Fourteen days. The stranger's jaw clenched as he sat cross-legged on his sleeping mat, threefold power threading through his skull like liquid silver. Fourteen damn days since that dream had shattered everything he thought he knew about cultivation—precious time wasted while Cang's power grew like a shadow over the compound. His fingers dug into his palms, remembering the bitter moment when he'd realized all his progress was built on sand.
The revelation of the three treasures had shaken his understanding of cultivation to its core. While most cultivators focused solely on qi in the lower dantian—a path he'd been following with remarkable speed and success—that dream had shown him a deeper truth. It whispered of knowledge far older than the current cultivation arts, demanding he integrate all three treasures: qi, shen, and jing.
He had awoken shaken, his heart pounding as fragments of the dream lingered like fading echoes. The vision had felt more like a memory than a dream, just like the others. But how could that be? The raw power and majesty of those beings defied reality—or at least the science of his previous world. The question gnawed at him, adding another layer to the growing mysteries of his existence.
“Layers,” he muttered to himself with a bitter smile, “like a damn ogre.”
The interplay of qi, shen, and jing was nothing short of transformative—knowledge beyond priceless in a world where such secrets had been lost to time. The path delved deeper than spirit alone, weaving through body and mind in equal measure. The sheer scope left him breathless, as if he stood at the edge of a vast and bottomless ocean. To immortalize all three...
Dark, putrid oil oozed from his pores as the threefold power pushed deeper into his bone. The stench was worse than anything produced during organ purification—a nauseating mix of rancid meat and corroded metal. He wrinkled his nose; this level of impurities was more like what he'd expected from his original purification process. Still, there was no agonizing pain. If he was right about the projected outcomes, the temporary discomfort would be worth the advantage it would give him.
Shen cultivation had come easily enough—he'd already accidentally ignited his upper dantian. But jing? That had been pure trial and error. Two days of increasingly frustrated attempts to gather and condense it in his middle dantian, until he'd stumbled upon the truth during his nightly kata practice. The answer wasn't just in breathing—it was in movement.
Though he'd mastered qi circulation during his kata—the energy flowing naturally through each movement of Kusanku—it had never occurred to him to attempt the same with jing. He'd tried everything else, growing more frustrated with each failed attempt. Then, almost as an afterthought born of desperation, he'd wondered: why not try it during his daily workout? The moment he did, everything clicked into place. His breathing and jing circulation synchronized perfectly with the familiar movements, drawing the essence into his middle dantian with unexpected efficiency. Still, jing cultivation proved significantly slower than either qi or shen workings, its nature demanding more patience. Where qi moved like water and shen like light, jing felt more... substantial. Dense. Like mercury flowing through his meridians.
Four days to fill his middle dantian and another four days to enlarge it to match his other two dantians would probably have him considered a genius. He knew by now from memories and dreams that his progress was unprecedented. There was something different about his body—something that went beyond mere talent or determination. Part of it seemed to be the strange lack of impurities throughout his physical form, as if his body had already undergone several layers of purification before he'd even begun. The realization was troubling—he had only started his cultivation journey eighteen days ago.
He shifted slightly, maintaining his focus on his skull's dense matrix. The layered technique required for bone enhancement differed significantly from organ cultivation—where organs were malleable, responsive to his threefold power's flow, bone was stubborn, resistant. Like trying to reshape steel rather than clay. The purified sections seemed to gleam in his spiritual sense, in contrast to the dull, contaminated areas still needing work. Achieving this level of purification had only become possible after finally learning to weave the three energies together.
Only after awakening his upper dantian did he discover an uncomfortable truth—his prior cultivation attempts had plateaued at around 80% efficiency. Using qi alone was like trying to clean a window with dirty water—you could only get so far. The combination of all three treasures worked at a deeper level, stripping away impurities he hadn't known existed.
