Chapter Four: The First Steps in Cultivating Qi

A sudden birdcall slicing through the sky startled Nan Luo awake.

This cage was at least three times larger than the small one before, yet there were only eleven people inside, with Nan Luo being number nineteen. Numbers sixteen and seventeen were nowhere to be seen; only eighteen, like the others, sat pressed against the edge of the cage, his wide eyes fixed on Nan Luo. As in the smaller cell, everyone here hugged the perimeter, as if only there could they find a sliver of safety.

Nan Luo quickly scanned the space and found a slightly roomier spot to sit down. Even after he closed his eyes to begin practicing his cultivation, he could still feel the lingering gazes upon him. Those eyes were filled with shared misery, but also with a numbed resignation.

It had been scarcely a month since he was hunting in the mountains, captured, thrown into the small cell opposite, and then transferred to this larger cage. It may as well have been another lifetime.

He had never thought to get to know his fellow sufferers. Nan Luo feared others learning about him, would rather they view him as the monster the high priest had described. He didn’t know what the others thought, but the cage, before and after his arrival, remained pervaded by a wooden, deathly silence.

Once again, a golden fasting pill was thrown inside, rolling across the floor. Nan Luo picked it up, swallowed it, closed his eyes—it was all so routine now. This was the work of Ying Jiu.

At some point, snow began to fall. In the small cell, he had nearly died in the blizzard, but since he started practicing cultivation, though he still felt the cold, he managed to endure. After over a month, he had grown accustomed to it there.

But this time, the cold pierced to his bones, as if he were naked in the wind. Opening his eyes, he saw the sky shrouded in gray, a layer of snow already carpeting the green floor. The others sat with eyes tightly shut; some shivered uncontrollably, some steamed with heat.

A chill ran through Nan Luo. He hurriedly closed his eyes and resumed his breathing techniques. In just a short while, his limbs began to go numb.

He worked his cultivation method tirelessly, again and again, not daring to stop, for only thus could he fight back the growing cold.

Nan Luo lost track of time. It felt like both an eternity and a fleeting moment had passed. When the icy force creeping toward his heart finally receded, he opened his eyes to a world of white, but the chill had lessened, now only matching the cold of the smaller cell.

The people remained the same, except that some were now completely encased in ice and snow. Nan Luo was certain these were dead, for no trace of life could be felt from them.

Across the way, four new people had been thrown into the small cell. Watching them, Nan Luo felt as if he were seeing his own past self. He now understood: the first month in the small cell was simply to acclimate them, to lay a foundation. If he had started in this cage, he would have died a hundred times over. Only the month of cultivation and spiritual nourishment in the small cell had enabled him to survive the cold here.

But Nan Luo also realized another fact: his body’s absorption of spiritual energy from heaven and earth could not keep up with the rate at which he expended it to resist the cold. Was that why those who froze to death perished—because their stored energy was depleted faster than they could replenish it?

At this, Nan Luo understood why everyone in the small cell across the way was constantly practicing. It wasn’t diligence—it was necessity. If they slowed, they would die.

When Nan Luo was first captured, he did contemplate ending his life. But having survived the edge of death, his mindset changed. Not that he was now afraid to die, but, stirred by Ying Jiu’s words, his heart had shifted.

Cultivation was tedious, but when your life depended on it, you had no choice but to persist.

The weather continued to shift unpredictably—now freezing, now sweltering, thunderstorms crackling with lightning over the cage, sometimes clear skies but suffocating yellow dust boiling up from the ground.

People in the cage died constantly, and new ones arrived to take their place—some succumbing to the cold, some to the heat.

None of it concerned Nan Luo. He never dared to pause, barely surviving each increasingly brutal shift in the weather. He remembered the priest once praising his talent, saying he would become a powerful priest himself. Yet now, he had come close to breaking many times. The weather’s changes grew ever more violent, leaving less and less time for recovery.

At last, the weather narrowed to only two states: cold and hot. By day, scorching as if bathed in fire; by night, frigid as if lying naked on snow.

Nan Luo’s breath grew fainter, until one day, it vanished completely.

Yet no one believed he was dead, for his body had neither gone pale and stiff from the cold nor shriveled under the burning sun. His face remained flushed, even healthier than before, but his vital breath was gone. Anyone passing by would never suspect a living soul was there.

Everyone in the cage had practiced the same method. Though they had not learned any real techniques, after so long, some minor abilities had formed. For instance, Nan Luo could tell at a glance when someone encased in snow was truly dead, for their life force was utterly gone. Now, Nan Luo seemed no different from the dead to the others, though only to those inside the cage.

Suddenly, the spiritual energy in the cage began to swirl toward Nan Luo in a slow vortex, drawing the attention of the others. Some looked on with envy, but most were puzzled.

The absorption continued, Nan Luo’s aura growing heavier. Those nearest to him moved away.

A day later, Nan Luo opened his eyes; in that instant, a glint of light seemed to flash within them. Wherever his gaze fell, people shrank away—except for number eighteen, who still stared at him with wide eyes.

Nan Luo was surprised. He had survived by the skin of his teeth, and though he seemed to have broken through some barrier, number eighteen had somehow managed to endure as well. Nan Luo felt wonderful; he could hear every breath in the cage, saw everything with crystal clarity.

Just then, a voice devoid of any emotion sounded in his ear.

“Nineteen.”

He turned quickly—it was indeed Ying Jiu. Nan Luo fixed him with a burning gaze and strode toward the cage door. As he drew near, he felt more keenly than ever that Ying Jiu’s presence was as deep and unfathomable as an abyss, shattering the illusion of newfound power his breakthrough had granted him.

“Come with me,” Ying Jiu said coldly, his tone as hard and indifferent as ever, unaffected by Nan Luo’s breakthrough.

Nan Luo hurried after Ying Jiu’s retreating form, heading toward the palace. When he’d opened his eyes in the cage, he’d resolved that if a chance arose, he would escape. Yet now, outside the cage, with Ying Jiu leading the way, he felt not the slightest urge to run. Only now did he truly sense Ying Jiu’s strength—every move he made was surely within the man’s awareness, just as Nan Luo himself could sense the life force of those in the cage.

He followed, guessing he was to meet the white-haired old man, though he had no idea what would happen next. He wanted to ask, but seeing even Ying Jiu’s back radiate such cold loneliness, the words died in his throat. He told himself he would know soon enough.

Suddenly, an overwhelming pressure descended, and the ground began to shake. Nan Luo was horrified—he knew well what kind of cliff this place stood upon. What power could shake such a mountain?

A strange hissing, like the amplified sound of a snake flicking its tongue, filled his ears. Suddenly, at the edge of the cliff ahead, a massive serpent’s head shot up, jaws wide, opening and closing as the very winds and clouds shifted.

In a flash, Ying Jiu disappeared, and then Nan Luo saw a giant eagle soaring above, growing larger with every beat of its wings. Its wings spread wide, casting the entire cliff into shadow.

“That’s Ying Jiu!” Nan Luo never imagined Ying Jiu would transform into an eagle. Now the eagle he became was as vast as a thundercloud, its wingspan enveloping the whole cliff.

Whoosh—a violent wind slammed into Nan Luo, and he was swept up helplessly, tossed like a leaf over the edge of the precipice.

Tumbling through the air, Nan Luo realized he had no control over his body. As he tumbled, he finally saw the giant serpent coiling up around the solitary peak.

A piercing eagle’s cry split the sky as the eagle that was Ying Jiu swooped, talons outstretched, toward the serpent.