The pill felt cold on his tongue, then it just… melted. It wasn't like normal medicine that slowly spread out; this felt like something unlocking, a distinct force moving with a clear purpose. A warmth sank into his stomach. Yuzhen's breath hitched. For a moment, it wasn't pain, but a heavy, deep pressure, as if his body was being held still while something inside searched for the right path. His knees almost buckled.
Xiaoren, perched on the edge of the spring, watched him, seemingly anticipating his struggle. "Sit," it commanded. Yuzhen dropped onto the grass, crossed his legs, and pressed his palms onto his knees to steady himself, his jaw tight. He didn't want to look weak in front of a spirit that could probably mock him for the next hundred years.
The pressure intensified, moving through him in a calm, unwavering line. It didn't hesitate or wander, heading straight for the damaged parts. Then, pain hit him like a sudden wave. Yuzhen's eyes widened for a split second before narrowing again. He forced his breathing to slow: in through the nose, out through the mouth. He'd learned to endure pain long before his foundation shattered—training injuries, brutal sessions, forced breakthroughs—pain was nothing new. But this was different. This felt like the pill refused to accept the damage as normal, like it was grabbing what was broken and demanding it fix itself. Yuzhen's fingers dug into his knees.
The pressure pushed again, and his body reacted involuntarily. His shoulders tensed, his back straightened, his breath shook. He tried to guide the force like spiritual energy, but it wasn't his power, not yet. It was rebuilding him. Xiaoren clicked its tongue. "Don't fight it."
"I'm not," Yuzhen said, though even to himself, it sounded like a lie. Xiaoren rolled its eyes. "You're trying to control it. Stop." Yuzhen wanted to retort, but the next wave hit before he could speak. His vision blurred at the edges—not darkness, not fainting, just a feeling of his body being too full and tense, his mind struggling to stay sharp. He bit the inside of his cheek. The salty, metallic taste grounded him, a reminder that he was still here, awake, still choosing not to fold.
He'd spent months being watched, scrutinized for weakness, for collapse, for the moment his pride would finally break. Even at home, surrounded by his family's warmth, the city's judgmental eyes were always in the back of his mind. If he couldn't endure this, what was left?
The force moved again, deeper this time. Yuzhen's breathing became ragged for a few seconds, his chest tight. He forced the air down. He remembered the day his foundation broke. The world had gone strangely quiet, as if the sky itself held its breath, then everything erupted into chaos—elders rushing, physicians babbling, servants dispatched, the halls thick with the smell of medicine. Then came the days and weeks that followed: the Chen family's polite distance, the pitying glances people tried to hide, how others stopped saying his name with respect and started using it like a warning. He hadn't cried then, and he refused to start now.
Xiaoren's voice cut through his thoughts, calmer now. "If you pass out, you die." Yuzhen managed a sharp, humorless laugh. "Encouraging." "It's the truth," Xiaoren said. "Your mother didn't leave this for you to waste."
His mother. The word hit him harder than it should have. Yuzhen's mind flashed to her face—a mix of memory and imagination. He recalled fragments: a voice like warm water, a hand brushing his hair when he was little, the scent of clean herbs and something like snow. Then she was gone. No funeral, no grave, just absence, elders who spoke carefully around her name, and the pendant that stayed cold against his chest. And now this place. This pill. This second chance.
The force surged again, scattering Yuzhen's thoughts. He clenched his teeth, focusing on one thing: breathing. In. Out. The pain came in waves, but they weren't random or endless. There was a rhythm, as if the pill was working through layers—clearing blockages, straightening what was crooked, and then pressing it all into place. Minutes passed, or maybe longer. Time felt strange here.
Eventually, the heat shifted. It was still there, but no longer wild. It became tighter, more controlled, like a fire settling into a furnace instead of raging across open ground. Yuzhen's shoulders loosened without him realizing it. His breath steadied. The worst wave had passed. He remained still, afraid to move too soon, afraid that relaxing would bring it back harder.
Xiaoren watched him with narrowed eyes. "Good," it said, almost grudgingly. Yuzhen's voice came out hoarse. "Is it done?" "Not yet," Xiaoren replied. "Now you have to do your part." Yuzhen blinked. "What part?" Xiaoren gestured toward the spring. "Drink." Yuzhen stared. "Now?" "Yes, now. The pill rebuilt. The spring settles it. If you don't, it will tear you up again later." Xiaoren's expression sharpened. "Move."
Yuzhen didn't argue. He pushed himself up. His legs felt weak for a second, like he'd been holding himself too tightly for too long, but he didn't fall. He walked slowly to the spring and knelt. Cupping the water in both hands, he drank. It was cool and clean, sliding down his throat and spreading through him like calm. The remaining heat in his body softened, smoothing out like rough edges being filed down. Yuzhen drank again. And again. He stopped only when Xiaoren snapped, "Enough. You want your stomach to explode?"
Yuzhen wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sat back on his heels, waiting. For pain. For backlash. For something to go wrong, because something always did when he started to believe. But nothing happened. Instead, he felt… quiet. Not empty, just quiet. His body felt more whole than it had in months. His meridians didn't ache the way they usually did after even a little spiritual movement. The tight knot in his chest, a familiar companion, was gone, replaced by a steady warmth.
Yuzhen stared at his hands. Then, he slowly closed his eyes and reached inward, just a little. A thin thread of spiritual energy rose. It didn't scatter. It didn't shake. It moved. Cleanly. Yuzhen's eyes snapped open. His throat tightened so fast he had to swallow. He tried again, still carefully, still afraid. The energy flowed through the first path, then the second. It reached the place that used to feel like broken glass and passed through without exploding. Yuzhen froze, unable to move for a long moment. Then his breath left him in a shaky exhale. "It worked," he whispered, as if saying it louder might make it less real.
Xiaoren snorted. "Of course it worked. Do you think your mother left trash behind?" Yuzhen didn't answer. His eyes stung, but he refused to let tears fall, not because he thought it was weak, but because he didn't want anything to blur this moment. The foundation that had ruined his life… was no longer ruined. He sat there for a while, breathing and testing the sensation, like a man waking from a long illness and not trusting his own legs.
Then a thought struck him, sharp and immediate. His father. The spring in the secret realm. The same hope, the same desperate gamble. Yuzhen's hands tightened. He looked at Xiaoren. "How long can I stay here?" Xiaoren tilted its head. "Why?" Yuzhen's voice was steadier than he felt. "Because if I can cultivate again… I'm going to Cangyuan Sect." Xiaoren stared at him for a second, then smiled as if it had been waiting for those words. "Finally."
Yuzhen stood. The fields, the libraries, the spring—everything around him suddenly looked different. Not just like a miracle, but like a path. A real one. He took a breath, then said the next thing out loud, as if speaking it made it true. "Tomorrow," he told himself, "I start over." And deep inside his chest, his spiritual energy answered—quiet, obedient, alive.