A muscle in his jaw jumped as he remembered the revelation—he'd have to start over from the beginning. Purify every organ again, rebuild every foundation. Eight days of work, methodically dismantled and reconstructed. His only consolation was how much faster the process moved this time, powered by his understanding of the three treasures. His previous speed had already been remarkable—but still, it was the principle of the thing.
The physical changes from igniting his middle dantian had been subtle compared to the mental chaos that followed his upper dantian awakening. Increased strength and agility, yes, and better stamina—but nothing like the overwhelming sensory assault that had nearly driven him mad. He supposed he should be grateful for that small mercy, though gratitude was hard to come by when contemplating the time lost to this reset.
Time slipped away as Cang grew stronger. The signs were impossible to miss—Cang's increasingly precise qi control, the way he tested the Leash's boundaries, how his spiritual presence reached further each day. Soon the core formation cultivator would find a way to harness more power, Leash or no Leash. When that happened, confrontation would be inevitable. The thought stole his sleep—though even that held a silver lining. His awakened dantians required less rest, turning those sleepless hours into precious time to prepare.
His thoughts turned to escape routes—or rather, the lack of them. According to Yuechuang, they faced two equally daunting options: brave the uncertain horrors of the forbidden zone, or attempt to fight through an army of cultivators. Neither prospect offered much hope, but he couldn't ignore the growing urgency to find a way out. With Cang's power increasing daily, staying put might soon become the most dangerous choice of all.
His nightly sessions had evolved into a precise choreography. During the day, cultivating qi and shen had become almost second nature—especially shen, which seemed to flow into his upper dantian with remarkable ease. Sometimes he wondered if his expanding mind made shen cultivation naturally easier, creating a feedback loop of spiritual and mental growth.
After his evening meetings with Yuechuang, he would settle into meditation before taking his brief rest. Upon waking, another meditation session centered him before beginning the grueling work of body purification, letting his threefold power strip away impurities. Then came the kata practice. He rounded out his nights with calisthenics, each exercise now doubly purposeful: strengthening his body while gathering more jing into his middle dantian.
He had practically dropped his investigation into magic, needing that time to catch up. But he looked forward to resuming his studies—ironic, given how he'd hated school in his previous life. Now he found himself longing for more time to learn.
The stranger exhaled slowly. His spiritual sense traced the completed work through his skeletal system with satisfaction. Only the muscles, skin, and nervous system remained for purification. At his current pace, perhaps three more days would see his body's transformation complete.
His thoughts drifted to his nightly meetings with Yuechuang over the past two weeks. Their conversations had opened his eyes to how little he truly understood about this world. He'd been surprised to learn that mortals, not cultivators, held the reins of imperial power—a mandate of heaven requiring human emperors to prevent immortal rulers from losing touch with their mortal subjects. Though cultivators wielded enormous influence through their sects and behind-the-scenes machinations, the empire's governance remained firmly in mortal hands.
The Huang clan, who controlled this province, exemplified that delicate balance of power. Second only to the imperial family in influence, they maintained their authority through a complex web of mortal officials and cultivator allies. The stranger smiled wryly, remembering how confidently wrong his initial assumptions about the empire's power structure had been.
Their discussions had gradually shifted from politics to cultivation as Yuechuang sought his insight into various cultivation topics. He found himself making adjustments to her body fortification methods, refining both her meridian and node cleansing approach, even suggesting modifications to her healing technique. The knowledge flowed from him naturally, though its source remained a mystery—which led to his current predicament.
He grimaced, guilt gnawing at him. He still hadn't told her that he'd only begun cultivating himself mere weeks ago. Every time the opportunity arose, he found himself offering another technique or insight instead. The longer it went on, the harder it became to admit the truth. She'd even asked to "trade pointers" several times with “senior”, which he'd carefully deflected.
An idle thought crossed his mind as he considered her cultivation progress—she would need a specialized pill to complete her purification properly. The certainty of this knowledge bothered him as much as his ability to help refine her techniques.
