Chapter Four: First Steps into Immortal Cultivation, Adversity Approaches Silently

Dong Changfeng returned home to a humble room containing only a wooden plank bed, a wobbly table missing a leg, and a few tattered, patched clothes.

His gaze swept over these sparse belongings, yet his eyes sparkled with excitement—a flickering flame that shone brightly in this simple chamber. To him, this humble abode transformed into a resplendent palace, with walls studded in countless dazzling jewels radiating enchanting light, and the bed softened like a cloud.

He carefully placed the spirit herbs, elixirs, and a palm-sized inferior spirit stone he had purchased on the table, treating them like treasures, gently caressing each item.

His fingers brushed the leaves of the spirit herb, sensing the delicate veins—cool and smooth to the touch; the surface of the elixir was rough but possessed a mysterious texture; the inferior spirit stone was somewhat coarse against his hand, yet within him burned a hopeful anticipation for cultivation.

“Finally, I can begin training!” Dong Changfeng inhaled deeply, catching the faint mustiness of the room mingled with the unique fresh fragrance exuded by the spirit herbs.

He sat cross-legged on the bed and, following the cultivation methods he knew, began to try absorbing the surrounding spiritual energy.

However, he soon realized things were far from as smooth as he had imagined.

His mortal spiritual root was like a rusty, clogged pipe, absorbing spiritual energy at an agonizingly slow pace. The thin spiritual energy around him was like a trickling stream, barely perceptible.

All he could hear was his own shallow breathing, as if the entire world had fallen silent, leaving only this monotonous sound.

“What’s wrong?” Dong Changfeng frowned deeply, his heart filled with doubt.

He tried again, striving to feel the spiritual energy around him, but still made no progress.

The air in the room seemed to solidify, oppressively suffocating, as if a tangible weight pressed down on him. He could feel his clothes clinging tightly to his skin, causing discomfort.

Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, streaming down his cheeks and dripping onto the bedboards with a faint “tick-tock,” especially clear in the silent room.

He felt his body grow heavier, as though something profoundly oppressive bore down upon him. His breathing quickened, each inhale tearing at his throat, tinged with sharp pain.

“Could it be that my mortal spiritual root is truly incapable of cultivation?” A flicker of despair rose in his heart, but he quickly suppressed it.

Clenching his teeth, he tried again and again, but no progress came.

Outside, dusk deepened, and the room grew ever darker.

Darkness crept in like a rising tide, swallowing everything within.

Dong Changfeng slumped weakly to the floor; the faint glow of the inferior spirit stone dimmed in his eyes, mirroring his mood.

The light was so faint it was nearly invisible, like a candle flickering in the wind.

Repeated attempts yielded nothing but futility; he felt like a wild beast trapped in a cage, struggling desperately but unable to break free.

His back rested against the cold wall, the chill seeping through his clothes into his skin.

Outside, the night was thick and heavy, draping the world like a vast black cloth. The darkness inside the room seemed to consume him, suffocating.

It felt like invisible hands were gripping his throat tightly.

He curled up in the corner, his solitary figure pitifully helpless. Weak moonlight filtered through the broken window, casting a pale glow on his face.

He could feel the faint warmth of the moonlight but it could not dispel the chill in his heart.

“Could it be… I’m truly unsuited for cultivation?” he murmured, his voice so low it was almost inaudible, like a feather drifting to the floor.

His former grand ambitions had dissolved into profound self-doubt.

He imagined those who once mocked him, smugly pointing and saying, “See? I told you he was no good!”

“No good? I’ll prove them wrong!” Dong Changfeng suddenly stood, stomping his foot hard on the ground with a loud thud.

A resolute light rekindled in his eyes, burning like twin flames.

He clenched his fists, knuckles cracking, his unwillingness to yield erupting like a volcano.

“I, Dong Changfeng, will never bow to fate!”

He strode to the table, picked up the thin volume titled Basic Cultivation Primer, and, by the dim moonlight, began to study it word by word.

The rustling of pages was especially clear in the quiet night, like a defiant cry. The whispering sound of turning pages was like a battle horn rallying his fight against destiny.

He read it repeatedly, seeking the slightest hint of a breakthrough.

“Spiritual energy enters the body, circulates through the meridians…” he muttered over and over, then suddenly, as if a thought struck him, he lifted his head sharply, eyes locking onto a pile of clutter in the corner.

“Perhaps…”

His gaze fixed on a battered old bellows among the junk.

“Maybe I can try!” A bold idea flashed through his mind.

Who said cultivation had to be done sitting upright, strictly following the rules?

He would break convention and forge his own wild path!

Without hesitation, Dong Changfeng hoisted the bellows and dashed outside.

The noise startled his neighbor, Zhao Er, who poked his head out, “Changfeng, what are you up to? Doing performance art in the middle of the night?”

“Uncle Er, I just need to borrow your backyard!” Dong Changfeng called back without turning, his voice firm and resolute.

Zhao Er shouted after him, “Changfeng, what’s this all about? Don’t mess around at this hour!”

Dong Changfeng replied steadfastly, “Uncle, I know you mean well, but if I don’t try, I’ll always be a nobody, looked down upon. I won’t accept that!” Then he sprinted into Zhao Er’s backyard.

Moonlight bathed the backyard, casting shadows on stones and weeds, outlining every jagged contour of the gravel and the gentle sway of grasses in the wind.

The old wooden bellows faintly gleamed under the moon, its grain marked by the passage of time.

Dong Changfeng sat there, surrounded by shadows that seemed like curious spectators gently swaying around him.

His gaze was focused and feverish; his eyes shone like bright stars. His hands gripped the bellows’ handle tightly as if clutching his destiny, feeling its roughness and chill.

As the bellows hissed rhythmically, his hair was tousled, strands fluttering before his eyes, tickling lightly, yet his expression grew more determined, as if the entire world had shrunk to just him, the bellows, and the invisible spiritual energy.

He held his breath and concentrated, sensing subtle changes in the flowing air, as if soft silk brushed against his face, cool and gentle.

Once, twice, thrice...

Failure.

“I refuse to believe in bad luck!” His stubborn spirit ignited fully.

He adjusted the bellows’ angle, altered his breathing rhythm, trying again and again.

Persistence bore fruit at last: a faint wisp of spiritual energy, like a mischievous sprite, slipped into his body!

At that moment, Dong Changfeng felt as if he had won the grandest lottery prize, his entire being soaring.

A warmth surged from his feet to his forehead, as if something inside him shattered with a roar, followed by a thrilling exhilaration, every pore rejoicing.

His mortal spiritual root, like a parched tree bathed in nourishing rain, greedily absorbed the spiritual energy. Every cell celebrated rebirth, the slowly flowing essence like the sweetest nectar, moistening his dry roots.

Though still slow, a breakthrough had finally opened.

A faint, weak light radiated from him, illuminating his resolute face.

Yet after the brief excitement, he quickly calmed.

He knew this was only the beginning; the road ahead was long.

He’d heard that the small sect held periodic minor assessments—survival of the fittest, an eternal theme in the world of cultivation.

He must prepare himself for the trials to come.

“What will the assessment be like…?” Dong Changfeng gazed into the profound night sky, a trace of solemnity flickering in his eyes.

He rose and pushed open the door, stepping toward the ancient locust tree in the courtyard…