So, Yuzhen didn't bother holding back. It wasn't about being reckless, though. By the time he stepped into the pendant space, caution had already morphed into something else. This wasn't a "now or later" kind of decision anymore. The fight at the pass had shattered that bottleneck, and trying to force it back down now would just drain energy he desperately needed for the breakthrough itself.
The instant the space shimmered around him, Xiaoren was already there, its expression instantly serious. "So, it's here," it stated.
"Yeah," Yuzhen confirmed.
"Good," the little spirit chirped, pointing at him. "Sit. Breathe. Don't try to be clever."
Yuzhen almost chuckled, but the immense pressure building inside him was too much for a laugh. He immediately moved to a clear spot near the spring and sat down cross-legged. The pendant space was quiet, still bathed in that soft jade light that made everything feel both near and far. The herb gardens barely rustled, the library halls remained hushed in the distance, and even the spring seemed to flow with a deeper purpose tonight. Or maybe that was just him. His entire body felt like it was drawing inward, focusing on a core that wasn't quite formed yet.
He closed his eyes and began.
The first circulation almost threw him off. The qi in his meridians was overflowing, denser than anything he'd ever managed before. It had been sharpened by constant refinement, compressed by his travels, and then violently jolted loose by the battle. The moment he tried to guide it, it surged like a dam breaking. Yuzhen took a steadying breath and wrestled it back under control. Slowly. Without fighting it. Without forcing it. Just guiding.
That was the first real difference from his previous attempt in his first life. Back then, his breakthrough had been bright, celebrated, and far too easy. Resources had been practically thrown at him, elders had watched with pride, and praise had flooded in before his new realm had even settled. He'd mistaken speed for substance. Now, he knew better. Foundation Establishment wasn't something to rush because others were watching. It was about laying the very first, true path.
The qi flowed again. Through his limbs. Through the smaller meridians. Back toward the center. Again. And again. Each cycle pulled more pressure into his spiritual sea, sharpening the sense of something taking shape within him – not a foundation yet, but the intense need for one. Sweat beaded on his temples. A faint flush rose in his throat. His injured side throbbed where a falling rock had grazed him at the pass. He ignored it.
Xiaoren's voice cut in from his left. "Good. Keep it moving. Don't let that battle qi get too wild."
Yuzhen didn't reply aloud. His focus had narrowed too much for words. The battle qi. That was exactly it. Some of the pressure within him was pure cultivation – the accumulation from three months of effort, healed roots, steady practice, pill refinement, and a body finally ready to truly ascend. But some of it was coarser. Sharper. Disturbed by the danger, the blood, the pain, and the forced exertion at the pass. If he built his new foundation on that roughness, it would be flawed from the start.
So he slowed down. Not the circulation itself, but his will. He let the movement within him even out, instead of chasing speed. He allowed each pathway to settle cleanly before the next surge of qi pressed through. More than once, the pressure spiked so hard his fingers trembled, but he refused to let panic take over. This was his realm. His body. His foundation. It wasn't happening *to* him; he was *building* it. That thought grounded him.
Another cycle. Then another. Then another. Time became a blur. At some point, Xiaoren dropped spirit stones into the spring, and the space responded. Yuzhen felt it distantly at first – a subtle enrichment of the spiritual energy around him, then a deepening of the very air, as if the pendant space itself had leaned closer and opened its palm. He took only what he needed. That, too, was different from before. In his first life, he'd accepted resources like any gifted heir: automatically, without questioning what they were shaping him into beyond mere strength. Now, every wisp of qi mattered.
He drew it inward. Compressed it. Refined it. Pressed it down again. His spiritual sea churned. Pain shot through his meridians. Not tearing pain, but transforming pain. The kind that signals something old is too small for what's trying to emerge. His breathing hitched. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Yet, he held steady.
Under the pressure, memories tried to surface. The shattered foundation. The silence that followed. The way people had looked at him, pity replacing expectation. The way he'd stared at his own hands, wondering how a path could vanish while the body still lived. For a dangerous moment, his qi wavered.
Xiaoren's voice snapped across the space, "Eyes inward." The command hit him like a splash of cold water. Yuzhen yanked his focus back. Not the past. Not the present. This foundation wasn't the one that had been broken. This realm wasn't being given to the same person who had once taken it for granted. He exhaled slowly and let the next cycle descend.
At the core of his spiritual sea, something finally yielded. Not with a violent crack, but with a deep, silent inward surrender. The accumulated qi compressed once more, then sank. The world inside him shifted.
Yuzhen's back straightened involuntarily. The pressure that had been building for days didn't vanish; it transformed. The chaotic force of accumulation folded inward, becoming denser and heavier, settling into a new structure with every breath. His meridians widened just enough to accommodate it. His spiritual sense sharpened. His body, which had held qi like a strained vessel until now, began to feel anchored. Foundation. Not complete, not yet stable, but there. A first layer laid beneath everything else.
The spiritual energy in the pendant space vibrated around him. Outside the spring, mist thickened over the herb fields. The water glowed brighter. Somewhere far off, from the direction of the library halls, a low pulse ran through the ground as if the space itself had acknowledged the change.
