The second torrent of medicinal energy flooded his system.

It was a monsoon breaking a century-long drought. The deficit caused by his voracious, inefficient Spirit Roots was instantly replenished.

The medicinal Qi roared, slamming into the teetering, nascent Dao Foundation.

“Condense!”

Chen Ping roared internally. He pushed his Divine Sense to its absolute limit, acting as a hydraulic press against the chaotic Qi within his Dantian.

Supported by the potent efficacy of the second Foundation Establishment Pill, the collapsing embryo finally stabilized. The trembling ceased.

Compress.

Solidify.

The gaseous vortex within his Dantian vanished completely. In its place stood a monolith.

It was a stele, roughly three inches tall, pitch-black and carved with profound, natural ley lines. It hovered in the void of his Sea of Qi, dark as the night sky, emitting an aura of crushing weight and eternal stability.

This was his Dao Foundation.

It was the physical manifestation of the Evergreen Art, forged through the unique characteristics of his Spirit Root.

The moment the stele solidified, a microscopic vortex opened at its center.

A terrifying suction force erupted. It dragged in every wisp of residual Qi in Chen Ping’s body, along with the massive quantity of Heaven and Earth Qi flooding in from the array outside.

The vortex spun slowly. With every rotation, it refined the raw energy, stripping away impurities until only the essence remained.

Drip.

A single drop of liquid—crystal clear, green as emerald jade—fell from the vortex. It hovered beneath the black stele, radiating a terrifying density of life force.

True Essence.

This was the qualitative leap from gas to liquid.

Drip. The second drop.

Drip. The third drop.

Three droplets of True Essence floated in the center of his Dantian.

But then, the vortex shuddered. Its rotation slowed drastically. The condensation process ground to a near-halt.

Chen Ping could feel it with chilling clarity: The excavation of his potential had hit bedrock.

Three drops?

Chen Ping’s heart sank like a stone.

According to the ancient texts, the number of True Essence drops condensed at the moment of Foundation Establishment was the ultimate metric of a cultivator’s potential.

Three drops.

This was the absolute bottom tier. It represented the worst possible aptitude and the shallowest foundation.

Cultivation was like building a skyscraper. True Essence was the foundation piling.

The more drops you had, the deeper and wider your piles were driven into the earth. Deep piles meant you could build high—into the Violet Palace realm, the Golden Core realm, and beyond.

But three drops? That was like laying the foundation for a shack. If he tried to build a second floor, the whole structure would collapse.

With this foundation, even if he reached the Violet Palace by some miracle, the Golden Core would be forever out of reach.

I expected it to be bad, but…

“Five Elements Waste Spirit Root… You really live up to your reputation.”

A wave of bitter disappointment washed over him.

He had worked three times harder than anyone else. He had burned through a fortune in resources that would make a sect elder weep. He had used two Foundation Establishment Pills where others used one.

And his reward? The worst possible starting point.

It was truly a matter of fate.

A genius of the sect would condense eighteen drops. An average disciple would manage nine. Chen Ping was sitting at three. The gap wasn’t just wide; it was a canyon.

The psychological blow was immense. For a moment, he wanted to scream at the injustice of the Heavens.

But Chen Ping was not a man who wallowed. He took a sharp breath, crushing the bitterness and replacing it with cold resolve.

Now is not the time for self-pity.

Three drops? So what? It’s better than failure. I am alive. I have succeeded.

A ruthless light flashed in his eyes.

I am not done yet.

Without a shred of hesitation, Chen Ping grabbed the third Foundation Establishment Pill—his final insurance policy—and swallowed it whole.

Boom!

A third wave of majestic medicinal power exploded in his gut. It was fresh fuel for a dying engine.

Hum!

The vortex at the center of the black stele buzzed, injected with a shot of pure adrenaline. It began to spin again, fighting against the natural limits of his body.

Under the brute-force propulsion of the third pill, new True Essence began to condense, agonizingly slow.

Drip… The fourth drop.

Drip… The fifth drop.

Drip… The sixth drop!

The sixth drop of verdant, heavy liquid joined the others.

But that was it.

No matter how frantically Chen Ping drove the Evergreen Art, no matter how he guided the medicinal power, the vortex slowed. It shuddered once, then stopped completely.

The energy was gone. His potential was tapped dry.

Even if he ate ten more pills, not a single drop more would form.

Six drops of True Essence.

That was his limit. That was the absolute ceiling of his talent.

Chen Ping slowly opened his eyes. Deep within his weary gaze, complex emotions swirled.

Success… technically.

He had officially stepped into the Foundation Establishment realm.

His lifespan had doubled. His physique was undergoing a metamorphosis. True Essence flowed through his meridians, bringing a sense of power that made his Qi Condensation self feel like an insect.

Every second the True Essence circulated, it tempered his flesh, reinforced his Dantian, and widened his meridians.

This was the allure of the Foundation Establishment realm. The sheer physical power alone was enough to drive low-level cultivators to madness.

But…

Those six lonely drops in his Dantian felt like six cold needles stuck in his heart.

Six drops.

He hadn’t even reached the average standard of nine. He was still inferior to the common rabble, let alone the geniuses with their eighteen or twenty-seven drops.

These six drops were a heavy shackle, a glass ceiling that would haunt his future cultivation.

Chen Ping let out a long, slow breath, expelling the turbid air from his lungs along with his frustration.

The dense spiritual mist in the cave had thinned. The ten Mid-grade Spirit Stones were dull and gray, their energy drained to the last wisp.

“The Five Elements Waste Spirit Root…” Chen Ping muttered, his voice dripping with self-mockery. “Truly garbage to the core.”

Three times the cost. Two-thirds of the result.

Any other cultivator would be vomiting blood in rage right now.

Chen Ping stood up. He clenched his fist, feeling the explosive power of the True Essence coursing through his veins. It was far denser, far more lethal than Qi.

It offered a small comfort.

At least I broke through.

How many cultivators died of old age without ever touching the threshold of this realm?

“Fine.”

He shook his head, the lingering resentment in his eyes replaced by a terrifying tenacity.

“If my aptitude is poor, then it’s poor. I have the Jade Pendant. I have infinite herbs. I have endless pills.”

His eyes brightened, sharp as daggers.

“My foundation might be shallow, but I will pave my road with resources. My cultivation speed will not be slower than anyone else’s.”

Foundation Establishment was achieved. The path ahead was rugged, but he had finally stepped onto the board.

Chen Ping composed himself, sat back down, and began the work of stabilizing his hard-won realm.