Chapter 39: Refining Qi and Tempering the Body

When his thoughts finally settled, the flames on both the meditation mat and his ten-direction shoes gradually died down as well, and the ashen smoke, swept away by a strong gust, turned into a foul vapor that drifted into the distance. The lingering heat within the cave residence slowly dissipated, eventually returning to tranquility.

He closed the stone door to the chamber, roused his spirits, steadied his breath, and adopted the first posture described in the external refinement technique. Although on the day his cultivation was disrupted, he had managed to perform the entire set of martial forms with ease, now, attempting to reenact them proved unexpectedly difficult.

He planted his feet as if treading on constellations, yet it was only the semblance of the step—still, astonishingly, the spiritual energy within him surged uncontrollably through his meridians, muscles, and bones in reverse!

A sharp gasp escaped Qin Chuan; he dared not exhale for a long while. His limbs felt as if gnawed by myriad insects, restless and tormented. He didn’t dare pause for fear that a single lapse, overwhelmed by this bone-deep, tingling agony, would cause him to faint.

His limbs went numb, and it felt as though even his mind was swept aloft by a gale, spinning ever higher. The itching sensation burrowed into his very marrow, rooting itself in his soul.

He dared not cry, dared not laugh—his face ashen as he waited for his spiritual energy to run dry. Thankfully, the reverse flow was swift, like water released from a sluice; in moments, his reserves were depleted.

A bitter laugh burst from his lips. The itchiness receded like a retreating tide, yet in those few moments, it felt as if a whole age had passed.

His consciousness blurred; all he wanted was to succumb to sleep. The residual warmth from the fasting pill in his system, once barely perceptible, now wandered his body in gentle currents, having usurped the place where his spiritual energy had been.

A soft moan escaped him, as though wrapped in a gentle spring breeze, his entire being urged to lie down and rest beneath the sun’s comforting rays.

No! A sudden chill jolted his heart. If he yielded to sleep now, all the suffering he’d just endured would be for naught.

He sensed deeply that he must not sleep. The first effort is the strongest; the second, weaker; the third, exhausted. If he did not set foot on the path of external refinement today, the chance would only grow more remote with time.

His gaze, now clear and resolute, betrayed no trace of confusion. Hastily, he crossed his legs and focused on guiding the warm currents within. Yet, inexplicably, these currents refused to obey, darting about his body in chaos.

Suddenly, inspiration struck. He relaxed his stance and once again took the initial step of the battle-walking technique. After a brief practice, the currents indeed began to follow his meridians to their proper destinations.

Perhaps because his mind was wholly fixed on these warm currents, his fists and feet, inadvertently set in motion, began to resemble—if only faintly—the power he had exhibited that day when his cultivation broke down.

As he practiced the forms, his tendons and bones rang in harmony, his energy flowing with his will. Each movement, whether attack or withdrawal, became elusive and seamless. In the space of a single punch, it was as if myriad living creatures dwelled and thrived. Even a simple straight punch took on countless subtle forms.

With his mind as clear as a polished mirror, he waited until the warmth within him faded. As his shifting form came to a sudden halt, he stood still for a long moment, eyes closed.

He exhaled a long, turbid breath. As the energy dissipated, in that instant, he casually struck the cauldron before him with a fist. With a resounding boom, the blue-black cauldron was imprinted with a clear fist mark and, propelled by the force, flew across the room.

It collided with a larger cauldron, the crash echoing deafeningly. It was a long time before the cramped, low chamber stopped reverberating with the sound.

Qin Chuan steadied his mind and, gazing at the punch he had unleashed unintentionally, finally uttered two words, “It’s done!”

That punch contained no spiritual energy—only the pure strength of his flesh and blood! Although, in the aftermath, his limbs felt weak as if he lacked the strength even to hold chopsticks, in a crucial moment, this would surely allow him to turn the tide.

Yet this technique could only be used in a last desperate struggle. If it failed, he would be at the mercy of others.

“Sigh... I must hurry and refine that kind of pill!” he thought, letting out a long sigh of relief. The warm currents within him were spent, and by his estimate, he could safely consume up to three fasting pills per day without diminishing their effect.

This was under ideal conditions, but he still needed to refine pills to cover his daily cultivation expenses in spirit stones. In practice, taking two fasting pills and fully absorbing their power in a day was already quite good.

In the world of cultivation, there were those who refined their energy and those who refined their bodies. Qin Chuan had now reached the first stage in both disciplines!

Though dual cultivation was not rare in the Wildlands, most who pursued it did so only out of desperation, unable to progress along either path alone. Someone like Qin Chuan was indeed uncommon.

Without his unique advantages, he would never have foolishly embarked on this road.

