By the time he reached the courtyard gate, two young servants were already standing there. They had arrived ahead of schedule—mere helpers who had come on foot, carrying with them nothing more sophisticated than a set of stone tables and stone benches. Lacking storage pouches or even the lightweight flying devices that more affluent cultivators might use, the pair had laboriously hauled the furnishings up from the foot of the mountain. However, to two cultivators in the fifth tier of Qi Condensation, such physical exertion was hardly a noteworthy chore.
After swiftly arranging the stone table and benches with impressive dexterity, the two paused and cast inquisitive, respectful glances toward Li Yan. One of them, clad in yellow, bowed his head before asking in a hushed tone, "Young Junior-uncle, do you require any further tidying of the remaining area?"
With a light gesture and a gentle smile, Li Yan dismissed their offer—he had no mind for such mundane tasks now. The servants affirmed his word with another courteous bow before turning away. Li Yan, however, was not interested in chores; his thoughts were solely fixed upon resolving the vexing cultivation dilemma that plagued him.
With a graceful swish of his robe's sleeve, Li Yan closed the courtyard gate behind him and strode purposefully toward the cultivation chamber. Once inside, he shut the heavy door of the chamber and settled himself into a seated meditative posture, legs crossed in the familiar lotus style. In the very next heartbeat—more due to the power of his intent than the passage of time—his spirit separated from the physical and plunged into the vast realm of his mind, the so-called "Sea of Consciousness." There, floating among the inner currents, three purple light orbs shimmered gently. These luminescent pearls were not just random sparks—they were the recorded jade slips preserving the collective insights, cultivation summaries, and experiential reflections concerning the "Shard Poison Body"
Unlike typical cultivation manuals brimming with recited incantations and prescribed postures, the Shard Poison Body left behind no magical formula. Its records were but after-the-fact reflections—a compendium of lessons and experiences meant for those who might one day follow a similar path. Each of the three jade slips had been entrusted by one of three archaic seniors, each associated with one of the venerable mountain peaks: Xiao Zhu Peak, Lao Jun Peak, and Ling Chong Peak. Notably, these purple jade slips were beyond the common exchange offered by spirit stones; only those who fulfilled certain conditions—and were granted access by the highest authorities of the sect—could even hope to gaze upon them. In fact, by his present status, Li Yan should have qualified only for the slip from Xiao Zhu Peak. Yet, it so happened that the sect leader had recently announced to the various peaks that the resources concerning the Shard Poison Body were to be "opened up" for study, and thus Li Yan had managed to receive all three.
The sect's initial hesitance in bestowing these records upon him was deliberate—the Shard Poison Body was a most delicate and peculiar matter. The three old pioneers had warned in hushed tones that before one successfully cultivates such a treacherous body, providing its reference materials might inadvertently reveal the secret to its success. Conversely, for someone who had already refined the body, sharing such details prematurely—especially before the recipient had encountered issues of their own—might lead them astray. Even when the same type of poisonous body was involved, the subtle directions it called for could diverge wildly; a misstep could have disastrous consequences. In essence, even with the best of intentions, there was no absolute way to assert that the advice would never mislead.
Yet fate, in its capricious wisdom, had brought Li Yan—a mere amateur, a "cultivation layman" with scarcely any foundational skills—to the very center of this predicament. Unlike cultivators who had begun their training in childhood and accumulated a wealth of knowledge through years of observation and practice, Li Yan was bereft of such a rich inner treasury. Recognizing this, Wei Zhongran had resolved that rather than have him slowly glean advice through trial and error, it would be better to permit him to rely directly on the experience of those who had come long before him. At the very least, the borrowed experience might help him avoid some of the most treacherous detours along his path. Of course, this decision was not without risk—who could guarantee that after reading these timeworn insights Li Yan's course would be correct and not inadvertently veer off into error? Yet, such uncertainties were par for the course in a realm where fate and destiny intermingled with opportunistic chance—a temperament well in keeping with Wei Zhongran's own outlook of "take what comes, and reflect on what is lacking."
