Chapter 2
The crowd of outer disciples swayed like grass in the wind, voices hushed as they awaited the reason for this gathering, seemingly exited about something Cheng didn't have the chance to hear anyone speak about.
Jiang Cheng stood on his tiptoes, trying to get a glimpse of what was happening at the front, as the taller Outer sect disciples, his seniors, blocked the view to the stage like platform they were facing.
"What's going on?" he whispered to Wu Jinhai, remembering to add senior fast enough, not familiar with addressing others so respectfully either of his lives. weird thought. Bad thought actually. Cheng didn't like to think of such things. He had barely managed to come to terms with his new circumstances.
He had cried, wailed, hit the ground in frustration at night, his young body aching from the work. He had taken many deep breaths, overwhelmed by the torrent of thoughts in his own mind, feeling like he was one, but two as well. It didn't make sense. But it should.
"Monthly stipend distribution,junior." Wu Jinhai replied without looking down. "Each outer disciple gets one Gathering Pill. It's not much, but it's the only cultivation resource we receive."
A Gathering Pill? Jiang Cheng's heart quickened. An actual cultivation resource, not the waste product of failed alchemy.
Before he could ask more, a hush fell over the crowd.
One moment, the stone platform at the front was empty. The next—
An elder stood there, wearing some kind of fancy robes with a starry pattern etched in the black fabric of his robes.
Jiang Cheng blinked, certain he had missed something. But no, there had been no movement, no sound, no indication of the elder's arrival. One instant there was nothing, and the next, a figure occupied the space as if he had always been there.
The elder was tall and thin, with a flowing white beard that reached his waist. His face was weathered, eyes deep-set, a dark blue that spoke of many, many years spent in the world of living.
And seeing the rest of the disciples bow down, he did the same, thankfully quick enough to not warrant any reaction from anyone.
But what struck Jiang Cheng most was the pressure that emanated from him. It was as if the air itself had become heavy, pressing down on Jiang Cheng's shoulders like a physical weight. His lungs struggled to expand, each breath requiring conscious effort. His small body trembled, not from fear but from the sheer presence of the elder.
The worst part, was that the elder was not even trying to show his presence. Yet the mere act of trying to get a good look at him, filled the young mortal named Chengg with such primal terror.
Hell, he stopped breathing altogether, as if his body was worried taking a breath would be a insult to this elder's presence.
It felt as if the man's mere existence was enough to crush him.
"Today marks the first of Fengzhi." the elder's voice was low in volume. yet it carried across the courtyard without him raising it,
reaching every ear with perfect clarity.
Already, a terror filled Chengg, questions spun in his mind. First of what? Fengzhi? was this some kind of calendar? no. he knew that. this was the fifth month of the imperial calendar.
and the other question naturally was if the way the elder spoke was some kind of cultivator ability.
"Outer disciples of the Falling Star Sect, receive your monthly stipend."
The elder made a simple gesture, and suddenly, several wooden crates appeared before the senior outer disciples at the front. Again, Jiang Cheng hadn't seen the movement—the crates were simply not there one moment and there the next.
Cheng gulped, his mind screaming at him. That was definitely a spatial ring. It was definitely something he had read many times about, but what exactly eluded his small mind.
Wu Jinhai leaned down slightly. "That's Elder Feng. He oversees the outer sect. A ninth-level Spiritual sea realm."
A ninth-level Spiritual sea realm. The words meant nothing and everything to Jiang Cheng. Part of him understood it as a cultivation level, while another part was utterly lost.
But one thing was clear—this elder possessed power beyond his comprehension.
The senior disciples began distributing small cloth pouches to the gathered disciples. Each contained a single pill, Wu Jinhai had said. One pill per month. Was this what cultivation resources looked like in this world?
As Jiang Cheng waited for his turn, he couldn't tear his eyes away from Elder Feng. The man stood motionless on the platform, observing the distribution with impassive eyes. There was something eerily familiar about cultivation levels and the presence of a powerful cultivator, yet Jiang Cheng couldn't place it. Thankfully, as he had understood, trying to not look too much, diminished the feeling of terror he got. Was he special, to be able to feel that?
Was this his.... golden finger?? what did that even mean?
"Pay attention," Wu Jinhai nudged him, taking him out of his thoughts. "It's almost our turn."
When Jiang Cheng finally received his pouch, he clutched it tightly, feeling the small round pill inside. He glanced back toward the platform—And Elder Feng was gone.
Not a trace remained of the man who had stood there moments before. No footsteps, no blur of movement, not even a disturbance in the air. It was as if he had never been there at all.
"How did he...?" Jiang Cheng couldn't finish the question, his young voice failing him.
Wu Jinhai looked at him with a understanding gaze.
"That, is simply the difference between realms. Rumors say that a Qi condensation cultivator can crush a hundred men."
"I suggest not thinking to much about it, junior Cheng. Cultivators are beyond our mortal understanding."
"What you saw? That's nothing. Elder Feng isn't even one of the more powerful elders in the sect. He just manages us outer disciples because none of the others want to bother."
Jiang Cheng stared at the empty platform, his mind reeling. If this Elder Feng, who could appear and disappear like a ghost and whose mere presence felt like a mountain pressing down on him, wasn't considered powerful... then what were the true masters of the sect like?
As the crowd dispersed, Jiang Cheng carefully opened his pouch. Inside was a small, cloudy gray pill, about the size of his thumbnail. Unlike the dull brown Satiation Pills, this one gave off a faint, pleasant scent, like fresh herbs after rain.
"That's a Gathering Pill." Wu Jinhai explained, noticing Jiang Cheng's fascination.
"What happens when you take it?" Jiang Cheng asked, unable to tear his eyes from the small gray pill.
