Chapter Six: Sixth Level of Qi Refinement

Qi Refinement, Level Six.

Ying Chen felt a surge of joy welling up in his chest, unbidden and unrestrained.

There were twelve stages in Qi Refinement, and with each stage surpassed, even greater effort was required to continue advancing. Some, lacking in talent, might find themselves faced with an insurmountable bottleneck, unable to break through no matter how hard they tried... Cultivation had never been an easy path.

To leap directly from the fifth to the sixth stage in one go was already beyond his expectations. With such progress, even among all the disciples who entered the sect the same year as he did, his achievements would be considered outstanding.

That Yan fellow, for instance, had only received an “excellent” evaluation in last year’s minor assessment because he had advanced to the sixth stage of Qi Refinement, and was thus regarded as a genius disciple, with hopes of being admitted into the inner sect in the future. Even those seasoned stewards who had lingered in the outer sect for years were willing to curry favor with him.

Of course, the assessment wasn’t judged solely on the level of cultivation achieved, but more on one’s rate of advancement. Yan He, for example, had achieved the sixth stage of Qi Refinement a year ago and received an “excellent” rating, but if he failed to make further breakthroughs before the next assessment—even if his cultivation remained among the highest in his cohort—he would no longer receive such a high evaluation.

To maintain an “excellent” mark, one had to press forward with relentless vigor.

Ying Chen considered his own progress—breaking through from the fourth to the sixth stage in one breath—and felt confident that such advancement would surely earn him a top evaluation. Even if that Wei fellow truly had the ability to tamper with the assessments, he would have to think twice.

He had long realized that only those who earned the highest marks were truly needed by, or rather truly favored by, the Xiantian Sect. And on this Chishui Cliff, there might be many who dared to flout the rules, but none who could stand above the authority of the “sect.”

Nevertheless, despite this, Ying Chen still preferred to keep matters within his own control.

“Wei Yuan...” Ying Chen lowered his gaze, new plans gradually forming in his mind.

But before he did anything else, there was one thing he needed to do: to find out what exactly this Wei Yuan’s background was.

Ying Chen knew the man was highly regarded on Chishui Cliff, surrounded by lackeys like Di the Scoundrel—no fewer than ten, in fact… and many more who would do anything just to be allowed to serve at his feet.

But why was that? Ying Chen wasn’t entirely sure.

Ying Chen pondered for a moment, organizing his thoughts, then closed his eyes once more.

Some things needed doing, but haste would gain him nothing. Cultivation was the true foundation. Having just broken through to the sixth stage of Qi Refinement, he needed to consolidate his gains before emerging from seclusion.

...

The sun set and rose, a cycle repeated several times.

When Ying Chen finally awakened again from his meditative state, he heard a buzzing vibration that made his expression flicker slightly.

Someone had triggered the protective wards of his abode. But he had no close acquaintances at Chishui Cliff—who could have come looking for him?

A thought flashed through his mind, and with a guess in his heart, he calmly stood and left the cultivation chamber.

His residence was a small courtyard assigned by the Steward’s Office when he joined Chishui Cliff, arranged simply, with nothing remarkable aside from the underground cultivation room connected to the spiritual veins.

Leaving the chamber, he opened the main gate and looked up, just in time to see a one-legged crow perched atop the courtyard wall.

Striding out, he clasped his hands and bowed, greeting, “Greetings, Messenger.”

The one-legged crow opened its beak and spoke in clear, human speech—more lucid even than that of a fox spirit, though its tone was indifferent and succinct: “At midday today, an elder will be lecturing at the Discourse Altar. May disciples attend?”

Ying Chen steadied his breath and respectfully asked, “May I inquire, Messenger, what the topic of today’s lecture is, and whether there is a fee?”

Chishui Cliff, after all, was an affiliated academy of the Xiantian Sect. Periodically, elders would give lectures. Some were arranged by the sect itself, while others were initiated by the elders personally.

Sect-arranged lectures were free of charge and generally substantial, though more basic in content. Private lectures by the elders, however, often required a fee, and the subject matter varied widely. While they were never without substance, whether the teachings were of use to each disciple depended on their own discernment.

The crow, showing no impatience, replied, “Today’s lecture is given by Elder Gu. No fee required.”

Hearing this, Ying Chen’s eyes lit up. An elder’s private lecture that did not require a fee was a rare occurrence—worth attending, at the very least for the experience.

He nodded and bowed again. “Thank you for informing me, Messenger.”

The one-legged crow said no more. Having delivered its message, it spread its wings and soared away.

Ying Chen withdrew his gaze, not in a hurry to depart. With time left before the lecture, he decided to clean up the waste left from his recent seclusion. But upon returning to the cultivation room, a new idea occurred to him.

“These five-colored soils, soaked in tainted blood and highly poisonous, might yet have other uses.”

He gathered the five-colored earth back into its original clay jar, tidied away the spent talisman papers and spirit stones, and used a minor spell to summon a stream of clear water and wash down the cultivation chamber. Only then did he finish his preparations to leave.

Though he had glimpsed the sunlight earlier, it wasn’t until he truly stepped out of his courtyard and walked along the mountain path that Ying Chen felt a moment of disorientation.

He knew that in just over ten days, he had undergone a transformation akin to rebirth!

As he walked, fellow disciples he passed by would instinctively step aside for him.

This was because the spiritual aura of a Qi Refinement cultivator, unless deliberately concealed, was quite apparent. Anyone with even modest cultivation could instantly recognize his level.

Ying Chen made no attempt to hide his advancement—firstly, because there was no custom of concealing one’s strength on Chishui Cliff, and secondly, he had yet to master any advanced techniques for suppressing his aura. Even if he tried to disguise his cultivation, it would hardly escape the notice of those with sharp eyes and might even arouse suspicion. It was better to display his progress openly.

With his sleeves billowing, Ying Chen strode forward at a brisk pace.

Since his rebirth, he had yet to visit the Discourse Altar, but his predecessor had attended many lectures during his nearly four years in the sect. The road was familiar under his feet, and soon, he caught sight of a ledge jutting from the mountainside.

Atop the ledge stood a three-zhang-high platform, fashioned entirely from jade, its sheen as dark as ink.

Below the platform was a cleared open space, densely packed with meditation cushions, so closely set that if one sat down, shoulders and heels would nearly touch.

Already, a few figures had gathered on the field, sitting in small groups, and it was beginning to look crowded.

But Ying Chen knew that if he didn’t go forward to claim a seat now, he might end up relegated to the outskirts, unable to hear the lecture at all.

He scanned the area, found a spot that was not yet full, and sat down. The person beside him, already seated, shifted aside to make room for him and even nodded in greeting.

Ying Chen was taken aback.

Such gestures of goodwill were rare indeed on the cold and indifferent Chishui Cliff.