The dormitory for outer disciples of the Verdant Peak was called the Hall of Fallen Leaves, a name that sounded poetic but was really just a fancy way of saying it was a dump. It was a long, low building made of rough-hewn gray stone, its roof patched in places with mismatched tiles, its walls stained with decades of moss and damp. Inside, a narrow corridor ran the length of the building, lined with identical wooden doors, each one leading to a tiny, cramped cell that the sect generously called a room. My room was at the very end of the hall, the smallest and most neglected of the bunch. The door creaked when I pushed it open, and the smell that hit me was a mix of dust, stale air, and something faintly musty, like old paper left in a damp basement.
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me, leaning against it for a moment as my eyes adjusted to the dim light. The room was barely six feet by eight feet, with a single, narrow window high up on the wall that let in a sliver of pale evening light. The floor was bare stone, cold and uneven. There was no furniture to speak of. A thin, rolled-up mat in the corner served as a bed. A small, rickety wooden cupboard stood against one wall, its doors warped and its hinges rusted. And leaning against the wall beside the cupboard was a long sword in a plain wooden scabbard, the only possession of any value in the entire room. That was it. That was everything Xu Qinghe owned. No decorations. No comforts. No personal touches. Just a mat, a cupboard, and a sword.
I walked over to the mat and sat down, crossing my legs beneath me. The stone floor was cold and hard, and the mat did little to soften it. I looked around the room again, my gaze lingering on the bare walls, the empty cupboard, the lonely sword. Now that I realize it, I thought, Xu Qinghe was extremely poor. He spent everything he had on that pill. Every contribution point, every spirit stone, every scrap of savings. He poured it all into a single, desperate gamble, and in the end, it killed him. It killed him, and I took his place. The guilt was still there, a dull ache in the back of my mind, but I pushed it down. I couldn't afford to dwell on it. I had to focus. I had to survive.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. System, I thought, reaching out to the cold presence in the back of my mind. How long would it take me to master this new technique? The refined Azure Moon Breathing Art.
Estimated time to full mastery: one week and five days, assuming dedicated daily practice of no less than three hours.
That fast? I was genuinely surprised. I had expected months, maybe years. The original Azure Moon Breathing Art had taken Xu Qinghe years to learn, and he had never truly mastered it. But the refined version, according to the system, could be fully mastered in less than two weeks.
Host's current body has already achieved basic mastery of the original technique. The refined variation builds upon that foundation. Muscle memory, meridian pathways, and qi circulation patterns are already established. The learning process is therefore significantly accelerated. Additionally, the host's original soul possesses knowledge and cognitive patterns that enhance the assimilation of new information. The combination of the body's existing skills and the soul's learned experiences results in an accelerated learning curve.
My past life, I thought, the words heavy with unwanted memories. I didn't want to think about it. I didn't want to remember the sterile hospital room, the beeping monitors, the endless parade of doctors and nurses. I didn't want to remember the loneliness, the pain, the slow, agonizing decay of my body. But I couldn't help it. The system had mentioned my original soul, and now the memories were flooding back. I thought about Dr. Edward Denart, the man who had been more of a father to me than my own father. I thought about Sarah and Maria, the two nurses who had held my hand and cried for me. I hoped they were okay. I hoped they had found some peace after I was gone. I hoped they would have a much better life.
I shook my head, forcing the memories away. I couldn't afford to get lost in the past. I had a new life now, a new body, a new chance. I had to focus on the present. I looked through Xu Qinghe's memories, searching for information about his training, his techniques, his goals. What I found was... surprising. Xu Qinghe had planned to be a cultivator who focused on physical strength, hand-to-hand combat, and swordsmanship. He had spent years honing his body, practicing his forms, drilling his strikes. He had almost mastered the Azure Moon Sword Art, and his hand-to-hand combat skills were, by the standards of the outer disciples, pretty good. But he had neglected his water affinity. He had ignored the one advantage his spirit root gave him, focusing instead on brute force and blade work. It was a mistake. A fatal mistake.