"It helps you sense the spiritual energy around you, makes it much easier to gather, and absorb.
Without proper guidance, that's about all it does though. We lack the cultivation techniques the inner sect members have. Still, it's better than nothing."
Wu Jinhai's voice held a trace of bitterness. "The inner disciples get ten times this amount, plus actual instruction."
Jiang Cheng carefully returned the pill to its pouch, tying it securely inside his robes. His mind was still filled with the image of Elder Feng vanishing into thin air, the oppressive pressure of his presence, the casual display of power.
"Come on," Wu Jinhai said, breaking into his thoughts. "We've still got work to do. The herb fields need weeding."
As they walked away from the courtyard, Jiang Cheng felt the weight of the pill against his chest, as he hid it in his robes.
It was small, but it represented possibility. A path forward, perhaps. A way to understand this world he found himself in, and maybe, just maybe, a way to become like Elder Feng.
To move unseen. To command presence. To be more than just an outer disciple chopping wood and weeding herb fields.
He thought of Elder Feng's instantaneous movements, the pressure of his presence, and the casual way Wu Jinhai had dismissed him as "not even one of the powerful elders."
Just what kind of world had he been reborn into?
For the first time since waking up in this body, Jiang Cheng felt not just confusion and fear, but something else—a spark of anticipation. If such power existed in this world, could he grasp it too?
The thought both terrified and excited him.
Chapter 3
The day dragged on endlessly, each moment endless as Cheng toiled in the herb fields. His small hands were raw from pulling weeds, and his back ached from bending over rows of medicinal plants. Yet for once, his mind wasn't on the pain or exhaustion. The weight of the cloth pouch against his chest occupied his every thought.
As the setting sun painted the western sky in hues of orange and crimson, the bell finally rang, signaling the end of the day's labor. Cheng's feet carried him swiftly across the outer sect's grounds, to his shabby dwelling on the outermost ring of disciples' quarters.
His cabin, if one could dignify it with such a name, was little more than a shack. A single room with a straw mat for sleeping, a wooden stool, and a small table that wobbled on uneven legs.
The roof leaked when it rained, and drafts whistled through gaps in the walls during windy nights. But tonight, it felt like a palace.
Cheng secured the flimsy door with its crude wooden latch and drew the tattered cloth that served as a curtain across the single window. Privacy, such as it was, secured.
His hands trembled slightly as he reached into his robes and withdrew the small cloth pouch. The Gathering Pill seemed to pulse with possibility as it rolled into his palm. Gray and unassuming, yet to Cheng's eyes, it might as well have been made of pure gold.
"One chance," he whispered to himself. "Don't waste it."
He glanced around his sparse dwelling, considering. Wu Jinhai had said nothing about proper methods or techniques, only that the pill would help him sense spiritual energy. Should he lie down? Stand? Close his eyes?
Without conscious decision, his body moved. Cheng sat on the floor, legs crossing naturally into what would be recognized as a lotus position, guided by his weird set of memories. For some reason, he was half convinced this was the proper way to sit.
His back straightened, hands resting on his knees, palms upward. It felt right, somehow. As if his body remembered something his conscious mind did not.
"Here goes nothing," he muttered, then placed the pill on his tongue.
It dissolved almost instantly down his throat, a subtle coolness spreading from his stomach. For a moment, nothing happened, and disappointment began to creep in. Had he done something wrong? Was there some secret technique he should have—
And then it hit him.
The world... expanded. Or perhaps it was his perception that changed. The air, which moments ago had been merely air, invisible and unremarkable, suddenly became something else entirely. Tiny motes of light—no, not light exactly, but something his eyes could somehow perceive despite their invisibility—floated all around him.
"Spiritual energy." He breathed shocked and gleefull.
These were the very same energies he had been straining to feel during his previous attempts at cultivation. The whispers he could never quite hear, the presence he could never quite grasp. Now they revealed themselves as countless particles, drifting like dust in the air of his cabin.
Cheng's breathing slowed naturally as he observed these particles with wonder, using his perception, his eyes already closed subcontiously. They moved with air currents, swirling around his small cabin in patterns both chaotic and strangely ordered.
Without knowing how, he found himself drawing them toward him.
Not physically—he didn't move a muscle—but with something inside him. His intent, perhaps, or some newly awakened sense. The particles responded, drifting toward him like iron filings to a magnet.
As they touched his skin, Cheng felt a subtle warmth. Some of the particles seemed to seep directly into his flesh, spreading a pleasant tingling sensation wherever they entered. Others traveled further, following channels he hadn't known existed within his body, paths that felt ancient and familiar all at once.
And strangest of all, some of the particles disappeared somewhere deeper, beyond his physical form. They vanished into a space he could sense but not locate, like watching something fall into a well so deep its bottom remained unseen. This mysterious place felt... empty. Vast. Waiting to be filled.
"The dantian." he whispered, the term rising unbidden from somewhere in his fractured memories. For all he knew, its name was completely different. But something in him screamed that. That was the proper name. Dantian.
For what felt like hours but might have been minutes, Cheng sat entranced, feeling the flow of spiritual energy.
Each particle he drew in felt like a tiny victory, a minuscule step on an immeasurably long road. But a step nonetheless.
The sensation was intoxicating. After weeks of work, of straining to feel what remained stubbornly imperceptible, Almost mocking him as he toiled with the axe, or cleaned with the heavy mop.
This clarity was like an oasis for the desert traveled Chen. He could finally see what he was meant to be doing.
As the pill's effects began to fade, the particles growing dimmer in his perception, Cheng clung desperately to the sensation, trying to memorize every aspect of it. The way the energy moved, how it felt as it entered his body, the paths it followed within him, the mysterious space where some of it pooled.
