CHAPTER 12
“Do you sell a Low-Grade Foundation Elixir?”
The shopkeeper paused slightly, then nodded at once.
“Of course,” he smiled. “We always keep that in stock.”
“Every rogue cultivator needs it, haha.”
“How much?” Yang Feng asked.
“Five hundred low-grade spirit stones.”
“Alright,” Yang Feng replied simply.
“I’ll take one.”
The shopkeeper quickly retrieved a small wooden box and placed it on the counter.
“Here you are.”
Yang Feng opened the box.
Inside lay a brownish-gray pill. A faint medicinal scent lingered. No spiritual light. No phenomenon.
At a glance, it looked utterly ordinary.
“Fresh batch?” he asked.
“Yes,” the shopkeeper replied. “This batch was prepared just a few days ago.”
Yang Feng nodded, then suddenly asked:
“By the way… do you sell elixirs for breaking through to Golden Core?”
The shopkeeper froze.
“…Golden Core?”
He studied Yang Feng more closely. His expression slowly grew serious.
“Immortal sir,” he said slowly, “rogue cultivators usually don’t want to use a Low-Grade Core Condensation Elixir.”
“That thing… is terrible.”
“A Golden Core formed from such a low-grade elixir will severely damage a cultivator’s foundation.”
He exhaled. Seeing no reaction from Yang Feng, he continued, his tone becoming increasingly earnest.
“A Low-Grade Foundation Elixir is different.”
“For cultivators without sect resources, Mortal Foundation may be weak, but at least it is acceptable.”
“But Golden Core is not the same.”
“Once the dantian restructures into a Golden Core, if it is not reinforced with heavenly treasures, the structure of the Core will be extremely soft. Extremely poor.”
“Such a cultivator will never complete Spirit Gathering, and will never step into Nascent Soul.”
“They will surely become crippled within the cultivation world.”
He explained carefully, afraid Yang Feng did not understand, even offering an analogy.
“You may think of it this way.”
“At Foundation, Spiritual Qi condenses into Spiritual Liquid. The dantian becomes like a lake.”
“With Mortal Foundation, the lake may be small, may be inferior, but it can still hold the Spiritual Liquid.”
“But Golden Core is different.”
“Golden Core compresses the entire lake into a single mass.”
“If it is not hard enough, not thick enough, the Golden Core will not retain Spiritual Power.”
“The result is…”
He shook his head.
“Just one martial technique, and their Spiritual Power would be emptied at once.”
“Facing a Heaven’s Chosen at Foundation… you would not even be an opponent.”
“In fact, such a Golden Core may be worse than a good Foundation.”
The shopkeeper stopped and looked at Yang Feng for a long time.
“Especially,” he added, “for someone who has already chosen Mortal Foundation. You would need a High-Grade Core Condensation Elixir to compensate.”
“Otherwise…”
“The path to Nascent Soul is severed.”
Yang Feng listened to everything.
Attentively.
He asked only one question.
“You speak a lot.”
“So… do you have it or not?”
The shopkeeper stiffened.
After a moment, he gave a bitter smile.
“…We do.”
“There is only one left.”
“It’s been sitting in storage for nearly two years. No one bought it.”
“If Immortal sir wishes… I can give it to you.”
Yang Feng looked up.
“Is the medicinal potency still usable?”
“Rest assured,” the shopkeeper answered quickly, “it will remain viable for another five years.”
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Yang Feng looked at him.
“…Why give away something that is still within its term?”
The shopkeeper fell silent for a moment, then sighed.
“Because… selling it invites trouble.”
“A Low-Grade Core Condensation Elixir does not kill immediately.”
“But it kills the future.”
“Two years ago, someone didn’t believe that. He bought this exact kind.”
“When his Golden Core formed, he came back laughing loudly.”
“Three months later…”
The shopkeeper shook his head.
“He returned. His Golden Core was cracked. His Spiritual Power had fallen into chaos.”
