The Immortal of Plague begins by establishing the root of lung fire.

If I truly have the aptitude for Qi cultivation, then this booklet will be my bargaining chip for escaping the Soul Treasury Temple in the future.

Song You sat cross-legged on the wooden bed, placed his hands flat on his knees, closed his eyes, and began to adjust his breathing according to the rhythm recorded in "Refining Qi and Transforming Spirit".

Inhale slowly and gently, and exhale softly and evenly.

The surrounding noise faded away, the rustling of bamboo leaves in the wind, and the faint groans coming from the neighboring bungalow all disappeared from his hearing.

He focused his attention on the tip of his nose, feeling the temperature changes as the air went in and out, as time passed second by second.

Fifteen minutes later, he detected an extremely faint, cool substance existing outside of ordinary air. It floated in space, with a very low density, and was completely undetectable unless deliberately sought out.

This is spiritual energy; it seems I truly have the potential.

Song You quickened his breathing, trying to inhale the cool substance into his body.

A small amount of spiritual energy approached the body through the senses.

A sudden change occurred.

Without any buffer, a great terror enveloped his entire body.

The muscle tissue surrounding the trachea and esophagus was being separated inch by inch by the collision of these two forces. Song You could feel something growing out of thin air inside his body, expanding and taking over his body.

Song You tried to sever his connection with the spiritual energy, but it was no use. As soon as the channel opened, the spiritual energy kept drilling into his body.

Fresh blood spilled from his lips, dripping onto the rough bedding and quickly spreading into a dark red flower.

My vision began to blur, the surrounding scenery became a jumbled mess, and the familiar feeling of falling descended.

The weight of the body is disappearing, consciousness is being pulled away from the wounded body and falling into an endless abyss. The mechanism of dying before death is forcibly triggered by this impending crisis.

Song You opened his eyes, and the glaring incandescent light made him squint.

He wasn't lying on the cold wooden bed, nor did he smell the distinctive rotten odor of the Po Zang Temple.

The air was filled with the aroma of coffee and the smell of ozone emitted by the printer. The air conditioning was on full blast, and the air blowing against my skin gave me goosebumps.

He sat in a black ergonomic chair with a large white desk in front of him.

On the table sits a laptop with its screen lit up, next to which is a half-empty iced Americano. Water droplets condensed on the glass are sliding down the sides and pooling on the table.

A man and a woman were sitting opposite him, both dressed in well-tailored dark suits.

The man wore gold-rimmed glasses, his hair was neatly combed, and he held a fountain pen in his hand, rhythmically tapping it on the table, making a soft "tap tap tap" sound. The woman had short, neat hair, exquisite makeup, and an open booklet in front of her.

They were scrutinizing Song You from head to toe with a critical eye.

"Mr. Song," the short-haired woman spoke, her voice crisp and efficient, with a cold, businesslike tone, "We've reviewed your testimony. Could you elaborate on your residency training experience in the medical system?"

Song You leaned back in his chair, the pain of his trauma still lingering in his mind, yet the modern cityscape before him felt so real. He looked at the person opposite him, his mind racing to process the current situation.

The cold air blew down from the vents overhead, hitting my skin and creating a fine layer of particles.

He looked down at his hands, the veins on the back of his hands pulsating steadily.

The pain of muscle detachment subsided, and the destructive sensation of external force forcibly cutting through meridians and tearing the body ceased. The air entering my nostrils carried only the aroma of coffee and printer toner.

The absence of a cooling substance indicates a loss of spiritual energy.

He adjusted his breathing and looked inward at himself; the heat source inside his chest, known as the Dao Root, was still pulsating. The heat was transported to his limbs and bones through blood circulation, and the conflict between the two forces completely subsided.

He understood the situation and tried the "Refining Qi into Spirit" technique at the Po Cang Temple, which caused damage to his body by drawing Qi into it.

His body underwent a strange change for some unknown reason. Something terrifying awakened within him, and orthodox spiritual energy was forcibly poured in, producing a strong reaction that accelerated the process and triggered a near-death crisis.

This crisis triggered a brief resurgence.

Modern society is a world without spirits, and spiritual energy cannot be sustained. The energy refining process was forced to stop, which ironically saved his life.

It is worth noting that the lung fire root planted in the Soul Treasury Temple does not rely on external spiritual energy. It exists out of thin air in the chest cavity, operating normally in this world of returning light, and even repairing his damaged internal organs.

This technique has demonstrated its survival advantages in extreme environments.

Song You touched the cold tabletop. The cultivation world was fraught with danger at every turn. A legitimate Taoist cultivation technique had almost cost him his life. He needed to be extra cautious in his future actions.

He looked up at the two people sitting opposite him. The man was twirling a pen in his hand, while the woman stared at Song You, impatiently flipping through a stack of A4-sized printed record sheets.

His last bout of renewed vigor occurred in a hospital corridor when he confronted Zhang Lihong.

The scene has changed; it's now a small conference room in the hospital. His personal information is on the opposite table, and promotional slogans from the health bureau hang on the wall. Clearly, this is an investigation into the previous incident.

The woman tapped her fingers on the table, tap-tap-tap.

"Mr. Song," she continued, speaking quickly and clearly, "we have limited time. Regarding your formal complaint against Dr. Zhang Lihong for improper procedures during your residency at the Second Municipal Hospital, you need to provide more detailed evidence. We can hardly accept your statement alone."

After thinking it over and figuring out the situation, Song You looked at her calmly.

"All the materials I wrote are true," Song You replied. "Anyone can verify that."

The woman pushed the documents forward two inches.

"We need details. You're accusing him of accepting kickbacks and falsifying medical records. You need to understand that this concerns a doctor's career. If there's no evidence, you'll face legal consequences for false accusation, and you can forget about getting your medical license."

She paused for a moment and slowed her speech.

"Song You, you are an excellent resident trainee. According to regulations, you are one of the candidates for hospitalization this year. There's no need to ruin your future over such a small matter. As long as you withdraw your complaint and admit that the misjudgment was due to work pressure, the hospital will make arrangements for you."

Song You leaned back in his chair and changed his sitting posture.

"Check Zhang Lihong's shift schedule. On the 17th of last month, he was on the night shift. A patient in bed 3 of the cardiology department suddenly developed ventricular fibrillation, but he wasn't in the department. The head nurse went to the break room to wake him up. The defibrillator usage time on the medical record is 15 minutes earlier than the actual time. The surveillance video is in the security room, and it's kept for 30 days. You can still see it now; just go and retrieve it."