Even as the last visible traces slipped from his awareness, something had changed. A door once opened couldn't be completely closed again. Though faint, he could still sense... something. The barest whisper of spiritual energy, like trying to see stars after the sun had risen.
Exhaustion washed over him suddenly. His small body slumped, the rigid lotus position giving way as his muscles relaxed all at once. Sweat drenched his simple clothes, though he hadn't noticed its formation during his trance-like state.
Cheng barely managed to drag himself to his sleeping mat before consciousness fled entirely.
The morning came, as it always did, but today Cheng could feel something different. The haze of sleep slowly lifted from his mind, replaced by an awareness that he hadn't had before. His limbs felt heavier, but at the same time, there was a faint, exhilarating current running through him—a buzz, a subtle flow that pulsed just beneath his skin. He didn't fully understand it yet, but it was there. The Qi, or whatever it was, was still with him, lingering from the night before.
Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes and took a moment to process the changes. The cabin, the same as it had always been—rundown, sparse, and cold—now seemed almost familiar, even comforting. The motes of Qi he'd seen last night, gone. Not one mote that he could feel around him.
As he stood, he felt a slight shift in the way his body moved. His muscles, though still sore from his labor in the fields, no longer felt as stiff as they usually did. His back was straighter, his movements less cumbersome. The ache in his joints was still there, but it was distant, softened by an undercurrent of energy that flowed like a subtle stream, refreshing and steady.
The days blended together in a blur, but Cheng could feel the changes. They were subtle, but they were there. Every morning, when he woke, the sensations of Qi seemed to intensify, as if his body were becoming more accustomed to its presence. The spaces between the moments when he felt the motes of energy brushing against his skin shortened, bit by bit, until they became almost constant.
At first, the work still felt like a chore—long days of bending and planting, picking and digging—but something inside him had changed. The repetitive motions didn't seem as grueling, the heavy lifting a little less daunting. His hands, though still calloused, moved with more precision. His breath came easier, his mind clearer. He could almost sense the flow of energy in the air as he worked, and somehow, without trying, it became easier to draw that energy into his body, letting it flow through him and ease the weariness of his muscles.
By the end of the first month, Cheng realized that something had shifted deep inside him. The world didn't seem as heavy anymore, and he didn't just feel stronger physically. It was more than that. His connection to the world around him, to the Qi that had once seemed so distant and elusive, was beginning to form into something tangible. Something he could touch, if only with the slightest focus.
The end of the month arrived like a soft breeze, unremarkable yet profound. Cheng could tell that he had made progress. The days had stretched endlessly, yet he now knew that each one had brought him closer to something. The work, though still demanding, didn't feel as impossible as it had when he first arrived. It was just a little easier. The subtle warmth that he felt when the motes of Qi entered his body was like a gentle reminder that, while his journey was far from over, he was moving in the right direction.
Cheng stood at the edge of the herb fields that evening, watching the setting sun cast long shadows over the rows of plants, rubbing the dirt off his face, and on his robes. The sky was painted in the same fiery colors as the evening before, but the sight no longer filled him with yearning. Instead, it filled him with a quiet sense of purpose.
Tomorrow, was the next stipend. and he couldn't wait to get his hands on another gathering pill.
Chapter 4
The morning air was crisp, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and freshly plucked herbs. Cheng moved through his daily routine with an efficiency born from two years of repetition. But today was different. Today, his steps were lighter, his breaths deeper.
Two months ago, he had noticed he felt his body was full. as if he couldn't have any more Qi in his body. And so, today, he would get another gathering pill, making it two, with the one he saved last month.
around midday, he wiped his face, having cut as much as even Senior brother Wu Jinhai, making the other seniors confused and envious, as such speed was highly unusual. But apart from shunning him, something kind of useless, as all outer sect disciples practically spent all day every day working, leaving no time for socializing.
And then, once again, Elder Feng just appeared on the stone platform, unseen by Cheng's eyes, even as he strained his perception, before bowing in tandem with the rest of the outer sect members.
Cheng kept his expression neutral as a senior disciple handed him his stipend, and after the elder disappeared once more, Cheng turned and walked away, ignoring the interested and cautious gazes of a scant number of outer sect disciples that had seen his rapid improvement.
Back at his cabin, he barred the door and sat down immediately, his heart pounding with anticipation. He had spent the past two years building a foundation, enduring the grueling toil, the pain, the monotony. Now, he had taken the first step. This pill would be different. He would no longer simply gather Qi blindly, letting it meander through his body without guidance. He would refine it, direct it, strengthen himself.
And if he couldn't, he'd just will it so. After all, his memories told him of ones that defied the heavens. whatever that meant.
Without hesitation, he swallowed the pill.
The now-familiar coolness spread from his stomach, but this time, he felt it more keenly. His senses sharpened, his perception expanding as he focused inward. The motes of Qi that suffused the air around him responded to his intent, drawn toward him in gentle, swirling currents. He guided it, pulling it into his his body, and like a tide, the newer ones entering his body pushed other motes closer in to fall into what must be his dantian.
As the first pill almost run out, he swallowed the second one, and kept focusing, drawing the motes around him into himself.
Slowly but surely, he kept pushing, his body already dripping with sweat. And then, as he feared the second pill wouldn't be enough, it happened.
It almost felt like a door had opened. And then, Cheng let out a groan of pain as all the Qi stored in his body rushed in his dantian, pulling the surrounding motes of Qi with a force far greater than he could muster. it felt like boiling hot water flowed into his veins, as more and more Qi poured into The center of his body, his dantian. And then, it stopped. Cheng let out a single deep breath, and promptly passed out from exhaustion. He had done it. without using a cultivation manual, he had reached the Qi condensation realm, guided by his weird, faded memories, and his perception. the last part was suspect, as it was what allowed him to collect motes of Qi without using the gathering pills, shortening the time needed to breakthrough, enough to be noticeable, as he went from struggling with the work, his prepubesant body too weak physically to chop wood for hours at a time, to being able to keep up with the senior outer disciples.
