Chapter 1: Waking under the Rattan

When Chen Li woke up, the back of his head was slammed against a blue stone slab, and the pain was sending black spots dancing across his vision.

"You wretched boy! Do you know your crimes!"

A thunderous roar crashed down, making his eardrums ring. Chen Li propped himself up on his arms and looked up. First, he saw a pair of black-and-white cloth shoes, then the hem of a black Daoist robe, and finally, a square face. Thick eyebrows were knitted into a knot, cheekbones stood high, and a grizzled beard was shaking with rage. The old man gripped a rattan cane, his knuckles white, looking ready to lash out at any second.

Chen Li’s brain was still a fog. One second he had been in the physics lab soldering a circuit board, a capacitor blew, there was a flash of white light—and now he was here?

"The Sect Leader is speaking to you. Have you gone mute?" a shrill voice piped up from the side. Chen Li turned his head to see a tall, scrawny old man standing with arms crossed. A goatee curled upward, and contempt leaked from the slits of his eyes. "Fainting during the Meridian Opening Ceremony is a disgrace to the sect. According to the rules, that warrants twenty lashes."

"Elder, Junior Brother is pale as a ghost. Let him catch his breath first." A third voice, softer this time. Chen Li looked over to see a woman in her twenties, wearing a green robe with tied sleeves. She knelt down and handed him a bowl of water, her expression anxious. "Drink first."

Chen Li took the bowl and gulped down two mouthfuls. The cold water slid down his throat, clearing his head slightly. He looked down at himself—coarse brown hemp clothes, a rope tied around his waist, and toes poking through holes in his shoes. He looked around: a blue-brick hall, a plaque reading "Xuanmen Orthodox" hanging from the beams, and a dozen or so disciples in Daoist robes standing on either side, all staring at him like he was a circus monkey.

Great. Transmigration. Chen Li swallowed hard as fragments of the original body's memories slowly surfaced: Chen Li, the only son of the Xuanmen Sect Leader, Chen Xuandao. Mediocre talent, lazy, and a glutton. Today, during the Meridian Opening Ceremony, his energy had veered off course, causing him to collapse on the spot. The entire sect was laughing at him.

"Dad," Chen Li tried to speak, his throat dry as bone. "I... didn't die, right?"

"You dare talk back!" Chen Xuandao raised the cane, but the senior sister quickly stepped in between them. "Sect Leader, Junior Brother just woke up. His soul is unstable; hitting him now could cause permanent damage."

The Elder added a sinister jab from the side: "The Senior Sister can protect him for a moment, but not for a lifetime. He can't even handle the Meridian Opening; how is he supposed to refine Qi and transform his spirit later? With his mouth?"

The surrounding disciples burst into laughter. Hearing this, the panic of transmigration actually subsided—Chen Li had hated being publicly humiliated since he was a kid. The more they laughed, the more stubborn he became.

"Elder," Chen Li set the bowl on the ground and stood up with the senior sister's help. His legs were shaky, but his tongue wasn't. "You say my talent is lacking because my energy veered off course. Let me ask—the year you opened your meridians, did you get it right on the first try?"

The Elder’s face froze. He had tried three times back then; the whole sect knew, but no one dared mention it.

"You brat!" Chen Xuandao’s cane finally came down, snapping against Chen Li’s shoulder. Chen Li winced but didn't dodge. The old man panted, his eyes turning red. "Your mother passed early. I raised you with everything I had, and this is how you repay me? The elders of every branch were at the ceremony. Where am I supposed to hide my face?"

Seeing the old man's reddened eyes, Chen Li’s rebellious streak softened. In the original body's memories, this father had it rough—acting as both Sect Leader and mother, only to have a useless son. He sighed and rubbed his shoulder. "Fine, I was wrong. But you have to give me a chance. Let me try one more time."

"Try again?" The Elder sneered. "Your meridians are seventy percent blocked. Trying ten more times is a waste of breath. Just go to the kitchens and chop wood; at least then you'll be contributing something to the sect."

"I'm trying," Chen Li stared at the Elder, speaking word by word. "Right now."

