The sun hung high in the sky, its golden rays bathing the mountain peak in a warm, ethereal glow. The summit was full of lush vegetation and filled with spiritual plants of various shapes and hues swaying gently in the crisp air.
A sudden gust of wind swept across the mountaintop, its chill sharp enough to cut through the lingering warmth, jolting Hao Yu out of his daze.
“I’ve transmigrated.” The thought echoed in his mind. The realization was as surreal as it was unsettling. Hao Yu was no longer the college student he had been in his previous life—a young man juggling unfulfilled dreams, relentless assignments, and the monotony of modern existence. A sudden accident had claimed his life, and instead of finding himself in an eternal void, he had awoken here, in this alien world.
Fragments of unfamiliar memories swirled in his mind, slowly assembling into a coherent picture. This world was a realm of cultivation, a place where humans transcended mortal limitations. Here, people soared through the skies, split mountains with a flick of their fingers, and even shattered stars with their boundless power.
Excitement coursed through Hao Yu’s veins. In his old world, he had devoured countless cultivation novels, often fantasizing about such a reality. Who wouldn’t dream of leaving behind the mundane and stepping into a world where immortality was within reach?
But as the memories of the original Hao Yu crystallized, his initial excitement dimmed. Harsh reality set in like a heavy shroud. The body he now inhabited wasn’t that of a prodigious genius or a chosen one.
Instead, it belonged to a lowly medicine boy in the Heavenly Sword Sect. No noble lineage, no profound inheritance, and, most crushing of all, no extraordinary spiritual roots. Just a nameless servant, tending to spiritual plants.
The bitter truth was like a cold slap to the face. His dreams of immortality seemed impossibly far away.
“Damn it! Where’s my system? My cheat? My golden finger?!” Hao Yu’s voice rose in frustration. “Fellow transmigrators, forgive me. I’ve failed to uphold the sacred legacy of our kind!”
He let out a bitter laugh and stared at his trembling hands. His once-excited heart now felt like a stone sinking in a dark, endless sea.
“Five-element spiritual roots…” he muttered, the words dripping with disdain. “The worst possible kind. No talent. No potential. No hope. Just trash.”
His fists clenched as a wave of helplessness washed over him. Yet, beneath the despair, a flicker of defiance burned.
“No, I refuse to accept this,” he thought fiercely. “Even the dullest ember can ignite a blaze if it’s given the right spark. Trash or not, this is my life now. If the heavens look down on me, I’ll defy them. If this world won’t give me a path, I’ll carve one myself!”
Taking a deep breath, he straightened his back, his resolve solidifying.
“Damn, I must have looked pretty cool just now, right? Like a proper novel protagonist,” he mused with a self-deprecating chuckle. Yet, surprisingly, he felt no overwhelming joy or despair, just a strange calm.
“Maybe… maybe my old life was a story too,” he murmured. “What if this is just another chapter? In the end, I’ll live as I want. Wallowing won’t change anything.”
His thoughts shifted to the concept of spiritual roots—the foundation of cultivation in this world.
Spiritual roots were more than just innate talent; they were the essential connection between a cultivator and the spiritual energy, or Qi, that permeated the world. This energy, an invisible force born of the heavens and earth, manifested in elemental forms: fire, water, wood, metal, and earth.
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The roots within a person acted as the medium to sense, absorb, and refine Qi. Like a tree drawing nourishment from the soil, spiritual roots allowed cultivators to channel energy into their bodies. The purer and more attuned the roots, the more efficiently they could absorb Qi.
Low-quality roots drag in chaotic, "impure" energy, bloated with unnecessary elements, necessitating laborious refinement. High-quality roots, however, perform a natural filtration, yielding an uncontaminated flow of spiritual energy ready for direct use.
Once absorbed, this energy is stored and processed within the dantian—a spiritual core situated in the lower abdomen—or channeled through specific meridians.
The dantian acts as a reservoir, holding the refined energy, while the meridians distribute it throughout the body to enhance physical strength, repair injuries, and fuel cultivation growth.
Spiritual roots critically affect the efficiency of this system: inferior roots often leak or waste energy during refinement, while superior roots optimize the process, ensuring minimal loss and maximum gain.
Spiritual roots were classified into tiers based on their effectiveness:
Five-element spiritual roots: The weakest and most common type. These roots are spread across all five elements—wood, fire, earth, metal, and water—offering minimal affinity for any one element. Cultivators with such roots face agonizingly slow progress and struggle to break through even the lower stages of cultivation.
Four-element spiritual roots: A marginal improvement over five-element roots. By excluding one element, these roots offer slightly better focus but are still far from ideal.