Cheng's eyes snapped open as the first rays of dawn filtered through the cracks in his cabin wall. Something was different. Profoundly different.
He sat up slowly, marveling at how... aware he felt. The air around him was no longer just air. He could see them—the motes of Qi—without the aid of a Gathering Pill. They danced around him, less vivid than when under the pill's influence, but unmistakably present. Constant. Real.
He rose to his feet, feeling oddly light. Not physically stronger, exactly—his body was still that of a child, with all its limitations—but different nonetheless. Something within him had fundamentally changed.
Curious, Jiang reached inward, toward that space in his core where he now knew his dantian resided. He could feel it, a small but undeniable reservoir of Qi. His Qi. On instinct, he drew upon it, pulling a thread of energy into his limbs.
"Wha—!"
A startled yelp escaped him as he suddenly found himself mid-air, having jumped more than two meters straight up. His head nearly collided with the cabin's low ceiling before he crashed back down, stumbling but remaining upright.
"Holy shit." he breathed, steadying himself against the wall. His legs trembled not from weakness but excitement.
For a moment, he simply stood there, feeling the Qi flowing through him, responding to his will. It wasn't much. Probably not even a trickle compared to what Elder Feng must command.
But it was his to use. A slow smile spread across his face, wiping away the perpetual weariness that had marked his time in the outer sect. He knew what he had to do next.
The Disciple Pavilion stood near the border between the outer and inner sect territories. Unlike the humble structures that housed the outer disciples, this building rose three stories tall, its white stone walls carved with images of clouds and mountains. Four jade pillars supported its curved roof, each engraved with characters too ancient for Jiang to decipher.
It was here, Wu Jinhai had once mentioned, that disciples reported breakthroughs and received acknowledgment of their advancement.
Jiang approached with measured steps, conscious of the stares from other outer disciples going about their morning chores. He hadn't gone to the herb fields or the woodcutting station as usual. Such behavior alone was enough to draw attention, to the few who had seen his rapid advancement.
At the pavilion's entrance, an older disciple sat at a stone desk, recording names in a massive ledger. His robes, though simple, were of better quality than Jiang's—marking him as one of the few outer disciples who had achieved Qi Condensation but not yet qualified for the inner sect.
"State your business." the disciple said without looking up, his brush continuing to move across the paper.
"Junior Jiang Cheng is here to report my breakthrough, Senior." Cheng replied, keeping his voice steady despite the excitement bubbling within him.
The brush paused. The disciple looked up, eyes narrowing as he took in Jiang's small stature and tattered robes.
"You?" Disbelief colored his tone. "How long have you been in the outer sect?"
"Two years, senior brother."
A derisive snort. "Two years. And you claim to have reached Qi Condensation?"
Jiang met his gaze evenly. "Yes senior brother."
The senior disciple set down his brush, rising from his seat. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a face that might have been handsome if not for the disdain twisting his features.
It wasn't like he was disdainful because Chen had broken through. rather, perhaps his age. perhaps there was a minimum requirement age wise for the inner sect.
"Very well. Follow me."
The senior disciple spoke, whispering another set of words, more so to himself. "Another frog in a well. Hmph! I will see your punishment."
he spoke to himself, already convinced Chen was lying, as he seemed too young to be in the Qi condensation realm. no. that was wrong. it was the fact that he was in the Qi condensation reals, and was brought into the outer sect, meaning his talent was too low. too average.
He led Cheng into the pavilion's main hall, a circular chamber dominated by a Big stone pillar at its center. The pillar, easily three meters in diameter, rose from floor to ceiling. Its surface was marred by countless indentations of varying sizes and depths—some barely visible, others the size of a man's fist.
"This," the senior disciple gestured toward the pillar, "is the Strength Measuring Pillar. Every disciple who achieves Qi Condensation must leave their mark upon it. Dent it, and you pass. If you can dent it that is."
Cheng approached the pillar slowly, aware of the eyes of the senior brother on him. He felt his gaze, full of distain, already in his eyes, Chen to be a liar. A child claiming to have achieved in two years what many failed to accomplish in six or more.
After all, if they could breakthrough in two years, they should already be in the inner sect.
The stone was cool beneath his palm as he placed his hand against it, feeling its solidity, its resistance. He closed his eyes, reaching inward to the well of Qi in his dantian.
Unlike his accidental jump earlier, this would require control. Precision. Intent. He drew upon his Qi, feeling it flow up from his core, through the channels in his arm, concentrating it in his palm.
"Sometime today, junior brother. Or do you dare lie in The falling star sect!" the senior disciple's voice mocked from behind him.
Cheng ignored him. Instead of rushing, he focused on his Qi, shaping it, moving it.
There was something intuitive about it, as if his body—or perhaps some part of his fragmented memories—knew what to do even if his conscious mind did not.
When he felt ready, he opened his eyes, drew back his fist, and struck.
His small fist connected with the pillar, but what followed was no child's blow. Qi erupted from his strike, a concentrated burst that sent a shockwave through the stone.
Lifting his fist, he saw a decent imprint on the pillar, like a small crater the shape of his fist.
The interesting part, was that he already felt liek he could do better. as if experiencing this caused his memories, foggy as they may be, to let out all sorts of absurd ideas? How does one even punch with the will of a thousand dragon elephants. No. What in hell's name was a dragon elephant??
"Impossible." The senior whispered behind him.
The senior disciple approached, disbelief written across his features as he examined the mark. "How did you...?"
