Foundational Establishment Elixir

Li Wei strode back to his cave, his grip firm on the storage pouch containing the precious ingredients. There was no hesitation—he would begin brewing immediately. Watching Zhao Feng's precise potioneering techniques had sharpened his understanding of the craft, particularly the importance of fire control. It wasn't just about heat—it was about modulation, maintaining the perfect balance at each stage. That was where most failed, and now, more than ever, he understood why.

Once inside, he set up his alchemical tools. He didn't have Bone Fire, but that wasn't a problem—the Foundational Establishment Elixir didn't require it. Regular fire could be used, provided it was controlled with precision. Too hot, and the volatile ingredients would burn; too cool, and the compounds wouldn't fully integrate. Fire control wasn't just a skill—it was the skill. And after watching Zhao Feng work, Li Wei knew he had improved.

He filled the pot with Refined Spirit Liquid, watching as it settled into a smooth, glistening pool. This was the foundation, a solvent extracted through complex filtration techniques, known for its stability. It needed to be heated slowly—too fast, and the structure of the elixir would be compromised before it even began.

He ignited the flame beneath the pot, keeping it at a low, steady intensity. He monitored the liquid carefully, watching for the first hints of steam. Not too soon, not too late. The temperature had to be just right before the first ingredient was introduced.

The moment the Refined Spirit Liquid reached the correct state—gently simmering, not boiling—Li Wei introduced the Moonshadow Grass. Its delicate properties meant it had to be added in stages, stirred continuously to prevent clumping.

He adjusted the fire slightly, keeping the temperature stable. Too much heat and the Qi-nourishing compounds would be destroyed. This was where most failed. The reaction had to be guided, not forced. After a few minutes, the liquid turned a deep violet—a good sign. The Moonshadow Grass had fully integrated.

Next was the Blackjade Powder, a stabilizer that prevented energy dissipation. Unlike the Moonshadow Grass, this ingredient needed heat to dissolve properly. Li Wei increased the flame just enough to accelerate the breakdown process, stirring carefully to prevent sediment buildup.

Tiny bubbles surfaced. Not too aggressive. Good. The cauldron had entered the critical extraction phase, where the essence of each ingredient was drawn out and bound to the liquid. The color darkened, shifting to a deeper shade of crimson before lightening again.

The Essence of Amber Vine was next. It was tricky—far more reactive than the others. Just a few drops too many could send the entire mixture into chaos.

Li Wei retrieved the iron press, squeezing the golden sap into a dish. The scent was faintly sweet, masking the volatile nature of the liquid. He funneled it into the cauldron one drop at a time.

The reaction was instant. The surface foamed violently, the liquid convulsing as though resisting the integration. Expected. He stirred counterclockwise, slowing the reaction, then eased off the flame slightly, reducing the heat just enough to regain control.

Fire control. Without it, this batch would have already failed.

The final and most dangerous ingredient: Crimsonfire Lotus. It contained a fire attribute, making it difficult to integrate. If burned, it was useless. If underheated, it wouldn't fuse properly.

Instead of dropping it in whole, he placed the dried petals onto a heated stone, using indirect heat to soften them before grinding them into a fine powder. This pre-treatment reduced the risk of combustion when introduced into the cauldron.

Li Wei adjusted the flame once again—bringing it just below the threshold where the mixture would destabilize—before sprinkling the powder in.

A faint hiss, then stillness.

Perfect.

Now, it was time to reduce.

The fire had to be gradually lowered at this stage, allowing the elixir to thicken without scorching. Impurities surfaced, which he carefully skimmed away.

The colour shifted, deepening into a molten gold hue. That meant the reaction had stabilised. That meant success.

One by one, he funnelled the finished elixir into jade vials, sealing them immediately to prevent energy leakage.

Out of five attempts, three were successful.

That was… a very good outcome.

From the book, Li Wei knew that most potioneers had an average success rate of 20% on the Foundational Establishment Elixir —a brutal reminder of just how unpredictable alchemy was. The potioneering manual had emphasised the challenges: complex ingredient interactions, precise fire modulation, and the delicate balancing of chemical stability. Even a minor deviation in temperature or an unnoticed impurity could ruin an entire batch. By those standards, succeeding three out of five times wasn't just fortunate—it was statistically impossible.

