Li Wei woke with a jolt, the faint warmth from last night's meditation still lingering in his memory like a half-remembered dream. The scroll lay open on his desk, its ancient characters beckoning under the weak morning light filtering through his grimy apartment window. Beijing's smog hung heavy outside, painting the city in muted grays, but inside, Li Wei felt a spark of purpose he hadn't known in years. The scroll wasn't just a relic—it was a map to transcendence, and he was determined to follow it.
His cubicle at the accounting firm awaited, but the thought of another day crunching numbers under fluorescent lights made his stomach churn worse than last night's noodles. He called in sick, his voice hoarse with feigned illness but alive with conviction. The decision was reckless—his savings were meager, his rent due soon—but the scroll promised something greater than a paycheck: immortality. He couldn't waste another moment.
Li Wei spent the morning scouring the internet for cultivation lore, cross-referencing the scroll's instructions with forums and obscure blogs. Most dismissed such texts as fantasy, but a few whispered of hidden truths—secret societies of cultivators, mountains pulsing with spiritual energy. One post mentioned Mount Tai, a sacred peak steeped in legend, where emperors once sought divine favor. That was it. He needed to leave the city, to find a place where the veil between mortal and immortal was thin.
By noon, he'd made up his mind. He sold his gaming console, his secondhand TV, and a collection of old comic books to a pawnshop for a modest sum. With the cash, he bought a battered backpack, a cheap sleeping bag, and a train ticket to Tai'an, the city at the foot of Mount Tai. The scroll, carefully wrapped in cloth, went into the backpack along with a notebook to document his journey. As the train rattled out of Beijing, Li Wei felt the weight of his old life slipping away. No more deadlines. No more crowded subways. Just him, the scroll, and the promise of eternity.
Mount Tai was imposing, its rugged slopes cloaked in mist and pine. Li Wei hiked a lesser-known trail, avoiding the tourist-packed stone steps where vendors hawked incense and trinkets. He found a secluded clearing halfway up the mountain, a patch of flat earth surrounded by gnarled trees and mossy boulders. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and something intangible—perhaps the "heavenly qi" the scroll described. He set up camp, his sleeping bag laid out under a makeshift tarp. This was his new home, his training ground.
Following the scroll's instructions, Li Wei began his practice at dawn the next day. He sat cross-legged on a flat rock, facing the rising sun, and focused on his breathing. Inhale, hold, exhale—slow and deliberate. The scroll emphasized clearing the mind, but his thoughts kept wandering: unpaid bills, his mother's worried voicemails, the skeptical smirk of the pawnshop clerk. He shook them off, visualizing streams of energy flowing into his dantian. Hours passed, his legs numb, his back aching. Nothing. Just the rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of a bird.
Frustration crept in by midday. Was he doing it wrong? The scroll was vague, its metaphors about "swallowing the essence of heaven" and "circulating the dragon's breath" maddeningly abstract. He tried again, this time standing, mimicking a stance from a diagram labeled "Celestial Crane Posture." Arms raised, he swayed slightly, imagining qi coursing through his meridians. A sudden gust of wind sent leaves swirling around him, and for a fleeting moment, he felt it—a tingling warmth, like static electricity dancing across his skin. His eyes widened. There it was again, the same sensation from his apartment, but stronger, more vivid. Sparks seemed to flicker at the edge of his vision, faint and ethereal, like fireflies in the twilight.
He laughed aloud, startling a nearby squirrel. "I did it!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the rocks. The sparks vanished, but the warmth remained, pulsing faintly in his chest. Was this qi? The scroll said the first stage of cultivation—Qi Gathering—was about sensing and harnessing this energy. Li Wei was certain he'd taken his first step. He scribbled furiously in his notebook, detailing the sensation, the posture, the exact angle of the sun. This was no delusion. This was progress.
As night fell, he lit a small fire and sat by it, rereading the scroll by the flickering light. The next steps spoke of refining qi, opening meridians, and facing "tribulations" to temper the body. The path sounded grueling, but Li Wei was undeterred. He ignored the distant laughter of hikers on the main trail, their voices carrying mockery about the "crazy hermit" in the woods. Let them laugh. They were bound to the mortal world, while he was reaching for the heavens.
Exhausted but exhilarated, Li Wei lay in his sleeping bag, staring at the stars through gaps in the trees. The scroll had awakened something in him—a hunger for more than survival, more than mediocrity. As sleep claimed him, he dreamed of soaring over Mount Tai, his body weightless, his spirit unbound, while the world below faded into insignificance.