"Is it sufficient?" Cheng asked quietly.
"I suppose it is." the senior disciple who Jiang still didn't have the pleasure of knowing his name spoke, and spoke again.
"Follow me, Junior Chen."
As Jiang Cheng followed the Senior disciple,
Elder Feng appeared beside the pillar, too fast for anyone below the foundation establishment to even perceive.
His ancient eyes fixed on Jiang's retreating back, then on the mark in the stone pillar.
"Interesting." the elder murmured, his deep voice carrying effortlessly across the now-silent hall. "Most interesting indeed."
Chapter 5
Jiang Cheng followed the senior disciple through the pavilion's corridors, the air thick with the scent of incense and aged wood. The structure was older than it appeared from the outside, its walls lined with faded murals depicting cultivators in various battle stances, Qi radiating from their strikes.
After a short walk, they arrived at another courtyard, smaller than the training grounds but no less imposing. A formation of carved stone slabs lay in the center, their surfaces glowing faintly with Characters too complex for Cheng to understand. Standing beside them was another disciple—this one clad in inner sect robes, a mixmatch of white and blue hues.
Not only that, they clearly were of much higher quality than the ones Cheng was wearing. His presence alone carried weight, an aura of calm authority.
He was likely a realm above Cheng, as he felt a pressure. It was not the terror of the outer sect Elder he had seen. But it was enough to make him understand, that for this senior, he was likely no more than an ant.
"I greet senior disciple Liu." the disciple who had guided Jiang spoke, his previous disdain now masked by formality, as he cupped his hands and bowed slightly, Cheng following the gesture moments later.
"Step forward junior." Liu Hong spoke. "Stand in the center of the formation."
Jiang did as he was told, stepping onto the central stone slab. As soon as his feet touched it, the Characters pulsed, sending a faint vibration through the ground. Liu Hong moved his hands through a set of practiced seals, and immediately, the glow intensified, rising around Jiang in a soft, shifting haze of color.
"A cultivator's Qi is not just energy, juniors." Liu Hong began, speaking in a bored tone that betrayed the many times he had spoken about this.
"When one reaches Qi Condensation, their innate affinity begins to manifest. Some possess elemental affinities—fire, water, earth, wind. Others have rarer types—lightning, wood, metal. And then, there are those with unique constitutions, their Qi differing entirely from standard classifications."
Cheng remained still as the light around him flickered, shifting between hues. He held his breath, unsure of what to expect.
When the color settled into a soft blue, the same color as Qi, Liu wrote something in what must have been some kind of record keeping book, and spoke.
"You possess no distinguishable aptitude for any element. But, I suppose you pass. Here."
He spoke, throwing a small wooden token that Cheng grabed, looking at him.
"You are now a proper Qi condensation cultivator of our sect, hence you have been given access to the first floor of the Tower of records."
He spoke, as Cheng really understood. He was ordinary. No supreme affinity for fire that would shock the sect. No water affinity, to move seas and lakes. He was ordinary. No golden finger here. he thought. What was even a golden finger? he thought again, perplexed by the sudden thought, that felt both completely foreign and completely reasonable.
Jiang Cheng returned to his modest dwelling with the wooden token still clutched in his hand. He turned it over between his fingers, feeling its rough texture, the edges worn smooth from years of use.
He let out a breath and tucked the token into his robe.
The following weeks passed in a blur of labor. Despite his newfound status as a Qi Condensation cultivator, he was still just an outer disciple. That meant work. Endless, backbreaking work.
One day, he was knee-deep in the muddy fields, harvesting spirit herbs under the supervision of a senior disciple who barely spared him a glance. The next, he was hauling buckets of water up the mountain path to replenish the sect's reserves. Some mornings, he split firewood until his hands were raw, while in the afternoons, he worked alongside others repairing broken buildings or clearing debris from the outer sect's training grounds.
As he did, thoughts popped in his head. Those foreign yet familiar inquiries that bugged his head. HE felt he should know and remember exactly what he was thinking about.
When he carried water, he thought. Could you use Qi to replenish the sects water reserves? if yes, why force him and many others to haul bucket by bucket? Was it too taxing on their QI reserves to attempt? did they simply not care?
When he cut logs, he wondered if You could use fire and wood afinity to make charcoal, instead of bothering to cut trees, and all that. Was it just not possible? or like a part of himself, these people just didn't bother thinking about weird solutions, like his brain?
Or was it the if it ain't broke, don't fix it mentality? he struck the wood, as he thought about this saying. It felt foreign to think, yet he knew exactly what it mean. or should anyway.
As day by day went, things got better gradually. Now in the realm of Qi condensation, Cheng could pull these motes of Qi into his dantian by himself, without the use of a pill. Slowly, he felt himself improving.
Before, this work had been exhausting. Draining. Every day had felt like a slow death to his young body. But now, with Qi flowing through him, everything was different. His muscles no longer ached as much, after hours of labor. He could carry heavier loads, work faster, push himself beyond what should have been his limits.
With each log he split, each bucket he carried, each step he took under the weight of his tasks, his Qi flowed stronger, steadier. His endurance grew. His control sharpened. It was subtle, but it was there, As he tried to Use his Qi as much as possible, lest he injure his young body from the strain of the work.
HE could tell he was slowing his Cultivation. Cultivation, senior Wu had said? yes. it sounded correct.
Every day, he spent Qi. gathered some during the night, as he found it practically replaced the need to sleep in the traditional sense.
As he absorbed the motes of Qi around him, that allowed his body to rest. Of course, he still needed to sleep, every few days or so.
The other outer disciples had noticed his growth, though few spoke to him directly. After all, the workload left no time for small talk.