Slowly, with deliberate care, Li Yan activated one of the purple orbs. In that moment, his spirit merged with the luminous record, and he began to absorb its content as though drinking in ambrosia from an ancient chalice. Immersed in meditation, time became both an endless void and a measurable span—it lasted two full days and nights before he finally opened his eyes once more. As his gaze cleared, a faint but unmistakable glimmer of insight shone there—a quiet affirmation that some understanding had been gained.
Those jade slips contained an overwhelmingly vast repository of information. They spanned everything from the minutiae of everyday cultivation—each subtle shift of Qi, every fleeting tactile sensation—to the more abstract reflections and interpretations of the cultivation process. Li Yan found himself unable to fully digest the entirety of the records. Instead, he selectively parsed out what was within his current grasp, carefully analyzing the passages he comprehended while forcibly committing the rest to memory for later reflection. Even with this selective approach, the sheer density and volume of information left him feeling light-headed and overwhelmed—a state of mind and body that even a fledgling cultivator would find dizzying.
Despite his careful reading, Li Yan did not immediately discover the precise remedy he sought. Yet, amid the layers of accumulated insights, he finally deduced vital information about the present condition of his own body. In one particular excerpt from the records of the Ling Chong Peak senior, a striking phrase caught his attention:
"Condensed Qi shattered into pieces; the body ruptures into ten; founding Qi shattered—ten pieces become a hundred; the Golden Core splinters—one hundred into a thousand; the Nascent Soul disperses—one thousand into ten thousand. With each inhalation and exhalation, it is fragmented anew."
While the entire passage seemed to describe the state of the Shard Poison Body, Li Yan's focus was drawn especially to the final line which mentioned breathing. To him, this simple reference to the act of inhaling and exhaling suggested that the proper method was not merely to breathe but rather to exhale in a manner that might preserve or expel the necessary essence of Qi. In contrast, the other jade slips made no mention of such details—leaving him to wonder whether that omission was deliberate or whether his own condition diverged somehow.
Deep in thought, Li Yan closed his eyes once more. This time his purpose was no longer meditative piety for its own sake but rather a careful experiment. He began silently reciting and practicing the Gui Water True Scripture, a method he had studied long enough to attempt controlled experimentation. His aim was clear: to verify whether the effects predicted by the records—the mysterious leakage of his Qi—would indeed occur in accordance with his deductions.
Like an old monk steeped in the traditions of meditation, Li Yan sat motionless, completely absorbed as he allowed his inner energies to circulate through his body's intricate network of meridians. Half an hour into his controlled session, a small tremor rippled through his body. His face, usually impassive during such deep meditation, betrayed a mixture of elation and sorrow. Earlier, as he had deliberately guided his Qi out from his dantian and observed it course briskly along his energy pathways, everything had seemed normal. However, after a brief journey through the circulatory channels, he discerned an unsettling anomaly—the stream of his Qi was slowly diminishing. This slight decrease was so minute that one might easily miss it unless one deliberately scrutinized every nuance. It was a condition symptomatic of his low cultivation, a sign that he had not yet mastered the precise control that more advanced cultivators took for granted. A true master's inner sensitivity would catch even the most delicate fluctuation at a glance.
After allowing his Qi to complete its full circuit—a journey that should have resulted in a refined or at least slightly amplified essence—it instead emerged nearly identical to its original state, sometimes even showing a faint loss that he could not ignore. This energy leakage both startled and dismayed him. How could the very essence he so carefully nurtured simply diminish en route?
Determined to find the root of the problem, Li Yan intensified his scrutiny. He allowed his perception to glide along the intricate passageway of his meridians, carefully tracking every inch of the journey. At length, his persistent observation yielded an unsettling discovery. He found that as his energy flowed along certain key meridian nodes, a minuscule portion would vanish as if sucked away by an unseen void. It was as though these nodes contained a hidden gap, an imperfection through which his precious energy leaked away into his blood and flesh.