“He knelt before this shop and begged me to save him.”
“But by then… was there still time?”
The air grew heavy.
Yang Feng asked:
“Aren’t you afraid I will come back as well?”
The shopkeeper looked at him.
“Others walk in and ask only for the price.”
“You… ask about the consequences.”
“You know what you are buying.”
“That consequence… you have chosen.”
Yang Feng nodded.
“Give it to me.”
The shopkeeper retrieved an old wooden box. No runes. No sealing talisman.
Inside lay a pale gray pill. Dull. Unremarkable.
“This is the Low-Grade Core Condensation Elixir.”
“You are certain?”
“Certain,” Yang Feng replied.
He stored the box in his storage pouch.
“I know it is bad.”
“I know it is soft.”
“I know I may never form Nascent Soul.”
He paused.
“But at least…”
“It will not kill me tonight.”
The shopkeeper said nothing more.
Yang Feng turned and left Lian An Alchemy Hall.
Outside, Xiang’an Town was as lively as ever.
Mortals laughed and spoke. Carriages passed by. No one knew that a choice had just been made… one that could determine a cultivator’s entire life.
Yang Feng lifted his gaze toward the evening sky.
There was no hesitation in his heart.
Only a single clear thought:
“I do not need a radiant path.”
“I only need to break through.”
Night fell quickly.
The Outer Sect gradually sank into silence. Only the wind brushed across roof tiles and slipped through narrow cracks in doors.
The oil lamp on the table flickered faintly, its weak flame trembling as if about to die, casting a dim, unstable glow over the small room.
Yang Feng sat cross-legged on his bed.
Before him lay the small wooden box, placed neatly but unopened. He did not rush. What weighed upon him was not the pill, but the heaviness within his dantian.
The Spiritual Qi in his body was full.
Not the comfortable fullness of someone about to cross into a new threshold, but the tight, uncomfortable tension of a vessel that had reached its limit.
Each time he circulated a cycle, the Spiritual Qi flowing through his meridians was no longer as agile as before. It thickened, denser and slower, like water forced through a narrow gap.
When the Spiritual Qi gathered into the dantian, he could clearly feel the congestion. Not blocked. But no space remained to accept even the slightest thread more.
He forced one more cycle.
Just a small one.
A sharp pain burst from his lower abdomen and shot straight up his spine. His breath halted.
He stopped.
If he continued forcing it, what awaited him would not be breakthrough, but collapse.
Great Perfection of Qi Refinement.
He had reached the ceiling.
He opened the box.
The pill lay there, pale brown-gray. No spiritual glow. No extraordinary fragrance. So ordinary that if tossed among common herbs, no one would spare it a second glance.
Mortal Foundation.
Inferior foundation.
A small dantian.
A path nearly sealed from the very beginning.
He knew.
Very clearly.
In his mind, Su Xueni’s words no longer echoed. Nor the image of One-Sword Peak. Nor the Heaven’s Chosen standing high above.
There was only one simple, practical thought:
If he did not break through now, how long could he last?
One month.
Two months.
Or perhaps only a single battle beyond his limit, one more tremor in the dantian, and everything would shatter.
He let out a faint laugh, so faint it was nearly inaudible.
He was not impatient.
He simply had no right to be slow.
That thought passed lightly. It needed no declaration. No affirmation.
It existed as an obvious truth, like night passing into dawn, whether he was ready or not.
He lowered his gaze to the pill in his hand.
In the end, there was only one matter before him.
Yang Feng lifted the pill.
No ceremony.
No grand declaration.
He looked at it one final time.
“I do not need a radiant path.”
“I only need to survive tonight.”
He placed the pill in his mouth.
Swallowed.
Yang Feng closed his eyes.
His mind withdrew completely.
His breathing slowed.
One beat at a time.
The dantian trembled again.
This time not because he forced it, but because the Spiritual Qi moved on its own.
As though the body had decided before he did.
The Spiritual Qi within the dantian began to move.
