The relentless hum of Beijing's traffic seeped through the thin walls of Li Wei's cramped apartment, a constant reminder of the city's unyielding grip on his life. At thirty-two, Li Wei was the epitome of urban disillusionment—a mid-level accountant in a faceless corporation, buried under spreadsheets and deadlines that blurred into one endless cycle. His days were a monotonous grind: wake up at dawn, squeeze onto a packed subway, stare at a computer screen until his eyes burned, then trudge home to microwave dinners and mindless scrolling on his phone. Dreams? Those had withered away years ago, replaced by the cold reality of rent payments and performance reviews.
It was on one such dreary afternoon, after a particularly soul-crushing meeting where his boss had droned on about "synergizing efficiencies," that Li Wei decided to wander. He skipped his usual route home, veering instead into the winding alleys of the old Panjiayuan District. The antique market there was a chaotic labyrinth of stalls crammed with relics from China's storied past: porcelain vases, jade carvings, and faded scrolls that whispered of forgotten eras. Li Wei had no real interest in antiques; he was just killing time, delaying the inevitable return to his empty apartment.
As rain began to patter against the corrugated roofs, he ducked into a dimly lit shop at the market's edge. The air inside was thick with the scent of aged wood and incense, and shelves groaned under the weight of dusty artifacts. An elderly shopkeeper, his face etched with wrinkles like ancient calligraphy, nodded absently from behind a counter cluttered with trinkets. Li Wei browsed aimlessly, his fingers trailing over tarnished bronze statues and yellowed books, until something caught his eye—a weathered bamboo scroll tucked away in a corner bin, half-buried under a pile of faded silk fans.
He pulled it out carefully, unrolling it just enough to glimpse the intricate brush strokes. The characters were archaic, a flowing script that harkened back to the Tang Dynasty or earlier. Li Wei wasn't a scholar, but he'd read enough wuxia novels and watched plenty of cultivation dramas to recognize the style. Words like "qi," "meridians," and "immortal ascension" leaped out at him, igniting a spark in his otherwise numb mind. His heart quickened. Could this be... real? A genuine manual for cultivating immortality, hidden in plain sight among tourist junk?
"How much for this?" he asked the shopkeeper, trying to keep his voice casual.
The old man squinted at the scroll, then shrugged. "Fifty yuan. It's old, but probably a fake. Tourists love that stuff."
Li Wei handed over the cash without haggling, his hands trembling slightly as he stuffed the scroll into his backpack. Fake? No, something about it felt authentic—the faint aura of mystery, the way the bamboo creaked like it held secrets from another world. As he hurried home through the deepening rain, his mind raced with possibilities. Immortality. Power beyond the mundane. No more bosses, no more subways—just eternal life, soaring through the clouds on a flying sword.
Back in his apartment, a shoebox of a space on the fifteenth floor of a towering high-rise, Li Wei cleared a spot on the floor amid the clutter of takeout containers and laundry. The room was sparsely furnished: a sagging bed, a rickety desk, and a flickering fluorescent light that buzzed like an angry bee. He unrolled the scroll fully now, spreading it out under the harsh glow. The text was dense, filled with esoteric diagrams of human figures with glowing lines tracing energy pathways, and instructions for breathing techniques, meditation postures, and herbal concoctions.
"Begin with the Gathering of Qi," the first passage read. "Sit in lotus position, calm the mind, and draw in the essence of heaven and earth."
Li Wei chuckled nervously at first— this was ridiculous, right? But what did he have to lose? He dimmed the lights, sat cross-legged on the threadbare carpet, and closed his eyes. Inhale deeply through the nose, hold, exhale through the mouth. Focus on the dantian, that mythical point below the navel where qi supposedly pooled.
Minutes stretched into an hour. At first, nothing. Just the distant honk of cars and the growl of his stomach from last night's spicy noodles. But then... a faint warmth. It started as a tingle in his abdomen, spreading like a gentle current through his limbs. Was this qi? The vital energy that cultivators harnessed to defy mortality? His breathing deepened, and in his mind's eye, he envisioned sparks of light dancing within him, swirling like fireflies in the night.
Or was it just indigestion? The rational part of his brain whispered doubts—the greasy takeout, the stress of the day catching up. But Li Wei pushed it aside. No, this was real. This was the beginning. For the first time in years, he felt alive, not just existing. As the city lights twinkled outside his window, casting long shadows across the room, Li Wei opened his eyes with a newfound resolve. Tomorrow, he would delve deeper. The path to immortality had called to him, and he would answer.