Intrigued and alarmed, Li Yan re-examined each of these vital meridian junctions with painstaking care. In the end, he identified exactly twelve nodes—each corresponding to a primary junction along his major meridians—that, at first glance, appeared unblemished. Yet, on closer inspection, his sharpened spirit discerned an almost indiscernible fissure running along each node. Though the cracks were so slight as to be hidden under the usual tension of his muscles and supportive tissues, the dynamic force of flowing Qi made them swell ever so slightly. And even that tiny widening was enough to permit his vital energy to seep away in significant amounts.
At that profound moment, Li Yan's heart sank and then soared with a grim clarity: the mysterious loss of his Qi was precisely due to these minute fissures. Reflecting upon the earlier recitation—"with every inhalation and exhalation, it is shattered piece by piece"—he suddenly understood that the description was not merely poetic but literal. His internal energy was being split, segmented along those twelve crucial meridian nodes, causing an incessant leakage of his spiritual essence.
Now that he had at last pinpointed the cause of his predicament, a new question emerged: how might he repair these breaches? Li Yan again immersed himself in the ancient records, this time revisiting the previous notes made by the three venerable predecessors. For more than half a day he pored over the texts, searching desperately for any hint, any methodological instruction that might detail how to restore or harness the Shard Poison Body. But to his deep disappointment, the records were silent on the matter. The cultivation of such a body was not governed by any fixed formula; it was a rare, almost capricious condition that could be stimulated by any method the cultivator was most adept at. In short, there were no step-by-step instructions—only scattered notes, personal reflections, and cryptic observations.
As time slipped away, two more days passed in a haze of frustration. Li Yan's hope began to wane; every potential solution seemed to vanish before his eyes. In the cycle of trial and error, one promising hypothesis after another was negated by the inescapable truth of the constant Qi leakage. At long last, he nearly accepted a bitter fate—that his journey on the path of cultivation was irreparably broken, a cruel cosmic joke played upon him after enduring not one but two rounds of divine trials, which had ultimately culminated in an unending, ironic farce.
Yet even in that bleak moment, a stubborn ember of resolve burned within him. Deep inside, Li Yan was not a man who had yearned for the path of ascension out of ambition; he was a mortal who had simply hoped to live a quiet life alongside his loved ones. After facing countless hardships, he had, with great trepidation, chosen the path of cultivation only to see his dreams falter at the very beginning. Such fate was unbearable—a harsh twist of destiny he could neither rationalize nor accept.
Determined not to surrender to despair, he once again turned to the Gui Water True Scripture, desperate to unearth any insight that might help him overcome his aberrant condition. No matter how many times he adjusted the flow of his inner Qi, no matter how meticulously he scrutinized every uttered phrase and nuanced character of the incantations, the outcome remained unaltered. Every attempt to drive his energy through the channels was thwarted by the inevitable loss when he reached those twelve flawed nodes.
In a final act of desperation, Li Yan began to painstakingly re-read the entire Gui Water True Scripture and examine the jade slip records piece by piece. He clung to every word, every fragment of the ancient wisdom, hoping with all his heart that among the countless lines there lay a hint—a clue that would reveal the method to remedy his condition. Yet every page turned, every note re-read, only deepened his despondency. No single line mentioned a method that could address the particular phenomenon occurring within him.
At that point, physical and mental exhaustion had taken its toll. Li Yan's face was drawn, his eyes red and bloodshot, bearing the haunted look of a solitary wolf wandering a boundless grassland. In a long, sorrowful exhalation, he sighed deeply, realizing that his current state could not persist. Resolute yet resigned, he collapsed right there in the cultivation chamber and allowed himself to sleep. He knew that if he were to awaken and still be bereft of an answer after several days of further study, his only recourse would be to seek the counsel of his master. In that case, he would have to beg, pleading on the basis of the deep bond between teacher and student, that his master restore him to mortal life. As for the Gui Water True Scripture and its secrets, he resolved that they must remain unspoken. Even if fate had severed his path toward immortality, he could never sever the sacred debt he owed to Dong Fu Yi—the one who had saved his life. If nothing else, he would, in future days, light a few extra incense sticks in solemn prayer that somewhere in the unknown perils of that mystical realm, Dong Fu Yi might one day find a successor more suited to the rigors of that harsh world.
