—all were clearly audible, yet he alone could not sense the spiritual qi that filled heaven and earth, as his master had described.
All he felt were numb legs and feet, his thoughts like runaway horses, impossible to rein in. Several outer court disciples attending the same lectures happily claimed to have felt "qi sense" within just three to five days; the quickest could already guide a faint qi flow through the microcosmic orbit. Their gazes toward Xiao Qi inevitably carried a hint of superiority and pity.
"It seems Elder Xuan Lin misjudged this time, taking in a..." Private discussions inevitably reached his ears, though incomplete, their meaning was obvious. Xiao Qi pursed his lips, saying nothing, only extending his daily meditation time longer. He knew he was clumsy; only diligence could make up for lack of talent. Yet the sense of futile defeat still hung over him like a dark cloud.
The jade pendant on his chest remained silent; that thread of qi flow stimulated in the poisonous miasma forest also seemed to have vanished without a trace, offering him no guidance at all.
That evening, having finished another day of fruitless meditation, Xiao Qi was exhausted in body and mind, his stomach growling with hunger. Habitually, he reached for the flat-bottomed pot by his pillow, intending to go to the kitchen and beg for some leftovers to heat up himself.
Steward Li, because Xiao Qi had become a registered disciple of an elder, had softened his attitude considerably, giving him some leftover rice and a small piece of lard. Squatting in the corner of the kitchen backyard where he usually stayed, Xiao Qi skillfully built a simple stove with a few bricks, gathered dry branches and lit a fire. He placed the lard in the pot, watching the white fat sizzle and melt at the bottom, releasing an enticing aroma. Then he poured in the cold rice, using a twig to stir-fry it.
The pot quickly heated evenly, the fragrance of food spreading in the air. Just as he was wholly absorbed in watching the rice grains churning in the pot, preventing them from burning, a strange sensation suddenly welled up in his heart.
Through that scorching pot, he seemed... seemed able to "feel" more clearly the flickering of the flame beneath and the changes in temperature! Not only that—when his hand neared the pot handle (where he had once attempted to inject a faint qi flow), he seemed faintly able to catch the tiniest, warm "sparkles" in the air, stirred by the pot's heat, becoming slightly active!
He froze abruptly, even stopping his stirring motion. Could it be... this is spiritual qi? Those warm, tiny sparkles? A bold thought burst into his mind.
He no longer cared about eating, hastily reducing the fire to keep the pot at a gentle warmth. Then he sat cross-legged again, but this time, he did not completely follow the "Qi Introduction Art's" posture of five centers facing upward. Instead, he gently placed one hand on the warm handle of the flat-bottomed pot, the other pressing on his lower dantian, desperately trying to recall the qi circulation route.
He closed his eyes, attempting not to "search" for that elusive spiritual qi, but to immerse his mind in the palm touching the pot handle, to feel that warmth and the faint energy flow that seemed to exist within it.
At first, all remained chaotic. But gradually, as he discarded distracting thoughts and concentrated all attention on that point of warmth in his palm, his perception seemed to sharpen a little. He felt as if he could "see" those sparse, tiny particles in the air with red and yellow halos (corresponding to fire and earth attribute spiritual qi?), under the influence of the heat radiating from the flat-bottomed pot, becoming slightly more active than the other colored particles around them, as if drawn, slowly gathering toward the pot—especially toward the pot handle where his palm touched!
Though the vast majority of these spiritual qi particles scattered or dissipated upon contacting the pot, nearly impossible to guide into the body, this time, Xiao Qi truly, for the first time, "felt" the existence of so-called "spiritual qi"! No longer a mere imagination, but a vague, heat-sensation-based reference!
Immense excitement surged in his heart, nearly making him lose his sitting posture. He forcibly suppressed the churning emotions, continuing to maintain this state, striving to use his will to guide the tiny fraction of spiritual qi particles that seemed to penetrate the pot handle, carrying a trace of warmth, along the "Qi Introduction Art's" route toward his dantian.
The process was agonizingly slow—only one in ten, or even one in a hundred, remained. For a full hour, he felt the spiritual qi drawn into his dantian was so faint as to be almost negligible, like a stone sinking into the sea. Yet that definite process of "sensing" and "guiding" was undeniably real!
When the distant bell signaling lights-out sounded, Xiao Qi slowly opened his eyes, his pupils gleaming with an unprecedented light. He glanced at the now-cooled flat-bottomed pot beside him, reached out and gently stroked its rough bottom, his heart filled with indescribably complex emotions.
This pot, regarded by everyone as scrap iron, the source of countless mockeries, had actually, in this unexpected way, given him a glimmer of light when his cultivation path had reached a dead end!
He knew this was by no means the orthodox path; it might even conceal unknown risks. He dared not tell his master, nor could he speak of it to anyone. But this accidentally discovered method, at the very least, meant he was no longer that "utter waste" who couldn't even sense spiritual qi.
His daily life in Qi Refining remained full of hardship and slowness. But from now on, in an unnoticed corner, there was an extra pot—and a spark of hope that could only be faintly perceived through it.