Shaking his head, the stranger rose from his position, amazed once again how limber his muscles remained despite sitting motionless for so long. Time for the active portion of his cultivation. In hindsight it was obvious—jing was the essence of the physical form, so of course movement would enhance its absorption.
He settled into the opening stance of Kusanku, focusing solely on jing cultivation. He'd learned that lesson the hard way—attempting to cultivate all three energies simultaneously had been a mistake he wouldn't soon forget. The energies had collapsed in on themselves, reverting explosively back to raw chi. The resulting backlash had left him curled up on his sleeping mat for hours, every meridian feeling like it had been scraped raw.
There had to be a way to cultivate all three simultaneously, to create some kind of unified cycle. He could feel it—like a word on the tip of his tongue or a pattern just beyond his grasp. For now, though, he could only combine them for specific purposes, like his body reinforcement work. Even that had taken days of careful experimentation to achieve without the energies destabilizing.
The kata itself had evolved far beyond its original form. While he'd maintained the close-quarter fighting principles of Shorin-ryu, the movements now incorporated cultivation principles in ways that would have been impossible on Earth. Perhaps it deserved a new name to reflect this transformation—Kusanku no Baorong, though he still hesitated to adopt either "Baorong" or "Xíngzhe" for himself. The names felt like masks he wore rather than true identities.
For now, he focused on perfecting this single form rather than creating new ones. His breakthrough into qi foundation building remained his priority, though questions about achieving similar breakthroughs in shen and jing cultivation nagged at him. Traditional texts didn't speak of them at all—another reminder that his path diverged from normal cultivation methods.
* * *
Pickaxes struck stone in steady rhythm, mixing with grunts of effort and scraping metal. The stranger maintained his methodical pace, cycling qi through his meridians while appearing to be just another laborer. His newly mastered threefold awareness transformed the dreary mine tunnel into a tapestry of overlapping realities—each sense revealing a different layer of truth.
Consciousness signatures wove through the air in threads of bluish-white light, brightest around cultivators' upper dantians. Life forces pulsed in shades of green, from the pale sage of worn-down miners to the brilliant emerald of core formation cultivators. Raw qi flickered golden, revealing both the chi-rich ore veins and the careful manipulation of power.
Among the varied life forces in the tunnel, Cang's emerald signature had always stood out—the only core formation cultivator among the slaves. The stranger had discovered this shortly after awakening his life sense, raising uncomfortable questions about why such a powerful cultivator was imprisoned here at all. While Cang could masterfully suppress his qi, he seemed unaware that his life force blazed like a beacon to those rare few who could perceive it.
Their five-person wagon group worked the deepest point of the western shaft, far from the main tunnel. The stranger tracked Guard Chen's retreating signature—the cultivator's absence too convenient, leaving only Liu to watch their section. Not coincidental. The stranger had detected Liu's qi flickering with deception when manufacturing reasons to send Chen to investigate phantom disturbances.
"The worst part about being stuck in the mines is missing the Emperor's Tournament this year," Old Wei's voice carried softly over the steady rhythm of mining.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
"You mean the Heaven's Will Tournament? Yeah, heard the last one nearly bankrupted the Jin Clan," Ling muttered, his pickaxe striking a particularly stubborn vein of ore. "Lost everything betting against the Divine Dragon sect in the finals."
"My cousin competed in the last one, ten years ago," Wei said with a touch of pride.
"Yeah? How'd that go?"
The stranger's attention stayed fixed on Cang's wagon group, working just around the bend. Cang's killing intent was leaking, his emotions cold, as his controlled earth qi probed the tunnel ceiling near the stranger—testing, measuring, calculating the perfect spot for collapse. Liu's position gave him perfect sight lines to both groups, his qi signature thrumming with anticipation.
So this is it then. A flicker of anxiety tightened in his chest. He'd known this confrontation was coming, but the reality of it still sent a chill through his meridians.