The hall fell silent for a moment. Chen Xuandao stared at his son for a long time before tossing the cane to the floor. "Give him a prayer mat. If he fails, he reports to the kitchens himself."

The mat was placed in the center of the hall. Chen Li sat cross-legged and closed his eyes. The original body's cultivation mantra surfaced automatically: "Draw Qi into the body, follow the Ren and Du channels, complete the celestial circuit, and return to the Dantian after thirty-six rotations." He followed the steps, and sure enough, the energy hit a wall at the Tanzhong Acupoint. It felt like a clump of cotton stuffed in a pipe; no matter how hard he pushed, it wouldn't budge.

Whispers broke out around him again. The Elder stroked his beard. "Exactly what I said—"

"Shut up," Chen Li opened his eyes.

While circulating his energy, a thought had suddenly flashed through his mind: *Isn't this just a thermodynamic cycle?* Drawing Qi into the body was heat absorption, the celestial circuit was isothermal expansion, and returning to the Dantian was adiabatic compression. Why was the original body blocked at the Tanzhong Acupoint? Because the energy was being "squeezed" through. It was positive pressure pushing hard; the harder he pushed, the greater the resistance. But what if he treated the Tanzhong section as a throttling valve? Drop the pressure first, then expand it, and the flow would smooth out.

"Senior Sister," Chen Li turned. "Does our cultivation method mention 'Qi resistance'?"

The senior sister blinked. "Qi resistance? No... there's no such term. Only 'blockage.' If it's blocked, it hurts; if it hurts, it stops."

"So there isn't one." Chen Li grinned. If no one had summarized it, that was perfect. He closed his eyes again, but this time he didn't push. After drawing the Qi in, he held the pressure and "relaxed" just before the Tanzhong Acupoint. The energy cluster suddenly expanded, the pressure dropped, the blockage naturally loosened, and a stream of cool air shot through, heading straight for the Dantian.

Thirty-six rotations. Each one smoother than the last. By the eighteenth rotation, a warm sensation bloomed in his Dantian. Chen Li opened his eyes to find the entire hall staring at him. The Elder's mouth was hanging open, his goatee frozen in mid-air.

"It worked?" the senior sister whispered.

"It worked." Chen Li stood up and brushed the dust off his backside. "The Tanzhong Acupoint was blocked because the energy was moving too fast—too much positive pressure. If you drop the pressure first, it's like releasing water into a canal. Keep the sluice gate small, and the water flows on its own."

"You... what nonsense are you spouting!" The Elder's face turned the color of pig liver. "Since ancient times, drawing Qi has always been a matter of positive pressure! Where did you hear such heresy!"

"Figured it out myself," Chen Li shrugged. "As long as it works, right? If you don't believe me, Elder, try it yourself—relax then tighten. I guarantee it's faster than your 'hard push' method."

The Elder trembled with rage, pointing at Chen Li and shouting at Chen Xuandao, "Sect Leader! This boy is lying through his teeth and openly altering the cultivation methods! According to the rules—"

"Which rule says you can't change them?" Chen Li interrupted. "If you can find the words 'forbidden to use pressure-drop Qi circulation' in the rules, I'll take the punishment. If not, stop shouting."

Dead silence filled the hall. A dozen disciples looked at each other, and one of the younger ones couldn't help it—he let out a "pfft" and quickly covered his mouth. The Elder's face shifted from pig liver to eggplant purple. He flicked his sleeve. "The Sect Leader can deal with him as he sees fit!" He turned and marched away, the hem of his robe snapping with every step.

Chen Xuandao stood there, looking at his son and then at the Elder's retreating back. After a long pause, he managed, "You... really cleared it?"

"I did. Feel my pulse."

Chen Xuandao stepped forward and checked his pulse. As soon as his fingers pressed down, his eyelids flickered. Chen Li felt the old man's fingers tremble slightly. After a while, Chen Xuandao withdrew his hand, tucked it behind his back, and coughed. "Even if it's open, it's a crooked method. Go rest. Tomorrow, come to the main hall and transcribe scriptures." With that, he also left, walking faster than usual.