Still, no one challenged him. Not yet. Apparently fights we prohibited. Likely the Upper sect didn't' want these workers to fight more than they worked.
By the last day of the month, Jiang found himself finishing his assigned work earlier than usual. He wiped the sweat from his brow, looking up at the sky. The sun still hung high—he had time.
His fingers brushed against the token in his robes. The Tower of Records.
If he was ordinary, then he would have to rely on knowledge. If he had no grand talent, then he would carve his own path through understanding. He was sure. That with these weird thoughts that always popped in his head, that he must be able to think of different ways. better ways to grow.
Making his decision, he changed direction, heading toward the one place in the sect he had never been before.
The Tower of Records stood at the far end of the outer sect, an imposing structure built into the mountainside. It was taller than any other building in the outer sect, its dark stone walls rising in layers, each level separated by sloping eaves adorned with hanging talismans. The entrance was guarded by two robed cultivators, Their robes a clear indicator of the inner sect.
It was clear that they were there to make sure no idiot tried to get in without Qualifications.
Showing his token, along with a respectful bow seemed to satisfy the two, that opened the wooden doors.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of aged parchment and ink. Rows upon rows of wooden shelves stretched toward the high ceiling, packed with scrolls, books, and jade slips.
Jiang Cheng looked in wonder, at what must be hundreds, thousands even. So many years. Just how many people have been here. how many people wrote their thoughts out. and this. this was supposed to be just the first floor?
Cheng turned his attention to a really small shelf near the entrance, next to some seats, Clearly aimed for one to read these ten books before anything else. picking one up, he froze, as he realized. he. he didn't know how to read. his parents were farmers. they didn't know anything about writing. What to do now.
Jiang Cheng frowned at the small book in his hands, the inked characters staring back at him like an impenetrable wall. He ran his fingers over them, tracing their strokes, but they remained meaningless.
For a moment, frustration welled up in his chest. What use was the Tower of Records if he couldn't even read? He had thought knowledge would be his path forward, but how could he even begin if the words themselves were foreign to him?
God. he was so stupid. But was he really to blame? a part of him was assured he in fact did know how to write. two whole languages actually. but they looked nothing like the ones he should remember how to write.
Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm down. There was no use crying and breaking down. he had cried himself to sleep too much already, in the confines of his crude cabin.
There had to be a way. There were thousands of texts in this place, which meant there had to be people who could read them. And if people could read them, then people had to learn how.
But who would teach him?
Perhaps another outer disciple had already learned? But even if they had, why would they teach him? Everyone here was competing for a place in the sect, struggling to rise above the others. Knowledge was power, and power was not shared freely.
Jiang turned his gaze back to the shelves, his mind working through the problem. If he couldn't rely on others, then he would have to find another way.
Then, something caught his attention.
A set of wooden tablets, different from the scrolls and books around them. Unlike the others, these had simple, large characters carved directly into the wood. Some even had small illustrations beside them.
they were left half hazardly on the table right next to the small shelf. he had been so centered on the books, that he missed them.
His heart pounded as he reached out and took one. The carvings were rough, as if they had been made hastily, but they were clear. A symbol. A picture. A meaning.
He picked one up, a hastly carved tree on it. he rubbed the rough surface of the wooden tablet. Still, he felt nothing. And then, he smacked his face. He was a cultivator. There was a reason why they only let Qi condensation disciples in here.
And so, he gathered his Qi. From his dantian, to his body. from his body, to his hand.
And then, to the small wooden tablet.
Instantly, he felt it. Tree. it was like this tablet was passing knowledge to him. how to say the word tree, in this language. And more importantly. How to read the word.
Excitement stirred in his chest, And he took a deep breath, Calming himself down. He didn't know how long it would take. Days. Weeks. Months, maybe.
But he had time. Hopefully.
Chapter 6
For the next month, whenever his sect duties allowed, Jiang found himself drawn to the Tower of Records like a moth to flame. His daily routine took on a new rhythm.
Rise before dawn, the nightly meditation sessions making him feel energized, despite the back breaking work for a preteen.
Upon waking up, he would swiftly complete his assigned tasks with efficiency, in the expense of his protesting body, then slip away to the tower during whatever precious free moments he could scavenge.
The wooden tablets became his silent teachers. Each one contained not just characters and images, but something more—a form of stored knowledge that responded to his Qi. When he channeled energy into them, the information flowed directly into his mind, bypassing the normal struggles of memorization. It was as if the tablets had been designed for this very purpose—to rapidly impart language to those who couldn't read.
Perhaps it was the same thing with the classic jade tablets. Cheng thought. another one of his random thoughts. Was he supposed to know what that even meant?
The process wasn't entirely effortless though. Each session left him mentally drained, his head throbbing as if his brain itself was being reshaped to accommodate the new knowledge. But the results were undeniable.
What might have taken years of traditional study, he was absorbing in weeks.
The first week, he mastered basic nouns and simple verbs. By the second week, he could recognize most common characters and even string together simple sentences when read from a book. During the third week, he graduated from the basic tablets to more advanced ones, learning complex phrases and specialized vocabulary related to cultivation.
By the end of the month, Jiang could read most of the introductory texts on the small shelf, without any problems, Something that spoke volumes to his intelect, as despite spending lots of times working on the sect tasks, leaving him with less than two to three hours a day, he still managed to grasp the written language of this place.
It was truly interesting how these tablets worked. It wasn't like he was memorizing something. It was like the knowledge was uploaded in his brain. Whatever that meant. Seriously. It was begining to really weird him out now. Just when he had mostly gotten over his new circumstances, of feeling like this was his second life or something, that it felt him more moments to think these thoughts.
God. it hurt to think sometimes, especially when he felt like he barely understood half his own thoughts.