"Placed 327th in the Yongding Province qualifier," Wei said proudly. "Out of over hundred thousand competitors. Would've made the provincial finals too if he hadn't drawn Young Master Zhou in the elimination round."
"That's damn impressive," Ling whistled low. "Most cultivators don't make it past their county qualifiers."
"The prize this year is supposed to be unprecedented," Young Feng added, wiping sweat from his brow. "They say the Emperor himself will grant the winning sect limited access to the Imperial Library's restricted cultivation resources."
The stranger adjusted his footing, watching as Yuzhe—the annoying young man who'd spread those damn rumors about him—unconsciously mimicked each movement. The young man's eyes kept darting his way, raw admiration bleeding through his attempts at discretion.
"The manuals bestowed by the Heavens?" Ling whistled low. "No wonder the major sects are sending their best disciples. Even the Huang clan is participating this year."
Cang's qi pulsed against the ceiling like probing fingers searching for weakness, each touch a display of masterful control. Liu's breathing steadied as he shifted to keep both groups in view.
"The Huang?" Wei's voice dropped even lower. "Thought they were still in mourning after losing their young mistress. What was her name... Yuechuang?"
"Shows what you know," Young Feng scoffed. "That was three years ago. Besides, they're saying this tournament is different. Something about ancient techniques resurfacing."
Dust trickled from the ceiling as Cang's qi pulsed again, the particles invisible to mortal eyes. The stranger mapped their descent, calculating the impact zone. Cang was being precise, ensuring the rocks would only hit a specific area.
"Ancient techniques?" Ling's pickaxe slowed. "Like the legendary techniques of Pohuzhe?"
The stranger's grip tensed on his tool as Cang's qi flickered with sudden interest at the name, though his assault on the ceiling never paused.
"Just stories," Wei scoffed. "True ascension demands focus on one path. Chase multiple daos and you'll only find madness."
A bead of sweat traced down Yuzhe's temple as his eyes darted between the stranger and their surroundings. His qi signature pulsed with unease—sensing danger without understanding its source.
Liu shifted, fingers drumming the sword at his hip—a casual gesture that blocked the tunnel's quickest escape route.
"But the prize..." Young Feng persisted, his voice carrying an edge of desperate longing. "Access to the Imperial Library—imagine what secrets lie within those walls. They say even the Divine Dragon sect's current techniques are just shadows of what's recorded there."
The stranger tracked another pulse of Cang's qi, stronger than the previous ones. More dust trickled down, accompanied by the faintest creak of stressed stone. Cang was orchestrating this disaster with the precision of a movie villain, each qi pulse building tension for the perfect strike—like Spielberg crafting the suspense before the shark attack.
"Secrets?" Ling snorted. "The real prize is the Emperor's favor. Ten years ago, the winning sect's patriarch was granted a private audience. Next thing anyone knew, they had exclusive mining rights in three provinces."
The stranger shifted his stance incrementally, positioning himself just outside the calculated fall zone. He could detect the web of cracks Cang was creating above—an intricate pattern designed to look random when it finally collapsed.
"My cousin says—" Wei started, but fell silent as a small stone clattered down nearby.
Yuzhe's breath caught, his qi signature spiking as his gaze snapped upward. The stranger watched realization flood those eyes as weeks of hero-worship transformed into horrified understanding.
Cang's qi surged suddenly, the careful probing replaced by focused intent. The stranger felt the precise moment when the weakened stone structure began to fail. In the split second before the collapse, time seemed to slow, presenting each moment with cruel clarity.
"Master, look out!" Yuzhe's voice shattered the tension. The young man lunged forward, trying to access his qi through the pain of the Leash.
The stranger's muscles tensed to move, primal fear freezing him in place as his mind raced through calculations—knowing he was safe, knowing the trajectories, knowing he should move to save Yuzhe. But the paralyzing thought of his own death kept him rooted. The stranger watched Yuzhe's body arc through the air, his mind captured the moment with ruthless clarity—Yuzhe's meridians rupturing, his core fracturing as he forced power through the Leash's constraints. Their eyes met for a fraction of second—Yuzhe's filled with desperate determination, the stranger's with horrified realization—before the avalanche struck.