The senior sister leaned in and nudged him with her elbow. "Not bad. When did you figure that out?"

"Just now."

"You figured it out just now and it worked?" She looked him up and down. "You couldn't even recite the mantras properly before."

Chen Li's heart skipped. The original body indeed struggled with the mantras, but he was a junior in the physics department who had scored a ninety-two in thermodynamics. To him, this was just an applied physics problem. He couldn't say that, so he just gave a sheepish grin. "I had an epiphany. People have to grow up eventually, right?"

The senior sister looked at him suspiciously but didn't press further. She handed him two dry cakes. "Eat these if you're hungry. Don't be late for the transcription tomorrow; the Sect Leader is still pissed."

Chen Li tucked the cakes away and headed toward his room. The Xuanmen Sect was built halfway up a mountain, with pine forests lining the stone paths. The night wind carried the scent of pine resin. As he walked, he processed everything: the Meridian Opening was a success, but the original body's foundation was terrible. The bit of Qi in his Dantian was like the fluid in a cheap lighter; he was still miles away from refining Qi and transforming his spirit. But that moment had given him an epiphany—the "cultivation methods" of this world were essentially just empirical summaries. They hadn't been refined into theory; there was room for optimization everywhere. If thermodynamics worked, what about electromagnetism? Fluid dynamics?

Just as he was thinking, a figure suddenly popped out of the bushes, and Chen Li nearly collided with them. He looked closer to see a young disciple in a grey cloth shirt, about fourteen or fifteen, holding a wooden box with a panicked expression.

"Y-Young Master," the disciple stuttered. "The Elder told me to bring this to you. He said... it's for the transcription tomorrow."

Chen Li took the box and opened it. Inside was a stack of yellowed old booklets. On the cover, four words were written in a crooked hand: *Xuanmen Merit and Demerit Record*.

"A Merit and Demerit Record? Why am I transcribing this?"

"The Elder said... he wants you to record your act of talking back to him during the ceremony, stroke by stroke, as a form of self-reflection."

Chen Li flipped through it. The first half of the book recorded the faults of past disciples—who did what in which year and month—and the rest were blank pages. He flipped to the last page and suddenly saw a line of text, the ink fresher than the rest:

"Chen Li, fainted during the Meridian Opening Ceremony, disgraced the sect. One major demerit."

Below that was another line in even smaller, crooked handwriting, clearly added later: "Note: This boy's method of circulating Qi aligns with the 'Daocang Method' mentioned in the fragments of the *Yunji Qi Qian*. The fragments are on the third floor of the Scripture Pavilion, sealed for a hundred years. Investigate immediately."

Chen Li stared at that small line, a chill running down his spine.

He had never heard of the "Daocang Method." But he understood "fragments sealed for a hundred years" perfectly. The Elder had him transcribe the demerit record but slipped this note inside—did the delivery boy fail to check the book, or was the Elder doing this on purpose?

The young disciple was still standing there, rubbing his hands. "Young Master, where should I put the box?"

Chen Li closed the book and tucked it into his tunic. "In my room. By the way—does anyone usually go to the third floor of the Scripture Pavilion?"

The disciple shrank back. "The third floor? That place has been sealed for nearly a hundred years. The key is hanging from the Elder's waist; no one is allowed up there. Young Master, please don't get any ideas—"

"Just asking." Chen Li grinned, showing his canine teeth. "Go back and tell the Elder I'll transcribe the record. Every single stroke."

The disciple ran off. Chen Li stood in the pine forest, the night wind flipping the pages of the booklet. He looked down at that small line of text again, his mind racing: *Daocang Method, Daocang*—the name sounded exactly like a "reverse cycle." If those fragments contained another solution for the Qi circulation path...

He stuffed the book into his chest and looked toward the Scripture Pavilion. The windows on the third floor were black voids, looking like an unopened eye under the moonlight.

Transcription tomorrow. And the day after?

"I'm a physics major," Chen Li rubbed his hands and walked toward his room. "You think I can't handle some dusty old fragments?"