The hidden valley had become Li Wei's sanctuary, its mist-shrouded beauty and vibrant energy amplifying his connection to the scroll's teachings. The ancient tree at its center, with its glowing blossoms, seemed to pulse in time with the warmth in his dantian, and the whispers he heard during meditation felt like the voices of immortals guiding his path. Yet, the scroll's cryptic passages continued to challenge him, their meanings obscured by poetic metaphors and archaic terms. As he delved deeper into its text, seeking the next step toward Foundation Establishment, Li Wei stumbled upon a section that both intrigued and baffled him: "Dual Cultivation, the harmonization of yin and yang, to balance the spirit and ascend as one."
In the cultivation novels he'd read in his old life, dual cultivation was often portrayed as a romantic or mystical partnership, where two cultivators merged their qi to achieve greater power. The scroll's description was less clear, speaking of "uniting complementary energies" through synchronized meditation, breath, and touch. Li Wei, alone in the valley, had no partner, but the idea of amplifying his qi through such a technique was too tempting to ignore. The Order of the Jade Dawn, his virtual sect, was too far away to join him physically, and Old Chen, the practical farmer, would likely scoff at the notion. Undeterred, Li Wei decided to interpret the technique in his own way, determined to unlock its secrets solo.
He began at dawn, the valley bathed in a soft golden light that made the pool's surface shimmer like liquid crystal. Sitting cross-legged beneath the ancient tree, its blossoms drifting around him, Li Wei opened the scroll to the dual cultivation passage. The text described a series of synchronized movements and breaths, typically performed by two cultivators facing each other, their qi flowing in a shared circuit. Without a partner, Li Wei reasoned he could embody both yin and yang himself, balancing his own energies. He visualized his qi as two streams—one bright and fiery, the other cool and fluid—merging within his dantian.
Following the scroll's instructions, he adopted a series of flowing poses, moving his arms in slow, circular motions as if dancing with an invisible partner. The movements were awkward at first, his body stiff from weeks of hunger and exertion, but he focused on his breathing, inhaling deeply to draw in the valley's vibrant qi. The scroll emphasized "harmony through touch," so Li Wei pressed his hands together, imagining one as yin, the other as yang, their energies intertwining. He chanted softly, the words blending with the valley's whispers, and felt the warmth in his core stir, pulsing erratically as if trying to align.
Hours passed, the poses growing more complex. Li Wei twisted into contorted stances, his muscles straining as he tried to mimic the scroll's diagrams of two figures moving in unison. Sweat dripped down his face, and his legs wobbled, but he pushed on, convinced he was on the verge of a breakthrough. The warmth in his dantian surged, then faltered, as if confused by his solo attempt. Frustration crept in—how could he harmonize energies without a partner? The scroll hadn't accounted for his solitude, but Li Wei refused to see it as a limitation. He was a cultivator, after all, forging his own path.
In a moment of inspiration—or desperation—he lay on the ground, imagining himself as both cultivators, his body split between yin and yang. He pressed one hand to his chest, the other to his abdomen, and visualized his qi flowing between them, a circuit of light and shadow. The valley seemed to respond, the air humming with energy, the tree's blossoms glowing brighter. For a fleeting moment, he felt a surge of power, his dantian blazing with heat, and he swore he saw sparks dancing around him, like the visions from his fasting ritual. "It's working!" he gasped, pushing himself to continue.
But the strain was too much. His body, weakened by malnutrition and the lingering effects of his meridian-opening ritual, buckled under the effort. His vision blurred, and a wave of dizziness sent him sprawling, the scroll tumbling into the dirt. He lay there, panting, his muscles screaming, the warmth in his core fading to a dull ache. The valley's whispers grew silent, as if disappointed. Shame washed over him—had he misinterpreted the scroll? Was dual cultivation impossible alone?
As he caught his breath, Li Wei forced himself to sit up, retrieving the scroll with trembling hands. He reread the passage, searching for clues. The text emphasized "unity" and "balance," but made no explicit mention of requiring a partner. Perhaps his mistake was in the execution, not the intent. He scribbled in his notebook: "Dual Cultivation attempted. Qi surged, then collapsed. Body too weak, but harmony felt briefly. Must refine technique." He refused to see this as failure—it was a misstep, a lesson on the path.
During the next video call with the Order of the Jade Dawn, Li Wei shared his attempt, omitting the more embarrassing details of his collapse. Zhang Wei, ever enthusiastic, suggested researching dual cultivation herbs to enhance solo practice, while Liu Mei, her voice gentle, warned him not to push his body too far. "The Dao requires balance, not force," she said. Li Wei nodded, his resolve unbroken. The valley, with its mystical energy, remained his sanctuary, and the scroll his guide. He would try again, perhaps with a clearer mind or a stronger body, to master the harmony of yin and yang. Under the ancient tree's glowing blossoms, Li Wei meditated, the jade slip in his hands, determined to turn his misstep into a stride toward immortality.