In the aftermath of the collapse, dust filled the air like a ghostly shroud. The stranger mapped every detail with merciless precision—the settling of stones, the shocked qi signatures of the other miners, the way Liu's hand tightened on his sword hilt, the scattered fragments of Yuzhe's life force already fading into the mountain's deep green pulse. And Cang's predatory attention, laser-focused through the settling debris. Even if Yuzhe had somehow survived the rockfall, the stranger knew with sickening certainty that the young man's cultivation would have been irreparably shattered. The Leash's backlash had torn through his meridians like molten steel, all in a futile attempt to save someone who hadn't needed saving.
"Everyone back!" Liu's voice cracked through the tunnel. "Away from the fall zone!" His commands carried practiced authority, masking the satisfaction in his qi.
The stranger remained motionless, rage and shame burning through his veins as he stared at the pile of rocks that now entombed Yuzhe. His hands trembled, fingers digging crescents into his palms as bitter bile rose in his throat. He'd let fear win. Let an innocent lose their life to maintain his own. Through the dust, his eyes met Cang's, and cold fury replaced his self-loathing. The core formation cultivator's satisfied smirk made the stranger's qi roil with barely contained violence. Their mutual understanding clear—the stranger's positioning had been too perfect, his reaction too measured. No foundation realm cultivator could have read the collapse pattern with such precision. Just as no mere mining accident could have targeted the rock structure so precisely.
"You there, 53721, run and alert the other guards," Liu ordered, moving forward with careful steps. "The rest of you, stay back until we've assessed the stability."
Cang's smile remained fixed, but the stranger caught the subtle shift in his qi—like a predator reassessing more dangerous prey. The failed assassination attempt had revealed too much on both sides. Through the dust, he noted the infinitesimal narrowing of eyes, the slight adjustment in stance, the surge of qi. Core formation power, no longer fully hidden.
Liu knelt beside the rockfall, making a show of checking for signs of life. The stranger detected the guard's qi probing the rocks, confirming what they already knew. No heartbeat. No qi signature. Just cooling flesh beneath tons of stone.
"He's gone," Liu announced, his voice carrying appropriate gravity. The other miners murmured prayers or curses, their signatures flickering with genuine grief and fear. They'd all lost friends to the mines before. Only the stranger caught the carefully suppressed satisfaction flowing between Liu and Cang.
The stranger finally moved, taking a single step back from the rockfall. His movement drew every eye, particularly Cang's predatory gaze. They both knew now—the careful dance of hidden strength was over. The only question was what would come next.
"A tragic accident," Cang said softly, his words carrying to the stranger through the settling dust. "The mines can be so dangerous." His tone was perfect—sympathetic, concerned, with just enough edge to convey the real message: This isn't over.
The stranger inclined his head slightly, acknowledging both the spoken and unspoken communication. Yuzhe's death lay between them like a thrown gauntlet. Both knew this was only the beginning.
* * *
They sat deep in a maintenance tunnel, beyond the reach of even echoing whispers. A spirit stone lamp cast pools of soft blue light between them, carving deeper shadows into the rough-hewn walls. His threefold awareness painted the surrounding tunnels in layers of perception—life forces pulsed in varied shades of green from distant cells while consciousness signatures wove bluish-white threads through ancient stone. Yuechuang's presence drew his attention, her jade life force burning bright despite her carefully muted qi, her thoughts and emotions weaving intricate patterns in the air between them.
"Fear?" Yuechuang's voice carried a hint of disdain, but her expression showed more curiosity than judgment. "A cultivator should transcend such base emotions. My master would say fear is like dust on a mirror—it obscures our true nature."