Thus, with his mind awash in chaotic contemplation and heavy sorrow, Li Yan drifted into troubled, fitful sleep. Even as his eyelids closed, images of passages from the Gui Water True Scripture and the endless torrent of information from the jade slips relentlessly invaded his dreams, their meaning merging with the swirling mists of his subconscious.
Hours—or perhaps even days later, though he could not tell—Li Yan abruptly sat upright in the midst of his sleep. He looked as though he were still caught between wakefulness and the depths of slumber, his eyes half-lidded by the haze of sleep, yet on his face there flickered a spark of astonishment and hope. His sleep had been far from restful; as the old saying goes, "What you think about by day is what fills your dreams by night." And indeed, his dreams had been entirely filled with the troubling issues of the Shard Poison Body. In one particularly vivid dream, a cascade of insights, spoken in a voice both mysterious and authoritative, suddenly surged into his awareness.
The dream-voice recited: "In the phase of Qi Condensation, your body fragments into ten or more discrete parts, each circulating its own energy to nurture its growth into distinct toxins. At first, these toxins pose no threat to the core of your cultivation, albeit their control is difficult and must be slowly mastered by the cultivator. As your ability improves, these fragments will, in time, divide further into ever more – becoming smaller, independent toxin entities. At a certain point, you may even combine two or more of these fragments into a brand-new, unknown toxin. Once mastered, such an amalgamation can confer upon you an offensive power that defies mortal reckoning."
This passage—once nothing more than a senior's summary of the methods for using the Shard Poison Body in combative settings—had, in retrospect, explained the inconsistencies Li Yan had encountered with his "Cloud Rain Technique." On one occasion the technique had produced one effect, and on another, a different result. It now seemed clear that it was because the Qi he unleashed was no longer pure; it had become intermingled with the toxins generated by his incomplete, fragmented body. In the second instance, it appeared that two of the twelve segments inside him had taken dominion over the flow of energy, altering its nature and outcome.
Li Yan recalled that he had perused these inscrutable words before. At that time, he had understood—at least on some level—why his efforts with the Cloud Rain Technique had yielded such starkly divergent results. Yet back then, his singular focus had been to discover why he could not cultivate properly; he had not permitted himself to hover on the deeper implications of those earlier insights.
Now, amid the surreal interplay of dream and memory, those long-forgotten ideas illuminated his inner world like a lightning bolt in utter darkness. In that flash, his entire vision was transformed, and he awakened fully to the gravity of his situation.
Murmuring softly in his half-awake state, Li Yan repeated the words: "During the Qi Condensation phase, the fragments circulate ceaselessly… always circling… always circling… until the cultivator combines two or more fragments into an unknown toxin..."
Then, as if emerging from a fog of uncertainty, he whispered to himself, "I now understand. The twelve segments within me are not true fragments at all; they are merely fissures, cracks in my body. In times past, these gaps may have been even smaller, but recently—after the intensification brought on by my secondary heart method—they have gradually widened."
He continued, his tone imbued with a mix of bitter clarity and new resolve: "If a cultivator is able to recombine two or more fragments, that presupposes that each fragment is independent in the truest sense. Yet what I sense inside is not genuine fragmentation at all. The elder once said that the process of fragmentation is excruciatingly painful, but I do not recall feeling such agony. It is not that I have fainted or been overcome by shock—it indicates that true, complete fragmentation has never occurred in my body."
In that moment, Li Yan sat on the cold floor, his thoughts a torrent of half-mad mutterings. His eyes, however, shone with a newfound brightness—a spark of insight that, against all odds, had emerged from the chaos of his inner strife.