"The Foundations of Qi." he read from a thin volume, his finger tracing the characters with growing confidence. The words that had once been incomprehensible symbols now spoke to him, revealing their secrets.
Yet his rapid progress with reading came at a cost. His cultivation, while not stagnant, advanced far more slowly than he had hoped. Each night, he would sit in the lotus position, drawing in the motes of Qi that drifted through his cabin, guiding them into his dantian. But recently, he had begun to encounter a problem.
"It's like trying to pour water into a full cup." he muttered to himself one night, frustrated after another cultivation session. His dantian, once an empty void eager to be filled, now felt... resistant. The Qi he gathered would struggle to enter, and it felt somewhat uncomfortable.
The realization had been growing in him for days, but tonight he finally accepted it: he needed a proper cultivation method. His instinctive approach had carried him this far, but no further.
Sure, his brain could spill all sorts of thoughts. from telling him to just will it to do so, to compressing it, to finding a heavenly encounter. As if he could just magically do them. God, this was infuriating. like he was not in control of his own mind.
The next morning, having finished his assigned work earlier than usual, Jiang returned to the Tower of Records with renewed purpose. This time, he bypassed the language tablets and headed deeper into the stacks, searching for cultivation manuals.
He found them on the far wall—scrolls and books detailing various techniques and methods. Even now, with his newly acquired reading ability, many were beyond his comprehension, filled with esoteric terms and concepts he had yet to learn. But a few seemed intended for beginners.
No. Not for beginners. these must be trash, if outer sect members could enter here. He had heard that outer sect members were sometimes kicked out, even at his cultivation level. Most likely, these were just books about cultivation that were accessible to everyone, be it a common thug, or merchant.
One slim volume caught his eye though, as unlike most books here, it was rather small. It was worn, its corners frayed from countless hands that had held it before his. When he opened it, the pages crackled, releasing the scent of age and dust.
Jiang Cheng settled at a reading table, losing himself in the text. Hours passed without his notice as he absorbed the fundamentals of cultivation. The book described techniques for expanding one's dantian, methods for refining crude Qi into purer forms, and all around better ways of focusing on one's Qi, like exercises.
One in particular, got his interest way more, as it made the practitioner, try to stick a leaf on their body, and hold it there, splitting one's attention to doing other tasks, and the leaf.
It was kinda weird how this one made him think of ninjas for some reasons. what was a ninja anyways?
He clapped his face, focusing. His random thoughts could wait. he had more reading to do.
The introduction to Qi cultivation, as it was called, was basic. clearly intended for the lowest level of Qi Condensation cultivators. But to Jiang, it was more than that.
"So that's why." he whispered, finding a passage that explained exactly the problem he had encountered. Without proper circulation, Qi would eventually stagnate, unable to compact further without refinement. His instinctive approach had been inefficient, wasting much of the energy he gathered, as it just sat in his dantian, expanding it like a overinflated balloon. Again. something he felt he should know what it was, but had no memories of.
It was satisfying though, when he read that you were supposed to compress you Qi, making it denser. Purer. it lined up with his scattered thoughts, making him wonder how he even know that might be the answer.
It was late evening when he finally left the tower, the book's contents memorized, its prescribed techniques clear in his mind. As he walked back to his cabin, he couldn't help but reflect on his unusual journey thus far.
Nearly three years ago, he had just woken up in his little cabin. He was just another struggling outer disciple, performing menial tasks, hoping for more and more gathering pills. Now, he had not only reached Qi Condensation, but had taught himself to read and discovered the path forward for his cultivation.
The absurdity of it all nearly made him laugh. What other outer disciple had ever learned to read through magical tablets in a single month? What other child from a farming background could now read cultivation manuals meant for sect disciples?
And most importantly. Was something special within him? there had to be. After all, he didn't think anyone else had these weird thoughts. Sometimes, he almost felt like he was two. Not one.
And yet, he sensed that this was merely the beginning. The path ahead would only grow more challenging. For all his progress, he remained an outer disciple, limited in resources and opportunities. The inner sect, with its true masters and advanced techniques, remained as distant as the stars.
He had heard that for a outer sect disciple, advancing to the Foundation establishment, was the only way to get in the inner sect. That, and becoming a alchemist, something even more difficult arguably.
As he reached his cabin, Cheng, resolved to put his new knowledge to use immediately. He settled into the lotus position, closed his eyes, and began the first circulation pattern described in the book.
Immediately, he felt the difference. Rather than simply drawing Qi in and letting it pool, he now guided it with purpose, Cycling it through his full dantian.
He could feel his Qi slowly circulate in it, rotating more and more. that was the easy part. Then. He tried compressing it. No luck there. It didn't even budge. Seems like Foundation establishment was a long ways more than he thought.
Chapter 7
For the next several months, Jiang's life settled into a demanding but purposeful rhythm, not much different than the usual one.
The outer sect's tasks seemed to grow more strenuous as spring gave way to summer, just like the summer before.
More herbs to harvest, more errands to run for inner disciples, more menial labor that left his young body aching.
Yet he persisted, not just because he had to, but because each completed task brought him closer to his goal. Every bundle of herbs delivered, meant giving way to cultivation and reading time.
What? payment for the work? you must be joking. The honor in being part of the sect is more than enough. yeah. mhm. Cheng would have really agree.
It was during the hottest days of summer when Jiang found himself scrubbing the stone steps of the main hall, sweat dripping from his brow as the sun beat down mercilessly. His hands were raw, his back ached, but his mind was elsewhere—cycling through the circulation patterns he had been practicing each night.
"Clean faster, Junior." one of the inner sect disciples that walked down the stairs, likely out of the sect for a mission, barked as he passed, barely sparing Jiang Cheng a glance. "Those steps won't clean themselves."