He frowned, staring at the three successfully brewed vials, their liquid shimmering with a faint, stable glow. An anomaly? A quirk of probability? Or had his fire control—refined after observing Zhao Feng's mastery—made that much of a difference?

There was no way to know for sure. But regardless of the cause, 3/5 was unthinkable.

Something had finally gone right.

A short while later, Li Wei felt Zhao Ming's presence before he saw him. His awareness extended outward, subtle vibrations in the ground relaying movement long before sound reached his ears. Each step, each shift in weight, transmitted a faint ripple through the stone beneath him, outlining Zhao Ming's cautious approach.

The Bone Whisper Art—a standard technique among sect members—had proven itself far more useful than most gave it credit for.

Everyone practiced it, but how many relied on it? Most cultivators defaulted to spiritual sense—broader, more immediate, but also flawed. It could be countered, suppressed, deceived. This? This was purely physical. If his bones remained in contact with the ground, he could detect movement with near-perfect accuracy. No external interference, no reliance on Qi fluctuations—just raw, unfiltered information straight from his skeletal structure.

Underrated. That was the only word for it. He should push for that fourth mind rune, even if it was a pain in the ass and continued to elude him.

Zhao Ming's footsteps were slow, measured—hesitant. His breathing was controlled, but the micro-tremors in his stance betrayed underlying tension. Clearly, the last interaction had rattled him, and now he was trying to avoid making another mistake.

Li Wei's lips curled slightly. The Bone Whisper Art was an overlooked gem. It lacked the raw, oppressive power of offensive techniques, but in terms of awareness and control, it far outclassed basic sensory cultivation methods. The ability to detect motion without relying on sight or sound gave him an undeniable edge.

Most disciples didn't truly appreciate its value, treating it as just another foundational technique. They wouldn't be his match. His thoughts drifted to the fourth mind rune. He'd been trying to form it, but it remained just out of reach, the pattern collapsing whenever he neared completion. A pain in the ass, but one he knew was worth the effort. The more he used Bone Whisper, the more he was convinced—this technique alone justified pushing through the frustration.

He exhaled quietly. "I'll get it sooner or later."

Zhao Ming finally stepped into view. His posture was stiff, his head slightly bowed deference laced with the fear of misstepping again. Li Wei could tell immediately: he was trying to fix his earlier blunder.

Li Wei barely looked up from his brewing station, still focused on his newly refined elixirs. The last interaction between them had left Zhao Ming on thin ice—his failure hadn't been forgotten. Now, he was scrambling to make amends and salvage his standing.

"I brought what you asked for, Senior Brother Li," Zhao Ming said, carefully laying out the items.

Li Wei finally glanced over; his expression neutral but unreadable. 

Zhao Ming had done his best to anticipate what would be useful. As soon as he stepped into the cave, he didn't waste time—he listed each item carefully, his tone measured, respectful, but not overly submissive. He wasn't groveling, but he also wasn't looking to provoke.

"Two Intrusion Talismans. Alarm types."

Li Wei glanced at him, unimpressed.

Zhao Ming anticipated the reaction and quickly clarified, "Attack talismans won't work on Foundation Establishment cultivators. These are the only ones that will have any effect."

That made sense. Li Wei was already familiar with intrusion talismans—one had proven useful before. Instead of being caught off guard, he'd get an instant warning the moment someone entered his space.

He nodded, taking the two talismans without complaint. Clearly, Zhao Ming clearly knew more about these things than he did. Better to trust his judgment and learn.

Zhao Ming visibly relaxed at the lack of criticism and moved on.

"Ashvine Root Extract. Stamina restoration." He set a dark-glass vial on the table. "Not Qi replenishment, but it counteracts exhaustion. Stops you from getting sluggish after extended combat."

Zhao Ming gestured to a wax-sealed clay pot, his tone measured. "Black Serpent Venom—non-lethal to Foundation Establishment, but effective. Causes muscle spasms, forces sluggish Qi circulation. Even if you're not landing lethal strikes, one solid cut with this could force an opponent to hesitate. That hesitation might be all you need."

