The path to the hallowed Book of Newcomer Scrolls proved treacherous. Ergen, usually stoic, now pleaded with uncharacteristic fervor, hoping his name wouldn’t be swallowed by the abyss of obscurity. Another tale would unfold this very afternoon.

—

Returning to his humble chamber, Wang Lin secured the door. The four Spirit-Snatching pills, prizes though they were, found a temporary home in his storage pouch. Tonight, the Mysterious Bead would be subject to his arcane experiments.

He unearthed the bead and gourd with deliberate care. Contemplation furrowed his brow as he weighed the potential rewards against the risks. Dew, the lifeblood of his nascent cultivation, was scarce. Without it, progress would be akin to scaling a mountain of sand.

Yet, the swirling mists within the Mysterious Bead held him captive with their enigmatic promise. Finally, resolve hardened his gaze. Dew could be gathered anew, albeit with patience. But the emergence of the tenth cloud upon the bead might unleash transformations beyond comprehension, perhaps even gifting him with spiritual energy of unimaginable potency when steeped in the spring’s embrace.

With newfound zeal, he procured the finest Morning Dew Hyacinth Dew. A stone bowl was readied, and with painstaking slowness, he coaxed the precious liquid forth.

At long last, half a bowl glistened with an oily, viridescent hue. A fragrance, delicate yet potent, filled the air. Wang Lin inhaled, a wave of serenity washing over him, easing the tension in his weary limbs.

Fearing this potent aroma might draw unwanted attention from within the sect, he swiftly plunged the Mysterious Bead into the bowl. Time stretched as he observed, but the liquid slowly diminished.

Disappointment flickered across his face. He had hoped for instant catalysis. However, the fragrance faded after the bead’s immersion, a small consolation. After pondering for a while, Wang Lin placed the stone bowl under the bed, sat cross-legged and began to meditate holding a low grade spirit stone.

His breaths lengthened and steadied. Though he had yet to coax spirit into his body in these past two months, the rhythmic inhalation and exhalation had become second nature, even outside his meditative trances.

The night bled into dawn. Wang Lin awoke early, retrieving the stone bowl. The liquid had lessened by half, but the tenth cloud remained elusive.

Undeterred, he replaced the bowl. Hesitation flickered across his face, then vanished. He drew forth a Spirit-Snatching pill and swallowed it whole. A torrent of heat surged through his veins.

This was a ritual he had endured daily during his month with Sun Dazhu, familiar and predictable. He channeled his breath, waiting for the night to descend once more. Finally, he exhaled a long, white plume, a wry smile twisting his lips. “This Spirit-Snatching Pill is not so different from Sun Dazhu’s decoction. Herbs brimming with untamed spirit. Each time I ingest it, I feel invigorated, the pangs of hunger banished. Yet, I cannot distill a single trace of aura.”

A sigh escaped him. Wang Zhuo, blessed with talent, would likely ascend to the first stage of Qi Condensation within mere months. He felt a twinge of frustration. Talent, indeed, was the cornerstone of immortal cultivation.

Yet, Wang Lin’s indomitable spirit would not allow him to surrender so easily. The Mysterious Bead, a source of abundant potential, was his advantage. Though he could not yet conjure spiritual energy, perseverance would undoubtedly bring success.

“Time…” he murmured, biting his lower lip. He took a deep breath, retrieving the stone bowl once more. Only a meager pool of liquid remained, yet the tenth cloud remained dormant.

Without hesitation, he poured forth another offering of Night Dew Hyacinth Dew. This time, the yield was greater, enough to refill the bowl with a mere splash left over. He consumed the remaining liquid in one gulp and resumed his breathing exercises.

This time, the heat surged through his body, feeling thicker and more concentrated than before. The sensation of dry mouth and tongue seized him. Wang Lin gritted his teeth and began to breathe in a pattern of one long and three short breaths.

Before long, an unsettling sensation washed over him. The heat within him no longer dissipated as it had before. Instead, with each breath, his body swelled with excruciating pain. He felt like an overinflated balloon, stretched to its breaking point.

Panic flared. He ceased his breathing abruptly, but the swelling persisted. He opened his eyes, a horrifying sight greeted him. His veins pulsed grotesquely, like venomous serpents writhing beneath his skin.

Unbeknownst to Wang Lin, the medicinal soups he had consumed previously contained a negligible amount of spiritual energy. Even the combined spiritual energy gathered from the world around him could not compare to the rate at which his spiritless roots expelled it. Furthermore, at critical moments, the effect of spiritual herbs would take place so the gathering of spiritual energy in his body was never a success.

Now, however, the situation was drastically different. The dew he had imbibed possessed a far greater concentration of spiritual energy than any soup, surpassing his roots’ ability to dissipate it. Had he not continued his breathing, the energy might have dissipated slowly on its own. But each breath was like fanning the flames.

He understood he had blundered, yet he was clueless how to fix it, helpless as his veins strained to the point of bursting. Then, a lightning bolt of inspiration struck. He gritted his teeth, and with a desperate lunge, he started to breathe in a pattern of one short and three long breaths.

Since the normal breathing pattern brings in spiritual energy, he surmised that the inverse breathing might purge it.

Wang Lin’s supposition was remarkably accurate. Throughout the cultivation world, such a reverse breathing technique was well-known, for it was the initial step for the perilous art of Sangong Recultivation.

As he breathed, wisps of spiritual energy emanated from every pore. They vanished as soon as they appeared, it felt as if the energy was being absorbed by the bed and by the stone bead.

Time passed slowly, Wang Lin’s swelling gradually subsided, and the pulsing green veins quieted. Yet, what now escaped his body was not spirit, but a foul, acrid gas. The Mysterious Bead spurned this effluvium, allowing it to dissipate into the air.

By chance, Wang Lin had banished the spiritual herbs from his body.

There are only two means of expunging spiritual herbs in this way. One is to gradually erode them using vast amounts of spiritual energy, as Sun Dazhu had been doing. The other method is to disperse the essence, stripping all spiritual energy from the body and beginning anew. Sun Dazhu had neglected the latter approach because Wang Lin’s body contained little spiritual energy at the time, and it would quickly dissipate as soon as there was a small amount, not enough to trigger the essence dissipation.

The process of dispersing the essence lasted a day and a night. At last, Wang Lin collapsed weakly upon his bed, thanking the heavens that he lived and vowing to never touch another drop of dew.

Drowsiness overtook him, and he drifted into a restless slumber.