Twenty days had passed since the wild boar hunt. In the back courtyard of the Taoist temple during the hour of Chou (1-3 AM), the darkroom was repeatedly steeped in thick ink, and even the wind carried a sense of melancholy.
Only the xenon training lamp in the corner emitted a cold, faint light. Its 50 lux brightness was like a dying star in the cold night, casting scattered silver-like light spots on the ground.
Yuan Chen sat cross-legged on a meditation cushion, his hands tightly encased in gray-black electromyography gloves. The electrodes on the Laogong acupoint of his palms and the Shaoshang acupoint of his fingertips were sealed tightly, and wires snaked like silver serpents, connecting to the monitoring device nearby.
The mV values flickering on the screen fluctuated, high and low, like the pulse of his Qi surging through his meridians at this moment—subtle yet vibrant.
He quietly formed the Taoist "Seven Star Secret," his thumb successively tapping the index, middle, ring, and little fingers' knuckles.
Each light tap brought a tremor of Qi, creeping up inch by inch along his finger bones and fascia, as if tiny streams were tinkling in his meridians.
This was the starting stance for "Finger Qi Pulse," requiring the Seven Star Secret to steady his mind, aligning his spirit and Qi like the Big Dipper, without the slightest deviation.
The xenon lamp suddenly began to flicker, its frequency slowly climbing from 1Hz to 10Hz, shattering the light and shadows into a sky full of star-dust in Yuan Chen's pupils.
He opened his eyes wide, gazing at the condensed ball of light in the lamp's core, his gaze as steady as the moon reflected in a deep pool.
The eye-tracking camera above his head faithfully recorded that his eyeball tremor amplitude had shrunk to 0.1 mm, comparable to the unwavering focus of an eagle locking onto its diving prey.
This was the foundation of "Astral Inner Vision," to keep the retinal rod cells constantly awake amidst shifting light and shadow, like an owl seeing in the dark, discerning every minute detail within chaos.
"Breath turns to frost, Qi gathers into a needle." Yuan Chen let out a soft sigh from his throat, and Qi surged from his Dantian with his breath, flowing forward along the fascia chain of his forearm.
He began to rapidly flex and extend his fingers, his ten digits like sparrows pecking rice, each flick carrying the tingling tremor of "flick Qi."
Initially, the electromyography values wavered like a candle in the wind, swaying around 3mV. A tingling sensation spread through his fingertips—a sign that his Qi was opening the gates of his capillaries, accelerating local microcirculation, bringing a mix of itchiness and swelling.
"Triple Burner open, Qi pulse flows."
He suddenly switched to "reverse abdominal breathing"; as he inhaled, his lower abdomen drew inward, and his Qi surged upward like a flood blocked by a gate, rushing along the Triple Burner Meridian of Hand Shaoyang.
The fingertip electrodes instantly emitted a soft "sizzle," and the value shot up to 8mV, the waveform on the monitoring screen immediately becoming smooth as a mirror.
This was proof that his Qi had finally broken through the constraints of his skin, no longer a turbulent flow confined within the fascia, but a sharp edge that could gently seep through his pores, carrying a clear, crisp sharpness.
After practicing like this for about half an hour, Yuan Chen removed his gloves, his knuckles faintly red from prolonged exertion.
He picked up a celadon bottle from the corner of the darkroom, and as he pulled out the stopper, a bitter medicinal fragrance wafted out.
He poured out three pigeon-egg-sized pills, their bodies glowing with a soft amber light—these were "Bright Eye Pills," refined from gastrodia elata, goji berries, and dendrobium.
Upon entering his mouth, a bitter astringency first spread across his tongue, then transformed into a sweet, warm current that flowed down his throat directly to his brow, where his pineal gland felt slightly warm, as if a small sun was shining there.
This was the gastrodin in the pills gently nourishing his optic nerves, keeping his retina clear and unblemished under the stimulation of high-frequency light and shadow.
After resting for the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, he carefully put his gloves back on and turned to walk toward a hidden compartment on the other side.
As the sandalwood box opened, the mosquitoes inside the glass cover fluttered up, emitting a faint hum like a fine thread gently scratching his ear.
This was crucial for the "darkroom mosquito test"; a high-speed camera mounted outside the glass cover stared unblinkingly at Yuan Chen's fingertips, intending to clearly capture the trajectory of his Qi.
Initially, he had to keep his eyes open, carefully tracking the mosquitoes' flight path, and only when they wobbled past the three-foot line would his fingertip Qi suddenly shoot out.
In the camera's 1000 frames per second footage, the invisible force field formed by his Qi could be clearly seen hitting the mosquito, flipping the tiny creature half an inch, its wingtips still flailing in a panic.