Li Wei picked up the pot, rolling it between his fingers. His brow furrowed.

"Seriously? Poison that won't even kill my opponent? What am I supposed to do—wait 100 years for them to naturally die?"

Zhao Ming shifted awkwardly, clearly unsure if he had said too much. "Err… senior, the lifespan of a Foundation Establishment cultivator is around 300 years. Even Qi Cultivators can live to 150 years."

Li Wei stared at him, processing the information. 150 years? Even outer disciples, if they survived long enough, had a lifespan far beyond mortals. And Foundation Establishment cultivators… 300 years?

That was nearly five times the lifespan of a normal person.

"I should have known that." He'd been so focused on immediate survival—on reaching the next stage, accumulating resources, securing his place in the sect—that he had never even considered something as fundamental as how long he could live.

"Three hundred years."

That number settled in his mind, shifting his perspective. "Three centuries."

"I'm nowhere near that."

Even now, he wasn't particularly old—his rise from Qi Cultivation to Foundation Establishment had been swift. Only a few years. If that pace continued…

His thoughts flickered to the previous owner of this body. He hadn't been alive that long. Li Wei didn't know the exact number, but he guessed around thirty. Barely ten percent of what was possible.

"That's fast."

In fact, it was as fast as he could have possibly managed. Thirty years gone, but what was that in the face of three hundred? A fraction. A necessary cost to climb beyond mortality. If anything, it confirmed that he was on the right track.

His approach was working.

"How far could I go in a decade?"

If reaching Foundation Establishment had taken a few years, then with greater resources, better techniques, and continued optimisation, Golden Core might be achievable in less than fifty. Maybe even faster.

"And what's fifty years compared to three hundred?" It wasn't even a fraction of his potential lifespan.

But that didn't mean he had time to slow down.

He had heard warnings about Golden Core—not specifics, just vague mention that attempting it unprepared was dangerous. That some who reached too high, too fast, met ends worse than death.

"Survival wasn't enough." Existing, fighting, scrambling for resources—that was the bare minimum. If he had three hundred years, then every single one needed to be used efficiently. Wasted time was wasted potential.

And to do that, he had to reach the top. "Quickly."

Some creatures were born helpless—weak, fragile things, barely able to defend themselves. Like the "ironclad beetle larvae, buried in the dirt, soft-bodied and blind." But when they matured, their exoskeletons hardened into something even blades struggled to cut through.

"Right now, I'm still in the larvae stage."

Until his exoskeleton hardened, until he reached true power, "I'm just another fragile thing that could be stepped on."

That wasn't acceptable.

"I'm not going to waste these extra years. I'm going to take them."

He forced himself to keep his expression neutral. "How long do Golden Core cultivators live?"

Zhao Ming hesitated. "Err… I don't know exactly, but I've read 500 years is common."

Five centuries.

Li Wei clenched his jaw. That wasn't just power. That was time—time to cultivate, time to accumulate wealth, time to manipulate sect politics to their advantage. No wonder the Golden Core realm was considered a true turning point. The difference in lifespan alone changed everything.

He pressed further. "What about Nascent Soul?"

Zhao Ming blinked. "...I don't know. Much longer?" 

Now that he knew the lifespans, now that he had a glimpse of what was possible—three hundred years, five hundred years—it wasn't enough. He wanted more. More time, more power, more control over his own fate. The idea of having to face his death, to count down the years until everything was gone, was unbearable.

Three centuries weren't enough. Why stop there? Others had climbed higher, extended their years beyond natural limits. If Golden Core could push him to five hundred, what came after that? There had to be a way to rise beyond mortality entirely. To stand at the peak, not just for a lifetime, but for all time.

Death wasn't just an end—it was failure. And Li Wei refused to fail.

Three hundred years seemed long, but in the face of eternity, it was nothing. Even five hundred wasn't enough. There would always be something more to achieve, something else to reach for. If he stopped—if he ever accepted a limit—that was when he'd truly start dying.

It wasn't about cultivation. It was about existence. He wanted to always be around.

And if Golden Core was dangerous? Then he'd just have to be ready.