The pain from Li Wei's meridian-opening ritual lingered, his skin tender and inflamed where the acupuncture needles had pierced. Despite the feverish haze that followed, he felt a surge of triumph—the warmth in his dantian was stronger now, a steady pulse that seemed to hum with the rhythm of Mount Tai itself. The scroll, his ever-present guide, had proven its worth once more, but its next passages hinted at a need for external tools: "artifacts of jade and spirit, imbued with the essence of the ancients, to amplify the cultivator's qi." Li Wei had no such artifacts, only his crude altar and makeshift spear, but the promise of mystical objects ignited a new obsession. If he was to progress beyond Foundation Establishment, he needed something more—something sacred.
In his clearing, as he recovered from the meridian ritual, Li Wei scoured the Order of the Jade Dawn's chat group for ideas. Zhang Wei, the alchemy enthusiast, mentioned rumors of a black-market auction in Tai'an, the city at the foot of Mount Tai, where rare antiques and supposed "spiritual relics" were traded under the table. "They're mostly fakes," Zhang Wei typed, "but every now and then, something real slips through—jade slips, talismans, maybe even a cultivator's relic." The idea electrified Li Wei. A jade slip, the scroll described as a vessel for ancient techniques, could unlock the next stage of his cultivation. He had little money left, but his determination outweighed his poverty. He would find a way.
With his backpack slung over his shoulder, the scroll carefully wrapped in cloth, Li Wei descended the mountain, his legs still weak but his resolve ironclad. Tai'an bustled with tourists drawn to Mount Tai's spiritual allure, their chatter a stark contrast to the solitude of his clearing. He navigated the city's crowded streets, following Zhang Wei's vague directions to a nondescript teahouse tucked in an alley behind a bustling market. The teahouse's faded sign read "Jade Serenity," but its shuttered windows and locked door hinted at secrets. Li Wei knocked three times, as Zhang Wei had instructed, and whispered a phrase from the forum: "The moon seeks the hidden star."
The door creaked open, revealing a burly man with a scar across his cheek. He eyed Li Wei's disheveled appearance—tattered clothes, wild hair, and a feverish glint in his eyes—and grunted. "You got an invitation?" Li Wei, unprepared for this, stammered, "I'm a seeker of the Dao. I heard of the auction." The man's scowl softened, perhaps recognizing the desperation of a true believer. "Fifty yuan," he muttered. Li Wei handed over nearly all his remaining cash, his heart pounding as he was ushered into a dimly lit back room.
The room was a stark contrast to the teahouse's modest exterior. Velvet curtains draped the walls, and a dozen figures sat around a long table, their faces obscured by shadows or hoods. At the center stood an auctioneer, a wiry man with a sly smile, displaying a tray of items: a bronze incense burner, a cracked porcelain bowl, and—Li Wei's breath caught—a small jade slip, its surface etched with faint, swirling patterns that seemed to glow under the lamplight. "A cultivator's relic," the auctioneer announced, "said to hold the wisdom of a Song Dynasty master. Bidding starts at one thousand yuan."
Li Wei's heart sank. He had less than ten yuan left, not enough for a cup of tea, let alone a sacred artifact. The other bidders, a mix of wealthy collectors and shady figures, called out sums that made his head spin. Desperation clawed at him. The jade slip was his destiny—he could feel it, the same instinct that had drawn him to the scroll in Beijing. He stood, ignoring the annoyed glances, and raised his hand. "I offer my service," he blurted. "I'm a cultivator. I can refine qi, guard your treasures, anything you need!"
The room fell silent, then erupted in laughter. The auctioneer's smile turned mocking. "A cultivator, eh? Show us, then. Prove your qi's worth more than gold." Li Wei, cornered, felt the weight of every eye on him. He closed his eyes, focusing on his dantian, the warmth now a familiar anchor. He adopted the Celestial Crane Posture, arms raised, and chanted softly, visualizing his qi as a radiant wave. The warmth surged, stronger than ever, and for a fleeting moment, he swore the jade slip on the table flickered, its patterns pulsing in time with his breath.
The laughter stopped. A few bidders leaned forward, intrigued, but the auctioneer waved dismissively. "Nice trick, but this isn't a street show. Next bid!" Li Wei's face burned, but a woman in a dark shawl, her face half-hidden, raised a hand. "Five hundred yuan, and let the boy try it," she said, her voice low. The auctioneer shrugged, and the jade slip was handed to Li Wei, who clutched it like a lifeline.
Back in his clearing that night, Li Wei sat by his altar, the jade slip in his hands. It was cool to the touch, its carvings intricate but unreadable. He meditated, pressing it to his forehead as the scroll suggested for "absorbing ancient wisdom." The warmth in his dantian stirred, and faint images flickered in his mind—shadowy figures performing sword forms, a voice whispering of "heavenly cycles." Was it real, or his imagination? He didn't care. He scribbled in his notebook: "Jade slip acquired. Wisdom flows, qi amplified. Path opens."
Days later, he learned the slip was likely a fake, a tourist trinket like his scroll. But the warmth it sparked, the visions it conjured, felt real. Li Wei shared his triumph with the Order of the Jade Dawn, who marveled at his audacity. The jade slip, real or not, was his now—a symbol of his unyielding pursuit of immortality. Under Mount Tai's starry sky, he meditated with it, convinced the heavens had guided him to this moment.