Yuzhen didn't open his eyes. He wasn't finished. The initial establishment of the foundation was just the crossing. The next part was what determined if that crossing would hold. He guided the newly transformed qi through his meridians again, slower now, heavier. Its quality had changed. Every movement carried more weight. The world perceived through his spiritual awareness had also shifted. He could sense finer details in the space around him – the subtle circulation of the spring, the tiny life still rooted in the herb garden soil, the faint pressure layered into the sealed library doors. Foundation Establishment. Really. A laugh almost bubbled up in his chest, but the moment was too delicate.
So, he kept working. His injuries chose that moment to make themselves known. The bruise on his side burned. The strain in his shoulder tightened. The spot where the beast had hit him near the carriage throbbed in time with his pulse. He used that, too. Not the injury itself, but the reminder. A body mattered. Not just cultivation. Not just spiritual roots, technique, and luck. A body too weak to carry its path would always become a hidden flaw eventually. Somewhere behind that thought lay the beast blood and refining materials he'd salvaged from the aftermath at the pass. Not now. Not in the middle of this. But later. Later, he would use everything properly. For now, he anchored what he had gained.
Cycle by cycle, the new foundation steadied. The roughness left by battle smoothed out. The surges in his spiritual sea stopped crashing and began to pulse. The feeling of expansion in his awareness settled into something clearer and more precise. Only when he was certain the realm wouldn't shake loose did Yuzhen finally open his eyes.
The pendant space greeted him with its pale jade quiet. His robe clung damply to his back. There was dried blood at his lip. His entire body ached with a deep, profound exhaustion. But the exhaustion felt clean.
Xiaoren stood a few paces away, arms crossed, its expression unreadable for once. Yuzhen looked at it and said, his voice rough, "I did it."
Xiaoren sniffed. "Obviously."
That actually made him smile. He lowered his gaze and felt inward again, slower this time, as if confirming something he already knew but needed to touch with his own mind. Foundation Establishment. Stable. Real. His. Not a flashy leap. Not a triumph for others to admire. A foundation built under pressure, with patience, with memory, with caution, and finally with enough confidence to stop fearing the act of building itself.
Xiaoren moved a little closer and eyed him critically. "Better."
Yuzhen leaned back slightly on one hand. "That's all?"
"You want me to sing?"
"That would be horrifying."
"Exactly."
For a moment, silence hung between them. Then Xiaoren added, quieter than usual, "This one is stronger."
Yuzhen's eyes lifted. The little spirit was still looking at him with that irritatingly stern gaze, but the words had landed. Stronger. Not just restored. Not just replaced. Stronger. He looked away first, towards the spring. The water had definitely changed. The glow beneath the surface was deeper, and the spiritual mist over the nearby field had thickened enough that the edge of the land looked softer. Near the far side of the herb plot, a narrow stretch of ground had opened up beyond what he remembered – just a little, but undeniably real. The space had responded again. Foundation Establishment hadn't just changed him; it had changed what he could touch here.
A thought flickered through him: the library. He glanced toward the distant halls. Xiaoren caught it immediately. "No."
Yuzhen blinked. "I didn't say anything."
"You were about to do something stupid with your face," Xiaoren stated. "You just broke through. Stabilize first. Explore later."
That was annoyingly sensible. So he obeyed. He spent the next stretch of time – minutes or hours, he couldn't tell – washing the blood from his face, changing robes, and sitting by the spring until the trembling in his muscles faded enough that standing no longer felt precarious. Only then did he begin to think about the outside again. The convoy. The room at the station. The fact that people would notice. They might not know the exact moment, not with him breaking through inside the pendant space instead of openly at the night station. But anyone sharp enough would sense the difference the next time they stood near him. Especially his grandfather. Especially the elders. Especially the other six. For a brief moment, Yuzhen pictured Anhe's face and had to suppress another smile.
Xiaoren, noticing it, looked suspicious. "Why do you look entertained?"
"I'm thinking about people."
"That's usually a mistake."
"Probably."
When he finally left the pendant space, the room outside was still dark. No one had knocked. No one had entered. The night station remained quiet in that way only guarded places after a battle do – heavy, almost unnaturally silent, as if everyone was sleeping close to their weapons. Yuzhen sat on the edge of the bed and let his spiritual sense spread just a little. Everything was clearer. The grain in the wood beneath his hand. The water cooling in the basin by the wall. The faint spiritual traces in the formation marks laid around the room for safety. Even the footsteps of the night watch beyond the courtyard, distant but distinct. Foundation Establishment changed the world not because the world itself had altered, but because he now touched it from a different height.
He lowered his gaze to his own hands. For a long time, he didn't move. Then, quietly, more to himself than anyone else, he said, "This time, it stays."
No one answered. Still, the words felt right. Outside, dawn had not yet come. The road had not yet begun moving again. The Southern Region gathering still lay ahead. But when morning did come, Bia Yuzhen would rise no longer as someone approaching the threshold. He had already crossed it.