Chương 5: Power Check!

The sun has fully set by the time I reach my quarters. Dinner has been served and cleared, the disciples are in evening meditation, and the compound has settled into its nighttime rhythm. I should be tired, I've been awake since before dawn, hiked to the mine and back, and carried the weight of too many secrets. Instead, I feel restless. I sit on my meditation mat, cross my legs, and try to center myself. Breathe in. Breathe out. Clear the mind.

The techniques are familiar, etched into this body's muscle memory by decades of practice. But my mind won't settle. Something keeps nagging at me. A curiosity I can't shake. Foundation Establishment. I know what it means intellectually. I have this body's memories of reaching it, of the breakthrough, of the power that came with it. But knowing and feeling are different things. I've been in this body for barely two days, and I haven't truly tested its limits. What can I actually do?

The thought won't leave me alone. I need to know. Not for any strategic reason, just for myself. For the part of me that's still a twenty-year-old gamer who never lifted anything heavier than a grocery bag. I rise quietly, slip out of my quarters, and make my way through the darkened compound. Past the disciples' quarters, past the main hall, past the meditation hall where faint candlelight flickers through paper windows. To a small, private clearing behind the sect that I remember from this body's memories.

It's overgrown now, filled with old debris; broken training dummies, cracked practice stones, weeds and brambles that haven't been cleared in years. A forgotten corner of the sect. Perfect for what I need. In the center of the clearing sits a boulder. Dark granite, streaked with mica, easily two hundred pounds if it's an ounce. It's been here for decades, probably rolled down from the mountain and left because no one wanted to move it. I walk up to it. Unthinkable. That's the word that comes to mind.

For a forty-year-old man from my old world, lifting this would be impossible. Hernias, crushed vertebrae, months of physical therapy… For a normal forty-year-old, anyway. But I'm not normal anymore. I squat down, get my arms around the rough stone, and lift. For a moment, just a moment, there's resistance. The weight settles into my muscles, my joints, my spine. And then, almost casually, it gives way. The boulder rises from the ground. Dirt and small stones fall away from its base.

I straighten my legs, adjust my grip, and hold it against my chest. I'm not even straining. I stare at the boulder. The boulder stares back, mute and heavy and completely unremarkable except for the fact that I'm holding it.

"Okay," I whisper.

"Okay. Let's try something." I shift my grip, brace myself, and push the boulder overhead. My arms extend fully. The two-hundred-pound rock sits above my head like it's made of styrofoam. My breathing is steady. My muscles aren't shaking. My heart rate hasn't even increased. I hold it there for a full minute. Then I lower it gently back to the ground and stand there, breathing in the cool night air, while my mind tries to process what just happened. This body. This middling sect leader.

This Foundation Establishment cultivator with an F-tier spirit root and no hidden potential. I just lifted two hundred pounds with one arm like it was nothing. What else can I do? I step back from the boulder, settle into a basic stance, and execute the Coiling Dragon Sect's fundamental footwork technique. A simple pattern; three steps forward, pivot, three steps back, sidestep, repeat. Every disciple learns it. I move. The world blurs. One moment I'm at the edge of the clearing.

The next I'm at the opposite side, my feet having carried me the distance in what felt like a single heartbeat. I stumble, catch myself on a tree, and nearly fall anyway because my brain can't keep up with my body.

'Slow down. Focus.' I try again, deliberately pacing myself. Forward, pivot, back, sidestep. This time I can feel it: the qi flowing through my legs, enhancing every movement, making me faster and stronger than any mortal could dream of. The ground beneath my feet compresses slightly with each step. When I stop and look back, I can see my footprints pressed into the soft earth. I stare at them for a long moment. Then I start laughing. It's not a dignified laugh.

It's not the laugh of a sect leader who's spent twenty years maintaining a calm and composed facade. It's the laugh of a guy who just discovered he's secretly a superhero. Loud, incredulous, slightly hysterical. I clap my hand over my mouth and force myself to stop. The clearing is private, but sound carries on the mountain at night. I can't have disciples finding me out here, giggling at my own footprints. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

But inside, I'm still laughing. Perfect. I'm not as defenseless as I thought I'd be. I spend another hour in the clearing, testing limits. How fast can I run? (Very.) How high can I jump? (Higher than I'm comfortable with.) How hard can I punch? (Hard enough to crack one of the old training dummies, which I immediately feel bad about.) By the time I return to my quarters, I'm covered in sweat and grinning like an idiot. Foundation Establishment isn't impressive by cultivation standards.

It's the second realm, just above the bottom. Core Formation cultivators could crush me without effort. Nascent Souls could kill me with a thought. But compared to where I came from? Compared to the weak, mortal body I used to inhabit? I'm a god. The grin lasts until I'm back in my quarters, washing the sweat from my face with a damp cloth. Then I hear a soft knock on my door. Three raps. Pause. Two more. The signal I arranged with Ling'er. I cross the room and open the door.

