Hengsheng walked toward the Library Hall, located on the north side of the Lan Clan’s land. Leading the way was the First Elder, a silent yet imposing figure whose cultivation radiated an air of authority. As they approached the towering structure, the elder finally broke his silence.
“The patriarch has decreed that you will write a detailed book on your technique here. You are not permitted to leave until it is complete.”
Hengsheng nodded, fully aware of the significance of this task. A technique like his, even if limited to low-level cultivators, was a valuable addition to the clan’s foundation. It wasn’t a matter of choice; the elders had decided it was too important to be left undocumented.
The First Elder continued, his voice steady and devoid of emotion. “There will, of course, be a reward. You are granted the right to borrow any book from the first floor of the Library Hall. Furthermore, once your technique is proven authentic and effective, you will be given access to the rest of the library, excluding the top three floors. Those are reserved for only the highest-ranking members of the clan.”
Excitement bubbled up in Hengsheng despite the elder’s monotone delivery. Access to the clan’s library had always been tightly restricted. Knowledge was power in this world, even more so than on Earth. To monopolize advanced techniques and cultivation methods was to control life and death itself. Hengsheng had long been curious about what lay within the library’s walls. Now, he had a chance to find out.
As they reached the towering Library Hall, Hengsheng marveled at its grandeur. The structure stood over 30 meters tall, its surface etched with ancient runes that shimmered faintly in the sunlight. This was his first time up close, having only glimpsed it from afar before. The massive doors creaked open, revealing the figure of the elder librarian, who stepped out to greet them.
The librarian’s gaze flicked between the First Elder and Hengsheng, surprise flashing briefly in his eyes before he offered a respectful bow. “First Elder.”
“I leave him in your care,” the First Elder said curtly, turning on his heel and walking away without another word.
The librarian gestured for Hengsheng to follow him inside. The cool air within the hall carried the faint scent of parchment and ink, and the towering shelves lined with books seemed to stretch endlessly upward. Hengsheng followed the librarian through a winding path, eventually arriving at a secluded chamber.
The room was sparse, containing only a table and chair in the center. The librarian gestured toward the space. “You will remain here until your work is finished. A servant will bring you the necessary tools shortly.” Without further explanation, the librarian turned and left, leaving Hengsheng alone in the quiet room.
Hengsheng, now left alone, felt a wave of relief wash over him. His immediate task was clear: finish the work here, and he could finally focus on preparing for cultivation. He knew he was far behind the other children in the clan. While they had been nurtured with natural treasures to enhance their mortal bodies to their peak and ready to form the spirit body right away, Hengsheng had subsisted on ordinary food for years, leaving him with immense impurities.
Still, he wasn’t worried. He had already designed a system to purge the impurities from his body, but even that wouldn’t be enough. To forge his mortal body to its limits, he would need natural treasures for their energy and essence. He hoped the clan would support him after this, especially now that he was no longer a mere mortal.
Over the past nine years, Hengsheng had tested his system and mind space daily, pushing their capabilities to their limits. Through this relentless experimentation, he had come to understand the essence of their function. The system didn’t create something out of nothing; their true power lay in their ability to [Skip the process]. He didn’t need to understand every intricate method; as long as he had a general idea of what was possible and enough energy to sustain it within his body, he could create a working system. Naturally, the more he understood, the more potent the system would become.
Now, however, he faced a daunting challenge: transforming his Spirit Core Creation System into a usable technique. He had never anticipated having to formalize it this way. As he waited for the servant to bring paper and ink, Hengsheng closed his eyes and entered his mind space.
The familiar landscape was wiped clean as he reset everything to a blank, endless white void. He didn’t want any distractions. Then, He sped up the flow of time within his mind space, making the world outside seem to slow to a crawl, creating an environment where he could think deeply and carefully without the pressure of the real world’s clock.
Crafting the technique wouldn’t be as simple as making a wish. Even though he could design something functional within the mind space, it might not work in the real world due to differences in natural laws. Altering the mind space’s laws to match reality wasn’t feasible either; he lacked the deep understanding of the dao laws that governed the cultivation world.
His best option was to analyze the data from his Spirit Core formation experiments, translate the process into text, and simulate it within the mind space. This method would yield the closest approximation to a viable technique without risking another confrontation with the Heavenly Dao.
Hengsheng immediately began his work. He wished for a supercomputer with an AI trillions of times more powerful than anything Earth had known. Next, he wished to convert his system’s core creation processes into analyzable data and fed it into the computer for simulation.
Moments later, the supercomputer produced millions of technique examples. Hengsheng began reviewing them one by one. As he examined the first technique, he was stunned. It started with a method to control caloric energy—or blood qi, as it was known in the cultivation world—through specific movements and cycles within the body. Gradually, this process would form the Spirit Core while also drawing qi from the environment to aid in its creation.
“It’s incredible!” Hengsheng murmured, unable to hide his amazement.
Hengsheng considered the potential of this method, realizing it could be applied to other cultivation techniques. With his system and mind space, he might even crack existing techniques and create something far superior. Driven by this idea, he selected the top 100 most effective Spirit Core formation techniques generated by the AI and wished for a group of test subjects.
In an instant, 1,000,000 mortal figures appeared in his mind space. He assigned 1,000 of them to practice each of the 100 techniques and sped up the flow of time. The results came quickly. The best technique had an astounding success rate of 85%, while the second-best had a significantly lower success rate of 49%.
Curious, Hengsheng picked up the top-rated technique to analyze it. As he read through it, his amazement grew. This method was truly remarkable—reliance on worshipping heaven and earth. use the power of heaven and earth to gather the destiny of the mortal world, gradually transforming the mortal’s fate into that of a cultivator. Though it required a minimum of 10 years to form a Spirit Core, its high success rate and low risk of heavenly punishment made it an ideal option. The heavens themselves seemed to grant mortals a new status through this method.
“Is this even possible?” Hengsheng muttered. “Did the AI pull off some nonsense again?”
If this technique worked in the real world, it could be classified as a Dao technique—an exceedingly rare type that harmonized with the powers of heaven and earth.
He then turned to the second-best technique. Unlike the first, it was intensely demanding and difficult. Most five-year-old children wouldn’t be able to endure the rigorous process, making it better suited for those starting at age 12. Even then, it required three years of grueling practice to form a Spirit Core. While fast, this method carried significant risks, including the possibility of triggering a heavenly tribulation like his own.
Hengsheng pondered his options carefully. In the end, he decided to bring both techniques into the real world. He had confidence in the second method, as it was an improved version of the system-generated process he had used himself. For mortals who refused to give up on the path to immortality, this method offered a chance worth the risk.
As for the best technique, its origins concerned him. Half of it was deduced by the AI, leaving him uncertain about its practicality in the real world. Yet, if it worked, it wouldn’t only benefit mortals; it could also serve as a profound resource for cultivators seeking to study the Dao hidden within its structure.
Just then, a servant entered the room, placing tools and supplies on the table. Hengsheng sat down, ready to begin transcribing the techniques, when another challenge struck him:
“What am I going to name these?”