The stranger considered this. "And yet even immortals use protective formations. Even sects build walls."
"That's different. Preparation and caution come from wisdom. Fear..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "Fear clouds judgment. It disrupts qi flow. Makes cultivation impossible." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "But you already know this. I've seen you fight. You moved like someone who has reached—" She stopped herself, clearly remembering his apparent memory loss.
"I know the theory," he said quietly. "That we should rise above mortal concerns. But tell me honestly—in your first year here, did you never feel afraid?"
Yuechuang's fingers tightened around the spirit stone lamp. Her consciousness signature flickered with old pain, and for a moment, he thought she wouldn't answer.
"The first time I saw a deep delver tear someone apart," she finally said, "I didn't sleep for three days. But that's exactly why fear must be conquered. It's like..." She gestured at the stone walls around them. "Like trying to break through stone with a blade of grass. The fear accomplishes nothing except wearing you down."
"Unless," the stranger suggested, "the fear itself is trying to tell us something important."
She looked at him sharply. "What do you mean?"
"In my case, it's telling me I'm trapped. Helpless. At the mercy of forces I can't control." He met her gaze steadily. "Ignoring that truth doesn't make it less true."
"Then what's your solution? Wallow in fear like a mortal?"
"No. But maybe instead of trying to transcend it, we could..." He searched for the right words. "Transform it. Like how cultivators transform qi into spiritual energy. Channel it into something useful."
Yuechuang was silent for a long moment, considering this. When she spoke again, her voice had lost its edge of condescension. "My master once told me about ancient cultivators who used fear as a catalyst. They believed true transcendence came not from rejecting mortal emotions, but from fully understanding them." Her lip curled slightly. "I always thought it was nonsense. Weaker cultivators making excuses."
"And now?"
She met his eyes. "Now I've seen you do things that should have been impossible. If you say fear can be transformed..." She shrugged. "Perhaps there are paths to power I don't understand."
The stranger nodded slowly. "Or perhaps we're both right. Maybe some fears need to be transcended, while others need to be understood. The trick is knowing the difference."
"A convenient philosophy," she said, but her consciousness signature rippled with curiosity despite her skeptical tone. "Though I wonder why someone of your... capabilities chooses to remain here at all."
"The timing isn't right," he said carefully, watching the patterns of suspicion and interest weave through her consciousness signature. "And there are things I need to understand first."
Yuechuang studied him, her jade life force pulsing steadily while her consciousness signature sharpened with intent. "Then perhaps we can help each other understand. You see things differently than any cultivator I've known." She paused, her qi signature shifting subtly. "What do you make of the sealed door in the deep tunnels? The one with the void-script warnings?"
The stranger noted the careful calculation beneath her casual tone. A familiar dance of secrets and half-truths—but one that trapped him in an impossible position. How could he explain that his cultivation journey had begun mere weeks ago when his knowledge and instincts already far surpassed what should be possible? No, better to let her assume he deliberately masked his power than admit to mysteries he couldn't explain. After everything he'd revealed, she'd never believe the truth anyway. "I haven't had the chance to examine it closely. Have you?"
"Not as closely as I'd like." Her consciousness signature twisted with something that might have been frustration or anticipation. "The deep delvers guard it. Though they seem... less hostile when you're nearby."
The implication hung in the air between them. The stranger kept his expression neutral even as his mind raced. First Cang's failed assassination attempt, and now this subtle probe from Yuechuang. Everyone seemed convinced he held keys to mysteries he couldn't even remember.
"The deep delvers make interesting choices about what they guard," he said carefully. "And who they fear."
Yuechuang's lip curled slightly. "Indeed. Almost as interesting as your choices about what secrets you keep."
The air grew heavy with unspoken questions. Through his threefold awareness, he could see ancient echoes of consciousness signatures in the stone around them—fragments of fear, desperation, and something else. Something older. Something that whispered of connections between the sealed door, the deep delvers, and his own fractured memories.