She's there, small and serious in the moonlight, wrapped in a threadbare blanket against the night chill. Her eyes are bright with excitement that she's clearly trying to contain.

"Sect Leader." She bows quickly, then slips inside before I can even invite her.

"I came as soon as I could. Old Chen fell asleep early tonight."

"Good." I close the door and light a single candle, enough to see by, not enough to attract attention from outside.

"Sit. Let's continue where we left off." She settles onto the meditation mat with the eagerness of a starving person approaching a meal. Her posture is better than last night; she's been practicing, I can tell. Thinking about it during the day. Trying to hold onto the feeling. I sit across from her and place my hand on her back again.

"Close your eyes. Breathe. Find the warmth." She obeys immediately. I watch. By the end of the first hour, I'm struggling to keep my face impassive. This is already longer than yesterday. I should stop her. I know I should. This is how it's supposed to work: you guide, you test, you pull back when it gets dangerous. Like teaching a child to ride a bike. Hands on the seat, ready to catch them when they tip too far. But Ling'er isn't tipping. She isn't even wobbling. She's accelerating.

And I'm standing here, watching her do something she has no right to be capable of. A responsible teacher would stop this. I don't. The warmth that took her twenty minutes to find last night appears in less than five tonight. Circulation that should take weeks of fumbling practice happens in minutes. She's directing her qi, nudging it along pathways she shouldn't even know exist. By the end of the second hour, I'm honestly frightened. She opens her eyes and turns to look at me, searching my face for approval.

I keep my expression calm, neutral, exactly the same as I would for any disciple showing normal progress.

"Good," I say, my voice steady.

"Very good. You're learning quickly. You're capable of handling more than I thought." Her face lights up.

"Really, Sect Leader? I thought I was doing it right, but I wasn't sure—""Yes, really," I rise, moving to my desk to hide the shock I'm sure is written on my face.

"Go. Rest well tonight." She nods, bobs another bow, and slips out into the darkness. The door closes. I stand there for a long moment, gripping the edge of my desk. Two days. Two hours of dedicated practice. And she's already beginning to understand the basics of cycling qi. Without external aids. Without elixirs. Without techniques beyond the most basic meditation. The Gaze said she'd reshape reality if she reached full potential. I believed it intellectually.

Now I'm starting to understand what it actually means. r's progress makes it even more urgent; she needs resources, protection, a foundation strong enough to support her growth. If there's anything in that chamber that can help, I need to find it. Greenstone Town is small; maybe two hundred families, mostly farmers and laborers who support the various minor sects in the area. The streets are muddy this time of year, churned to brown sludge by carts and feet and animals.

The buildings are weathered wood and stone, roofs patched with whatever materials could be scrounged. I know the town well; I've been coming here for decades to trade spirit stones for supplies. First stop: the labor market. A cluster of men and women gather near the town square each morning, hoping for day work. They stand in loose groups, talking quietly, watching each newcomer with calculating eyes. I walk among them, activating the Gaze with each person I pass.

Wang Fu - Mortal (Laborer) Name: Wang Fu Age: 24 Spirit Root: None Cultivation: Mortal Verdict: Strong, lazy, prone to theft. Avoid. I move on. Liu Mei - Mortal (Widow) Name: Liu Mei Age: 35 Spirit Root: None Cultivation: Mortal Verdict: Desperate. Would work hard, but has three children to feed. Hiring her means feeding them too. I pause, considering. Three children. That's three extra mouths. But desperate workers are loyal workers, and loyalty is hard to find.

I file her away for future consideration and keep walking. Old Zhao - Mortal (Retired Miner) Name: Old Zhao Age: 68 Spirit Root: None Cultivation: Mortal Verdict: Twenty years in the mines gave him instincts no younger man can match. Exceptional spatial awareness and perfect pitch for stone resonance make him invaluable as a supervisor. Too old for heavy labor, but his judgment is trusted by all who know the work. I stop. Old Zhao is exactly that. Old.

Sixty at least, with white hair and a face weathered by decades underground. He stands apart from the younger laborers, leaning on a worn wooden staff, watching the crowd with faded eyes that miss nothing. I approach him directly.

"Zhao? I'm Sect Leader Lu of Coiling Dragon Sect. I need a mining supervisor. The pay is fair, the work is light—mostly teaching younger miners, checking for safe digging spots. Are you interested?" He looks at me for a long moment, assessing. Then he nods slowly.

"Interested, Sect Leader. But I'll warn you, I'm old. Can't swing a pick like I used to."

"I don't need you to swing a pick. I need you to think." He smiles, revealing gaps in his teeth.

"Then I'm your man." I hire him on the spot, along with two younger laborers the Gaze confirms as honest and hardworking. By midday, I have a small crew and a cover story for exploring the side tunnels.