Three-element spiritual roots: A balanced improvement, allowing for faster absorption and utilization of energy by concentrating on fewer elements.
Dual-element spiritual roots: Highly prized for their synergy, dual-element roots specialize in two complementary elements, achieving a harmonious and efficient flow of energy.
Heavenly spiritual roots: The rarest and most exalted type. These roots align perfectly with heaven’s will, offering unparalleled cultivation speed and divine affinity for spiritual energy. Cultivators with heavenly roots are often seen as destined for greatness.
As someone burdened with five-element spiritual roots, Hao Yu found himself at the lowest rung of this unforgiving hierarchy. His roots lacked the focus and efficiency needed for meaningful cultivation, scattering his efforts thinly across all five elements.
Progress was agonizingly slow, and every step forward felt like an insurmountable battle.
“To think I’ve been given such a trash body,” Hao Yu muttered bitterly. “In a world where talent is everything, I’m nothing more than a joke. A pebble on the path, destined to be stepped over as others soar toward the heavens.”
The weight of his circumstances pressed heavily on him, but he forced himself to move. Letting out a weary sigh, he bent low to pick a spiritual plant from the soil.
As a medicine boy in the Heavenly Sword Sect, this was his daily grind—tending to the spiritual plants that served as the foundation for the sect’s alchemy. These plants were invaluable, the key ingredients for pills that accelerated cultivation, healed injuries, and extended lifespans.
Precision was essential in this task. A single misstep—a stem snapped too early or a root damaged—would render the plant useless for refining. The consequences for carelessness were harsh: deductions from his already meager pay or even expulsion from the sect. Each plant required careful handling, and over time, the original Hao Yu had honed his technique to avoid mistakes.
His reward for this grueling labor? A mere one low-grade spiritual stone per month.
Spiritual stones in this world were more than just currency. Each stone was infused with spiritual energy, meticulously refined and concentrated, making them highly sought after by cultivators. They could be absorbed directly to boost one’s cultivation or traded for resources, techniques, and tools.
Hao Yu glanced at the pouch tied to his waist. The original owner of this body had managed to save just four low-grade spiritual stones after months of painstaking work.
His goal had been to save up ten stones to buy a basic sword manual—a rudimentary cultivation technique that would allow him to take his first step on the arduous path of cultivation.
But even that modest dream seemed impossibly distant now. Each spiritual plant in the garden was worth more than his entire monthly salary, and damaging even one would mean not only forfeiting his earnings but also incurring a compensation fee that could take months—or even years—to repay. The mere thought of such a scenario made Hao Yu's stomach churn, as if he'd swallowed a live wasp.
Hao Yu's face twisted into a grimace. But after assimilating all the memories of the original Hao Yu, he discovered an unexpected advantage—herb-picking now felt second nature to him.
It was a strange and pitiful thing to take pride in, yet he couldn’t deny a sliver of satisfaction. If there were a grand tournament for plucking herbs, he was certain he’d be crowned champion, perhaps even a legend among medicine boys. "Hao Yu, the Herb Picking God," he thought with a bitter smirk.
With practiced care, he crouched down and gently plucked the first spiritual plant, the Spirit Condensing Plant, from the soil.
As the roots left the earth, something strange happened. A flicker of light passed before his eyes. He blinked. Was that… a notification? His heart skipped a beat.
“Am I hallucinating?” Hao Yu muttered, furrowing his brow. He rubbed his eyes vigorously, blaming fatigue. But when he opened them again, his breath caught. Floating in the air, clear as day, was a glowing message:
[You have seized 5 years of lifespan from first-grade spiritual plant Spirit Condensing Plant.]
Hao Yu froze, staring at the text as his mind reeled. The words burned themselves into his brain, radiating an otherworldly authority. Five years of lifespan? Was this a joke? His lips parted, but no sound came out.
Then it hit him like a tidal wave. The absurdity, the impossibility, the sheer joy.
“I… I have a cheat!” he shouted, his voice echoing across the mountainside. The realization surged through him, adrenaline flooding his veins. He jumped to his feet, laughing like a madman. “I knew it! I’m not some cannon fodder destined to die in obscurity! The heavens have finally smiled on me!”
He threw his arms wide, as if embracing the heavens themselves, a triumphant grin stretching ear to ear. “With this power, who dares call me trash now? I’ll seize the heavens! I’ll rewrite my fate! Hao Yu, the Immortal Herb Reaper—wait, no, that sounds lame. Hao Yu, the Lifespan Overlord! Yes, much better!”