Upon returning to the Sect, Chen Ping launched a relentless investigation.

He haunted the Scripture Depository, scouring dusty shelves. He frequented the bustling taverns, buying rounds of wine to loosen tongues. He even visited obscure shops in the market that specialized in ancient, fragmentary texts.

In just a few days, he questioned no fewer than a hundred people.

He thumbed through over a hundred rotting scrolls.

The result was total silence. No one had an answer.

Finally, a breakthrough came from a passing Foundation Establishment Elder. The old man, impatient to be on his way, dropped a single name: Zhao Yuanqi of the Deacon Hall.

“That man is obsessed with fringe studies and unorthodox theories,” the Elder had said with a dismissive wave before soaring away on his sword. “If anyone knows about the defects of a Waste Spirit Root, it’s him.”

Chen Ping’s eyes lit up. He bowed deeply to the retreating figure, then turned his gaze toward the Deacon Hall.

The Deacon Hall was a hive of activity.

Streaks of multi-colored escape lights descended and ascended like fireflies. Disciples hurried in and out, their faces set in grim determination or flushed with the joy of a completed mission.

Chen Ping navigated the chaotic main hall with practiced ease, heading straight for the archive storeroom tucked away in the rear.

He knew the route by heart; he had seen Zhao Yuanqi vanish into these dusty depths many times before.

The archive was a different world. Silence reigned here, heavy with the scent of aged paper and decaying ink. Rows of towering wooden shelves stretched up to the high ceiling, creating a labyrinth of knowledge.

Deep within the stacks, buried under a chaotic mound of jade slips and beast-skin scrolls, sat Zhao Yuanqi.

The senior disciple’s brow was furrowed tight. He held a jade slip between two fingers, while his other hand scribbled furiously onto a jade tablet. His lips moved in a silent, manic mutter.

“Senior Brother Zhao,” Chen Ping called out softly, cupping his hands.

Zhao Yuanqi jerked his head up. Seeing Chen Ping, his intense expression melted into a surprised smile.

“Eh? Junior Brother Chen? A rare guest indeed!” He set down his stylus. “What brings you to my dusty corner? How is life on Green Mountain? Are you settling in well?”

His enthusiasm was palpable, a stark contrast to the cold indifference of most sect members.

“Thank you for your concern, Senior Brother,” Chen Ping replied politely. “Green Mountain is excellent. My parents are content, and the scenery is soothing.”

After the requisite pleasantries, Chen Ping shifted his expression to one of troubled hesitation.

“To be honest, I am here to disturb you because I am plagued by a specific confusion. I was hoping to seek your guidance regarding… cultivation bottlenecks.”

“Oh?”

Zhao Yuanqi cleared a space on a nearby stone bench, gesturing for Chen Ping to sit.

“Speak. Have you hit a wall after moving into the new cave dwelling?”

Chen Ping paused, pretending to weigh his words carefully.

“It is not for me,” he lied smoothly. “It is my father. He possesses a Five Elements Waste Spirit Root. Despite consuming pills constantly, his progress is negligible. I was wondering if there was any specific reason…”

He used his father as a shield, keeping his own secrets locked tight.

Zhao Yuanqi’s smile faded. He leaned back, his fingers habitually stroking the sparse hairs on his chin as his eyes grew distant.

“Five Elements Waste Spirit Root… pill absorption…”

He fell silent, his mind clearly sifting through years of research.

“You asked the right person, Junior Brother.”

Zhao Yuanqi’s tone turned solemn.

“I will not hide it from you. Years ago, I had a nephew in the Zhao clan—a boy I was very fond of. He also had a Waste Spirit Root. I was young and arrogant back then, refusing to accept fate. I spent considerable effort trying to carve a path for him.”

Chen Ping leaned forward, his pulse quickening.

“Please enlighten me, Senior Brother.”

Zhao Yuanqi sighed, a sound heavy with old regret.

“That child… his temperament and perseverance were top-tier. But in the end, he stalled at the eighth layer of Qi Condensation. He never reached Foundation Establishment. However, through him, I observed two critical truths.”

He leaned in closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a sect secret.

“First: While those with a Waste Spirit Root absorb Qi at a snail’s pace, their comprehension is often superior. Their understanding of cultivation Arts and techniques is frequently sharper than their peers. perhaps this is the Heavenly Dao’s way of maintaining balance—when one door closes, a window opens.”

Chen Ping nodded slowly.

He had felt this himself. His grasp of techniques had always been intuitive. Hearing Zhao confirm it validated his suspicions.

“Second!”

Zhao Yuanqi raised a finger, his expression grave.

“This is the true killer. It affects not just Qi Condensation, but Foundation Establishment as well.”

“The Waste Spirit Root is cursed with extreme ‘Drug Resistance.’ If you consume too many of the same pill, the effects diminish rapidly until they are useless. To advance, you must constantly upgrade to higher-tier, purer pills.”

“My nephew didn’t realize this. He kept swallowing standard Qi Gathering Pills long after his body had adapted to them. That is why he rotted away at the eighth layer.”

Chen Ping’s eyes narrowed.

It matched his experience perfectly. The standard pills were becoming like candy to him—sweet but powerless.

This Senior Brother Zhao knows his stuff.

Zhao Yuanqi paused to gather his thoughts, then continued, his voice dropping an octave.

“Based on historical texts and fragmented scrolls from the ancient era, I found a terrifying conclusion. Even if a Waste Spirit Root cultivator defies the odds and reaches Foundation Establishment, they face a crippling defect.”

He raised three fingers, waving them starkly in front of Chen Ping’s face.

“The ‘Sea of Qi’ in the Dantian… the reservoir of power… is undeniably small. According to the records, when a Waste Spirit Root establishes their foundation, the initial True Essence they condense… generally does not exceed three drops!”

Three drops!

Chen Ping felt a shockwave rattle his composure.

If he hadn’t taken that second Foundation Establishment Pill…

His initial condensation would have indeed frozen at three drops.

“True Essence Liquid is the source of a cultivator’s power,” Zhao Yuanqi explained passionately, tapping the table. “It is the bedrock. An ordinary cultivator starts with five or six drops. Geniuses start with ten or more. This initial amount defines the ‘Volume’ of your vessel.”

“Think of the Dao Foundation as a reservoir. A Waste Spirit Root has a tiny reservoir. Even if you pour water in later, the maximum capacity is capped!”

“Because the vessel is small, it holds less power. Because it holds less power, your combat strength is weak, and your future growth is stunted.”

Chen Ping was genuinely shaken now. He couldn’t help but ask, “Senior Brother, is the initial True Essence really that final? Can we not expand the reservoir later through diligent cultivation?”

“Absurd!”

Zhao Yuanqi scoffed, waving his hand to dismiss the naive notion.

“The Foundation is the reservoir! Once the Foundation is cast, the concrete has set. How can you expand a dried well without destroying it?”

“This is why so few cultivators ever reach the Violet Palace realm. It’s not just about speed. It’s about capacity. If your bucket is too small, you can never gather enough mana to breach the barrier to the next realm. You simply run dry before the breakthrough completes.”

“Scant initial True Essence means a Shallow Foundation.”

Zhao Yuanqi’s words hammered down like nails into a coffin.

“This is the curse of the Five Elements Waste Spirit Root. Whether absorbing ambient Qi or refining pills, the efficiency is abysmal. You do double the work for half the result.”

“It isn’t just about being slow,” Zhao concluded, his eyes filled with sympathy. “It is a structural flaw born from the moment of Foundation Establishment.”