At first, slight fluctuations.
Then faster.
Coiling.
Churning.
The meridians swelled, then contracted, as though breathing.
But what flowed within them was no longer Qi.
It was liquid.
Spiritual Qi liquefied.
Threads of Qi were compressed and shattered, turning into thin streams of Spiritual Liquid that surged through the meridians like tidewater.
The dantian expanded.
Not violently.
But unmistakably.
Spiritual Liquid gathered at the center.
Colliding.
Stacking.
The cramped space grew heavy.
For most cultivators, this was the most dangerous moment.
Either expand.
Or shatter.
But at the bottom of his dantian, there was something else.
Origin Qi.
Slow.
Heavy.
It did not compete.
It did not dissolve.
As the Spiritual Liquid churned above, Origin Qi did not join.
It simply remained there, like a submerged mass at the bottom of a lake.
Spiritual Liquid collided violently. The dantian trembled harder.
But with each tremor, Origin Qi pressed downward.
Not resisting.
Only making everything heavier.
More stable.
Spiritual Liquid continued condensing.
A portion seeped into the dantian walls. The walls thickened slowly.
They did not expand much.
They simply became thicker.
Harder.
The Spiritual Liquid above gradually settled.
Not because it ran out.
But because there was no longer space to churn.
Suddenly, all fluctuation stopped.
Very quickly.
Like a heartbeat squeezed tight, then released.
No lightning tribulation.
No phenomenon.
No resonance with heaven and earth.
Only a silent transformation.
The dantian completed its restructuring, small and compact, filled with Spiritual Liquid.
Mortal Foundation.
But in that moment, something very small occurred.
A strand of Spiritual Liquid, as it settled to the bottom, did not dissolve completely.
It touched Origin Qi.
The two did not collide.
Did not clash.
They simply touched.
Then Origin Qi shifted slightly.
For the first time.
It did not rise.
Did not spread.
It merely contracted, condensing one layer further.
Like a seed compressed deep within soil.
Yang Feng did not see it.
He only felt that the bottom of his dantian was heavier than before.
Not much.
But different.
A very real weight.
Less than half a shichen later, all turmoil within his body subsided.
Yang Feng slowly opened his eyes.
The faint oil lamp cast a dim glow across his face.
Not enough to illuminate every detail, but enough to reveal a subtle change in his expression.
His breathing was no longer heavy.
The Spiritual Power within him was no longer chaotic, but had entered another state.
Heavier.
Denser.
But also lesser.
The aura around him was not sharp.
Not oppressive.
It carried no noticeable pressure.
If someone stood outside the door at this moment, they would only sense a cultivator who had just stepped into Foundation.
Perfectly ordinary.
He circulated his Spiritual Power once.
Spiritual Liquid flowed smoothly through his meridians.
No conflict.
No disorder.
Everything operated so seamlessly it was almost imperceptible.
But when he examined more closely, a truth emerged clearly:
His capacity was smaller than he had imagined.
The dantian was small.
Small in an honest way.
No illusion.
No concealment.
Just enough to hold the newly formed lake of Spiritual Liquid.
Yang Feng sat quietly for a long while.
There was no turmoil in his heart.
No regret.
He had known what he would gain.
And what he would pay.
This path was never meant for those who wished to blaze across the sky.
It was meant for those willing to walk in darkness without stopping.
As long as he lived,
that was enough.
Outside, the night wind brushed across the roof tiles, carrying the faint rustle of leaves.
No one knew what had just occurred in this small room.
Heaven and earth did not shift.
No lightning descended.
No one looked up at the sky in shock.
Everything remained as it was.
Only within his dantian had a small lake of Spiritual Liquid quietly formed.
And beneath that lake, where the liquid could not reach, a heavier and calmer layer of Qi lay in silence.
It did not shine.
It did not stir.
It did not reveal its existence.
Like a seed buried deep in damp soil —
not yet sprouted,
not yet shaped,
not yet named.
But already there.
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