So he continued: refining pills, tempering body and spirit, accumulating spirit stones, gradually building his foundation. Thus, a month passed.

The debt of a hundred spirit stones had long been paid off, and his stash was slowly growing.

However, the fasting pills he refined now were for his own use only, no longer for sale.

When he prepared to visit the Grade Nine Golden Pill Pavilion a second time to sell fasting pills, he noticed the shopkeepers and assistants eyeing him with suspicion. A sense of unease crept into his heart.

Fortunately, he had also developed a more profitable pill, the Qi-Absorbing Pill, and claimed his previous fasting pills were all gone.

They were skeptical but let the matter rest. Still, he learned from one assistant that the sect’s higher-ups had become very interested in this particular pill.

Qin Chuan’s heart sank. For body cultivators, the fasting pill was a rare treasure indeed! The sect must have stumbled upon its true value by accident.

The assistants, unaware of its true marvel, merely thought it an unusual variant of fasting pill. They could not fathom why the elders would react so strongly.

That explained the odd looks he received.

Not long after Qin Chuan had set foot in the Grade Nine Golden Pill Pavilion, a steward, following the scent of blood, came to inquire about the fasting pills. Qin Chuan insisted that he had only come by them by chance and had consumed the rest, refusing to say more. The steward, puzzled—after all, he was just a disciple—was inclined to take him in regardless, but the higher-ups had repeatedly ordered that the boy was not to be troubled.

With that, there was nothing more to be done. Qin Chuan repeated that the pills were gone and divulged nothing else; the steward could only leave him be.

“Take care of yourself,” the steward said, then took to the skies on his flying treasure.

Though the Qi-Absorbing Pill could also enhance cultivation, its toxicity meant that one a day was the absolute limit, making it less convenient than pure spiritual energy.

Every day, Qin Chuan would take one Qi-Absorbing Pill, along with several spirit stones. While his spiritual energy did not increase, it grew ever more refined—no longer comparable to before.

After more than a month of continuous tempering, his bones and muscles had markedly strengthened. Even without invoking spiritual energy, his physical speed now matched his previous pace when traveling.

Moreover, he gradually realized that his dual practice of internal and external refinement, considered two unrelated paths by others, produced a different effect in him.

When first attempting external refinement, had his spiritual energy not surged in reverse to nourish his flesh, he would never have advanced so swiftly to the first body refinement stage!

Body cultivation was harder than energy cultivation! Zhao Yu, for instance, had chosen the path of body refinement and had a solid foundation, but after half a year of training atop Mount Qingyang, still saw no sign of a breakthrough.

Qin Chuan’s method, blending internal and external, differed from ordinary techniques. The two seemed to nourish each other—spirit feeding body, body nurturing spirit!

Perhaps his body cultivation was not yet proficient, and thus could not keep pace with his energy refinement, resulting in little return to his spiritual reserves. It was only a guess; without a reference, he had no one to ask.

Unable to find an answer, he let the matter rest, continuing his regimen for another month.

He had enough fasting pills in his storage pouch to last a long while. The Qi-Absorbing Pill, though also a basic elixir, was much harder to refine, but its profits far outstripped those of the fasting pill. Among similarly difficult elixirs, it was perhaps the most lucrative for an aspiring cultivator.

He kept some other pills in his pouch as well: those for internal injuries, such as the Meridian Soothing Pill; for external wounds, the Spring Restoration Powder; and for replenishing energy, the Energy Recovery Pill...

Besides these bottles and jars, he now had over a hundred spirit stones!

Had he not spent so much on rare herbs for his experimental pill, he might have amassed even more.

A month had passed since he entered Yellow Springs Valley.

Spiritual energy flowed from his palm into the formation at his left hand, and blue earth fire, surging through cracks in the ground, suddenly blossomed into a blue lotus, turning the iron cauldron red-hot.

His current stone chamber was no longer in the old Ding District, but in the Yi District, where the earth fire was far more stable, the explosions absent, and even the ambient heat had increased.

In Yellow Springs Valley, it seemed every cave residence possessed two cauldrons—one large, one small—both cast from the same blue-black alloy.

No wonder his repeated explosions in the Ding District had left the cauldrons unscathed. They must have been forged to withstand the fiercest earth fire of the Jia District; no wonder they survived the gentler flames of Ding.

Qin Chuan’s guess was right. The Green Mountain Sect cherished its pill cultivators, pampering them daily. If a cauldron explosion were to injure even one or two, it would be a cause for grief.

Thus, while pill cultivators might not quite rule the sect, they certainly walked with pride.

Now, Qin Chuan was refining the very pill he had long envisioned.

The idea had first arisen when he learned that Zhang Huai had nearly died under a lightning barrage: could he, perhaps, craft an elixir that embodied his full power in a single strike?