But by the seventh day of practice, Yuan Chen had closed his eyes, relying solely on his skin to perceive the bioelectricity of the mosquitoes' flapping wings.
These faint changes in the electric field were transmitted via his Qi, like an invisible pen meticulously drawing their flight paths in his mind, without the slightest error.
"Body as furnace, Qi as fire."
His fingertip moved slightly, and his Qi shot out like a needle probing the sea, even before the mosquito had flown past the two-foot line.
The camera faithfully captured this scene:
The air in front of the mosquito suddenly swirled, forming a tiny vortex that forcibly pushed the small creature off course. Its wingtips even slightly deformed within the Qi's pressure field, as if gently pinched by an invisible hand.
This was the realm of "Qi arrives before the finger touches the mosquito," where perception and reaction, through the bridge of Qi, completed a seamless, synchronized dance.
Hundred-Day Foundation Establishment was finally complete. Yuan Chen stood before a bronze mirror, examining himself. A network of light blue blood vessels had emerged at his temples, like a coiled green dragon—this was the "Green Dragon Mark."
In the ultrasound images, the blood flow in the branches of his external carotid artery had increased by 30% compared to before, and his temporalis fascia had thickened to 2mm, becoming a natural tension structure supporting his head, stable and secure.
He raised his hand to stroke his cheek; his skin felt slightly rough, as if covered with fine scales, hiding a certain resilience.
The sebum detector showed that the free fatty acid content had increased by 20%, and the "Jade Frost Glow" formed by Qi activating his arrector pili muscles had begun to take shape.
During the test just now, a mosquito landed on the back of his hand, and as its proboscis touched his skin, it was repelled by an invisible force field, like a drop of water hitting a lotus leaf, leaving no trace.
Finally, he looked at his eyes in the mirror.
The pigment cells on his irises were neatly arranged, interweaving in radial and circular patterns, precisely like a miniature Eight Trigrams diagram.
This was the "Eight Trigrams Mark."
Dark adaptation tests had already proven that in 5 lux of dim light, he could discern the veins of bamboo leaves a hundred meters away, even the tiny serrations at the leaf tips were clearly visible. The density of his retinal rod cells had soared to 150 million per mm², comparable to the most precise night vision device.
The final test value of the electromyography gloves steadily remained at 9.8 mV, and the fluctuation amplitude of his Qi when penetrating the skin obediently stayed within 0.5 mV.
Yuan Chen clenched his fist, clearly feeling the closed-loop tension formed by the fascia chain in his forearm. This strength was no longer a clumsy brute force, but a clever strength that could bear weight evenly, like a steel cable.
The moment the dynamometer jumped to 500kg, he knew clearly in his heart that this power came from the synergistic dance of his entire body's fascia, not merely the hard support of his finger bones and muscles.
"Astral light falls, Qi is formed."
He whispered to himself in the bronze mirror, the Eight Trigrams Mark in his eyes swirling in the candlelight, reflecting some of the mystical "unity of heaven and man" of Taoism, as if stars were gently rising and falling in his pupils.
These twenty days of cultivation, using the xenon lamp for vision, the electromyography for measuring Qi, and elixirs for nourishing his spirit, had ultimately transformed his "nervous-muscular-fascial" system into an efficient energy converter.
Although his Qi was still confined within three inches of his flesh, it had already laid the groundwork for harming others from a distance. He only awaited "Refining Essence into Qi" in the future to truly break through the shackles of the mundane world with this sharpness and rush towards a broader heaven and earth.
Yuan Chen pushed open the main gate of the Taoist temple, and the night dew, carrying the fresh scent of vegetation, wafted over him. He looked at the dark, deep sky with its faint starlight, and his thoughts suddenly wandered.
He recalled that more than sixty days ago, if he hadn't met Xiao Zhu, he would probably still be that ordinary young Taoist priest, guarding the temple and copying scriptures every day, unlike now, where he had quietly stepped through the threshold of a Foundation Establishment cultivator.
But the road ahead was long. How should he formally practice "Refining Essence into Qi," and how could he achieve Human Immortal status? The resources required, he certainly couldn't afford alone.
Was he supposed to encounter a wealthy person gravely ill when he went down the mountain to treat diseases? That seemed too much like a clichéd plot from a novel.
Or perhaps he could do live streams, displaying his abilities to the public? Or failing that, go to the country?
Although in both his past and present lives, the country remained that reassuring shade of red, would they truly fully trust a superhuman like him who could achieve immortality?
After all, even if he gave them the cultivation methods, most people wouldn't be able to cultivate Qi.
Yuan Chen sighed softly, and the night wind lifted the hem of his robe, carrying a hint of coolness.
The path of cultivation was difficult, and it turned out that the difficulty lay not just in the cultivation methods, but even more so in the entanglements and choices of this mundane world.
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