The sky had not yet brightened.

Qin Lu performed a final inventory of his supplies. Satisfied, he stepped out into the pre-dawn chill of summer, heading toward the gates of the White Jade Market.

To truly settle his heart—to strip away all distractions and focus entirely on the monumental task of Foundation Establishment—he had decided to heed Gu Yue’s advice. He would vanish into the untamed wilderness, seeking a place where only the laws of nature held sway.

At this hour, the market was a ghost town. Only a handful of mortal vendors pushed steaming carts toward the food district, preparing breakfast for the early risers. They moved in silence, shadows in the grey light.

Qin Lu exited the main gates. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned the [Flying Cloud Paper]. He stepped onto the artifact, rising smoothly into the air.

He paused for a heartbeat, hovering above the world, before turning his gaze westward.

There was no logic to the direction. It was a whim, a surrender to intuition over calculation.

He flew for days.

Qin Lu had no destination in mind; he simply let the wind and his gut guide the [Flying Cloud Paper]. Below him, civilization faded into a patchwork of rugged hills and dense, ancient forests.

Then, on the afternoon of the fourth day, a tremor ran through his soul.

It was sudden—a sensation like a lantern flaring to life in a dark room. A silent, magnetic pull tugged at his consciousness, emanating from somewhere deep in the wilderness below.

He didn’t hesitate. He banked the paper artifact, diving toward the source of the feeling.

Shing!

A flash of cold steel severed the head of the beast.

Qin Lu flicked the blood from his [Shangqing Sword] and sheathed it in one fluid motion. He stood over the corpse of the creature—a late First-Stage demonic beast—and remained silent.

This was his third day in this unfamiliar mountain range.

He had been quartering the forest, following the elusive spiritual tug, searching for the perfect location. But the wilderness here was not empty. The deeper he went, the more ferocious the wildlife became.

This was the sixth beast he had slain. While a late First-Stage monster posed little threat to him now, the trend was worrying. If the strength of the local fauna continued to rise as he ventured deeper, he would inevitably cross paths with a Second-Stage beast.

A Second-Stage beast was the ecological equivalent of a Foundation Establishment cultivator. Even with his maxed-out spells, Qin Lu knew that such an encounter could easily turn fatal.

“If I go any deeper, I’m risking my life,” he murmured, scanning the dense foliage. “If I can’t find the spot soon, I’ll have to retreat. Survival comes first.”

After a moment of deliberation, he drew his sword again. He carved out the skull and tail bone of the beast—high-value materials for artifact refining—and kicked the rest of the carcass aside.

His [Storage Bag] was already bursting at the seams. He had enough beast meat to feed a village; now, he only had space for the rarest materials.

Loot secured, Qin Lu adjusted his breathing. He kicked off the ground, vaulting up the trunk of a massive tree.

He landed lightly on the canopy, looking out over the world. The forest stretched to the horizon, a rolling ocean of green waves.

He closed his eyes, reaching out with his senses. The mysterious intuition flared again, pointing him forward.

He launched himself into the air.

Nightfall.

In a shallow, temporary cave, Qin Lu sat on a clean straw mat. Outside, a summer rain fell, the pat-pat-pat against the leaves creating a rhythmic static.

He tossed a [Fasting Pill] into his mouth.

He chewed twice and swallowed. It tasted like old rubber and wax, a vile assault on the palate. But moments later, a warm sensation spread through his stomach, erasing all hunger.

He had brought thirty of these pills. One was enough to sustain him for ten days. He could sit here for a year without needing to hunt or cook.

It was efficient, but joyless. The rubbery aftertaste was a far cry from the savory spirit rice and roasted beast meat he had grown accustomed to.

Qin Lu lay back, clasping his hands behind his head. He stared at the rough stone ceiling, his mind wandering through the memories of his cultivation journey.

“The Foundation Opportunity…” he whispered. “What exactly is it?”

He had read every book available in the market. The descriptions were always maddeningly vague. A flash of insight. A resonance with the world. A feeling.

The consensus was frustrating: everyone’s experience was unique. You couldn’t learn it; you had to feel it.

Sasha… Sasha…

The rain intensified outside, drumming against the rocks. A profound sense of isolation washed over him.

He was deep in the mountains, exposed to the elements, surrounded by monsters, with no allies and no safety net. It felt as though he were the last person on earth.

But strangely, the loneliness settled his chaotic thoughts.

“I suppose this is it,” Qin Lu mused, his eyes regaining their clarity. “Bitter, lonely cultivation. This is the true state of a seeker.”

He sighed, letting the anxiety drain away. He closed his eyes, listening to the rain, and drifted into a dreamless sleep.

Two days later.

Qin Lu stood before a deep, emerald pool of water hidden within a cleft of the mountain.

The mysterious sensation in his heart was screaming now, a deafening clarity that made his mind feel light and sharp. The air here was heavy, thick with a spiritual pressure that made his skin tingle.

His face lit up with wild joy. This was it. The intuition had not lied.

“Closing up here… the chances of success will be astronomical,” he breathed.

He immediately activated the [Heavenly Eye Technique]. His vision shifted, scanning the spectrum of spiritual energy in a wide radius. He checked every bush, every shadow, every ripple in the water.

No powerful heat signatures. No demonic dens. It was pristine. A true sanctuary.

“I’ll carve a cave. Then, it begins.”

Qin Lu clenched his fist, adrenaline surging.

He walked to a vertical rock face overlooking the pool. He leaped, hovering in mid-air, and leveled a finger at the stone.

Boom!

The max-level [Finger Flick Technique] detonated against the cliff, blasting a crater into the solid granite.

Qin Lu drew the [Shangqing Sword].

The First-Grade mid-tier blade sliced through the rock as if it were soft tofu. Stone blocks fell away in neat, geometric slices.

For half an hour, the only sounds were the hum of the blade and the crash of falling rock.

When he was finished, a cave of twenty square meters sat carved into the cliff. The entrance was narrow—defensible—but the interior was spacious, a perfect dojo for solitary confinement.

Qin Lu moved quickly. He arranged his supplies, setting up a perimeter of items for a long-term stay. At the entrance, he pasted a [Qi Dispelling Talisman], a ward to mask his presence from wandering beasts.

Finally, he sat on a meditation cushion in the center of the stone room.

He adjusted his posture, his spine straightening like a spear. His eyes shone with a cold, hard resolve.

“Come on,” he whispered to the silence. “The Great Path of Longevity. Advance or perish.”

“Only by forging the Foundation can I truly fly.”

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and began the first cycle of his true cultivation.