Chapter 16: Xu Mo Napped His Way to Almost-Greatness

[Xu Mo’s POV]

"What… was that?" I whispered, my voice trembling like a leaf in a hurricane.

My head still throbbed, but the pain was manageable now—like a hangover after a night of questionable decisions. I glanced around the room, half-expecting to see some kind of divine punishment manifesting in the air. But there was nothing. Just the faint glow of moonlight streaming through the window, mocking me with its serenity.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. Was this a warning? A sign that I was overstepping my bounds? Or maybe the universe just really wanted me to take a nap.

"Elder Long, are there any techniques for Qi Condensation? Because I am struggling," I muttered, gripping the necklace that Long Bai had given me. Before coming to the outer sect, Elder Long had told me that this necklace could also be used as a means of communication. Handy, right?

I felt strength being drained from my palms and getting sucked inside the necklace, causing it to glow faintly. "Looks like Mortal Primer's of Cultivation wasn’t wrong. Qi is present in every being," I mused, though my face turned pale as I realized I was basically a human battery.

Looks like I’ll need to sleep to recuperate. Classic move.

I turned off the lamp and laid down on the bed, ready to embrace the sweet oblivion of sleep. Elder Long wouldn’t be free enough to respond to me immediately, right? I mean, he’s probably busy doing… elder things.

As the weight of exhaustion pulled me into slumber, I found myself drifting into an endless void—a place without light, without sound, without form. It was not the comforting darkness of night, nor the boundless expanse of the heavens. It was something deeper, something more profound. An abyss that was not empty but instead full, pressing against me from all directions, surrounding me in an embrace of absolute stillness.

I did not know how long I remained there. Time did not flow in this place, nor did my thoughts scatter as they did in waking life. It was as if I had stepped beyond existence itself, where even the faintest breath of thought was swallowed by the vast silence that ruled this realm.

Then, a presence emerged.

A figure stood before me, neither man nor woman, neither young nor old. A silhouette of pure shadow against the greater darkness, its form shifting like ripples on the surface of still water. Though it had no face, no eyes, I knew it was watching me. Measuring me. The weight of its gaze pressed into my very soul, filling every part of me with an awareness so overwhelming that I almost forgot to think.

Then, the figure moved. Its lips parted, forming words I could not hear.

Not a single sound reached me.

Not a whisper. Not a murmur. Not even the echo of something lost.

It was as if reality itself had refused to grant me the ability to listen. The silence was suffocating, deafening in its intensity, more profound than any quiet I had ever known. I tried to focus, tried to strain my ears, to grasp even a fragment of what was being said. But no matter how hard I struggled, no matter how close I was to this being, the void between us remained unbroken.

A deep sense of frustration welled up within me. Was this a lesson? A punishment? A test? The figure continued to speak, but I could not hear. It raised a hand, gesturing, its movements slow, deliberate—yet I could not understand. I wanted to scream, to demand that the silence be shattered, that the voice I could see be given sound.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

But the moment I had the thought, I understood.

Sound did not belong here. I did not belong here.

The realization sent a shiver through me.

This place was not meant to be heard.

It was meant to be felt.

The silence was not a void—it was a force. It was presence, weight, depth. A truth that existed beyond mere words, beyond comprehension. And as I let go of my futile desire to listen, something inside me shifted.

A strange sensation bloomed in the center of my being. Like the faintest ripple in a still pond, it spread outward, filling me with a quiet understanding. Not through words, not through sound, but through a knowing that came from the silence itself.

Then, the figure stepped back. The darkness thickened. And I fell.

When I awoke, the room was still shrouded in the dim light of early dawn. The cold from the wooden floor seeped into my skin, grounding me in the present. My body felt unchanged, but my mind… my mind was different.

There were instructions in my thoughts.

A method. A path. A way to cultivate.

The knowledge had not been spoken to me, nor written, nor shown. It had simply appeared—woven into the very fabric of my consciousness, as if it had always been there, waiting for me to understand.

And now, I did.

The Dao of Silence had revealed itself to me—not through sound, but through the absence of it.

...

[Third Person POV]

Xu Mo sat in silence, his back straight against the cold wooden wall of his room. The dim moon light filtered through the worn-out paper windows, casting soft shadows along the floor. The dream still lingered in his mind—not as a fading memory, but as something etched deep within him, more real than anything he had ever learned before.

The instructions were clear, yet they had no words. They were not something he could explain or write down, only something he knew. A sensation, a method, a path laid out before him. It was as if the Dao of Silence itself had whispered its secrets—not through sound, but through understanding.

He closed his eyes.

The first step…

He had to sense it. The Qi. The lifeblood of the world, the very thing that separated mortals from cultivators.

But, what the…

Before, he had only heard of it in passing—an invisible energy that strengthened the body, allowed for techniques, and formed the foundation of all cultivation. But for a mortal, it was something intangible, like the wind—felt, but never grasped.

He could see it—the Qi.

The instruction in his mind told him that he had to empty out every last bit of Qi in his body.

"An indirect death sentence!" he thought, horrified.

However, it also told him that this process could not be sped up and that the removal of Qi should be done once a week—and that too, under control.

His heart told him not to trust this technique. "Well, only a madman would use such an abnormal method," he muttered to himself.

He had to leave his body hanging by a thread of Qi—not quite literally, but in a metaphorical way. Yes, because that’s totally reassuring.

Xu Mo slowed his breathing.

Yesterday, he had tried to comprehend the Dao and reach the peak in one step, but it was not compulsory. He had not started practicing yet.

Even now, if he wanted to, he could absorb Qi through a normal—but rare—method not available to even Inner Sect Disciples, because he had the position of True Successor to back him.

Yet, that feeling that had made him stop from standing out and even rejecting the position of True Successor returned. Although it did not tell him to practice this or that method, his instincts—and also his brain—told him that if he chose to go with the Dao method, although dangerous and lengthy, after the initial weakness, his strength would become invincible in the same realm.

He quieted his thoughts.

Closed his eyes.

And he waited.

Xu Mo took a thinker’s pose.

[A/N: relaxed seated pose with one knee raised.]

The world around him began to blur—not in sight, but in presence. The distant sounds of the outer sect disciples, the rustling of the wind outside, even the faint creaking of the wooden floor beneath him—all faded into nothingness.

Xu Mo exhaled slowly, his mind sinking into a strange void. It was as if the entire world had stilled, a vast silence stretching endlessly before him. His consciousness drifted, weightless, as if he stood at the threshold of a great revelation—

Snore~

His head tilted slightly to the side. His breathing grew slow and steady. The "Dao of Silence" he was about to comprehend… was the sweet embrace of sleep.

Outside, the midnight stretched on, indifferent to his enlightenment—or rather, his complete and utter failure to attain one.