"Dirty like you lot, they are. Hmph!" He spoke, His arrogance clear, as he looked down at him, and the rest of the Outer disciples cleaning the steps alongside Cheng.
Jiang quickened his pace, carefully masking the flash of anger that surged through him. He had noticed that feeling more and more lately. He was getting irritated with his slow process. Frustration with the limitations of his position.
Not like he dared to complain. Elder Feng asside, he had seen first hand what had happened when one complained. He pittied the fool that tried to hit a senior disciple passing by. Not even of the inner sect, yet the difference of those close to Qi condensation, and those in it was clear, as the junior was beaten within a inch of his life for daring to not comply with the sect's mandatory, daily tasks.
Hell, he had even earned a nice slap himself from a senor, when he caught him mumbling to himself, complaining about the work, earning him a slap on the face, that made his ears ring, as well as a nice lecture from the senior.
That night, exhausted but determined, Jiang sat in lotus position on the worn mat in his cabin, his back protesting from bending all day to clean the stone steps.
The night air was still warm, carrying the scent of summer blossoms through his open, broken window, something he was personally responsible, as he had quite literarily slammed it too hard, in the days that he wasn't yet in full control of his newfound cultivation.
He closed his eyes and began the now-familiar process of gathering Qi.
The energy came more easily now, responding to his call. It flowed into his dantian smoothly, mote by mote, joining the pool he had been building for months. Yet when he attempted the compression techniques described in the manual, he encountered the same frustrating resistance.
"Condense, damn it." he muttered, focusing his will on the cycling energy in him, as he spun it around, in his dantian. The manual had described it as Using Your mind to refine the world, but for Jiang, it felt more like trying to squeeze sand into a solid form. Glass even.
The harder he pushed, the more the particles seemed to slip away.
After an hour of futile effort, he sighed and opened his eyes.
The dim glow of the oil lamp cast long shadows across his small cabin. His gaze fell on the cup of water beside him, and something stirred in his fragmented memories.
Surface tension. Molecules pulling together.
The thought came randomly. Another one of his weirder ones. Along with it a vague image of water beading on some kind of leaf. What were molecules? The word felt right somehow, though he couldn't explain why. It felt right.
After a day's work, He settled at a reading table and began to absorb the text, before noticing another outer disciple enter, one older than himself. Perhaps, if not for his better perception, that would have been the time it would have taken to advance to Qi condensation.
He turned back to the book he was reading, a different one, that focused on more techniques to condense one's Qi. There were lots fo books here. From martial techniques, to ones with the usage of Qi. But those felt unimportant right now. What use was martial techniques, when he was spending most of his time chopping wood and carrying water, among other menial work?
The important books, were ones to further his cultivation. As he read, he landed on a section that indeed, furthered the speculation of his random thought, the night before.
"Water seeks its own level, yet when confined, it presses outward with equal force in all directions." he read. "When surface meets air, water forms a skin, pulling inward."
That night, Jiang tried a different approach. Rather than pushing inward on his Qi, he visualized it as water, with an outer surface that naturally pulled itself together. He relaxed his mental effort and instead focused on the boundary of his Qi pool, imagining it contracting naturally, like water droplets merging.
To his surprise, he felt a subtle shift. The Qi didn't compress dramatically, but it seemed to become slightly more coherent, as if recognizing its own boundaries.
"Progress," he whispered to himself, a small smile playing on his lips.
Over the following weeks, Jiang refined this approach. Each night, after completing his sect duties, he would return to his cabin, sometimes so tired he could barely keep his eyes open, as compared to wintertime, the workload was nearly double. Yet he never skipped his cultivation session, gradually extending them from one hour to two, then three, stubbornly refusing to slow down, or reduce his meditation time. If not for the refreshing feeling of the motes of Qi entering his body, he'd most certainly collapsed by now.
His progress remained frustratingly slow. The Qi in his dantian had definitely become more refined. Clearer and more responsive.
But it was not the qualitive change the book talked about. The dramatic compression he sought still eluded him. He continued to read whatever texts he could find in his limited free time, searching for clues.
One evening, after a particularly grueling day hauling water for the herb gardens, Jiang was sitting outside his cabin, watching the sun set behind the mountains. His muscles ached, and he knew he should rest before his nightly cultivation, but his mind was too active.
A small leaf from a nearby tree drifted down, landing on his knee. He remembered the exercise from the manual—maintaining focus on a leaf stuck to the body while performing other tasks. On impulse, he channeled a tiny amount of Qi to his fingertip and pressed it to the leaf.
The leaf stuck, as expected, As he had learned the precursor to the water walking technique, a rather unimpressive one compared to more sophisticated ones in the foundation establishment realm, but one that he knew would have mere mortals serve him, the weakling, Qi condensation cultivator as a god.
And as he thought more and more, he had a epiphany. This thought was his own. Not a random one. This was a intentional thought.
Instead of trying to just push The Qi, what about using the dantian?
Instead of trying to compress the water in the bowl, why not use the fucking bowl in the first place?
And so, he tried just that. He felt his dantian, and tried to force it to contract. Visualizing it just like a muscle. And to his surprise, it worked like a charm. Sure, he did fail compressing his Qi, but it felt much easier this way.
Along with it, he tried to think more ways, but he lacked the knowledge. sure, he had understood surface tension, but Qi wasn't' water was it?
All the times he had felt the Qi around him, it was like A gas. These motes of Qi floating around like...Gas particles. yeah, that felt like the correct word.
so perhaps, the only thing left, was to find a way, to put pressure on the gas in his dantian. Maybe somehow heat up his dantian? or maybe. maybe. He was out of ideas. But. There was one place that had something he could read. And hopefully, it would help.