I won't be making that mistake, I thought, a fierce determination rising in my chest. So what if I have a basic water affinity? I know everything about water. I know its chemistry, its physics, its states of matter. I know how it freezes, how it boils, how it flows. I know about surface tension, about capillary action, about the power of erosion. If I could discover how qi interacts with my knowledge and applications of water, I refuse to believe it would still be a basic affinity. I could turn a basic water affinity into something extraordinary. I could use my knowledge to create techniques that no one in this world had ever seen. But I also won't abandon Xu Qinghe's foundation. He spent years building it. He almost mastered the sword art. His body knows the forms, the strikes, the footwork. I would honor that. I would build on it. I would take his foundation and elevate it to something greater.
God, I thought, rubbing my temples. This would be so much better if I didn't have to live with the fact that I body-snatched him. Reading about a character transmigrating into a cultivation universe is one thing. You cheer for them, you admire their cheats, you enjoy their rise to power. But doing the same thing in reality is completely different. I was walking around in a dead boy's skin. I was using his memories, his skills, his relationships. I was living his life. And he was gone. I had killed him, or at least, I had taken his place after he died. It was a violation. It was theft. It was wrong. And yet, I couldn't undo it. I couldn't bring him back. All I could do was try to be worthy of the second chance I had been given.
I got up from the mat and stood in the center of the room. I closed my eyes and began to circulate qi around my body. It was a slow, deliberate process, following the pathways I had learned from the breathing art. The qi moved through my meridians like a gentle stream, warming my flesh, energizing my muscles, sharpening my senses. I felt it flow down my arms, into my hands, into my fingertips. I felt it flow down my legs, into my feet, into my toes. I felt it pool in my lower dantian, a warm, steady reservoir of power. It was different from before. Before, when I had practiced with Chen Yuxi, the qi had been reluctant, sluggish, resistant. Now, with the refined technique beginning to take hold, it moved more smoothly. It was still slow, still limited by my Mortal-Tier Spirit Root, but it was easier. It was less of a struggle.
I felt much stronger. Much more complete. It was a strange sensation, like a part of me that had been missing my entire life had finally been returned. I began to explore how qi affected my physical body, how it made me what I was. A cultivator. I flexed my fingers, feeling the qi strengthen the muscles, the tendons, the bones. I rolled my shoulders, feeling the qi lubricate the joints, ease the tension. I took a deep breath, feeling the qi fill my lungs, oxygenate my blood, energize every cell in my body. At Mid Stage Qi Awakening, I could now circulate qi at a more efficient level compared to being at Low Stage. The pathways were wider, the flow was faster, the reservoir was deeper. I was stronger. I was faster. I was more durable. And I was only at the middle of the first realm. I couldn't imagine what the higher realms would feel like.
I punched the air. There was a sharp crack, like the sound of a whip. The air itself seemed to split apart, a tiny shockwave rippling out from my fist. I stared at my hand, my eyes wide. I did it again, a straight punch, and the crack was louder this time. I tried a kick, a simple front snap kick, and the sound was like a small explosion. The air cracked, a visible distortion rippling through the space in front of me. I stood there, my heart pounding, my mind racing. I began to calculate. Just how much physical strength or force is needed to crack the air like that? I thought about the physics. The speed of sound. The density of air. The cross-sectional area of my fist. I estimated the velocity of my punch, the mass of my arm, the force of the impact. I compared it to what a normal human was able to generate. A trained boxer could punch with a force of around five hundred to a thousand pounds. A martial artist could generate even more. But this... this was different. This wasn't just force. This was force amplified by qi, concentrated into a single, devastating strike. I ran the numbers in my head, my jaw dropping as the implications sank in. I was generating force equivalent to a small car crash. I was punching with the power of an industrial press. I was kicking with the force of a wrecking ball. I was, by the standards of my past life, a superhuman. And I was only at Mid Stage Qi Awakening. higher than the bottom of the barrel. I sat down heavily, my legs suddenly weak. The shock was overwhelming. I had known, intellectually, that cultivators were powerful. I had read about their feats in novels, seen them animated in shows. But experiencing it firsthand was something else entirely. This was real. This was me. I was a cultivator. And I was just getting started.
I sat down and began to cultivate, following the refined Azure Moon Breathing Art. The system had given me the instructions, and I had memorized them, but experiencing them was different. It was similar to what Han Chen had described, but also completely different. The first step, Moonlit Stillness, was the same. Calm the mind. Regulate the breath. Become aware of the qi. But the refined version added a subtle twist. Instead of just becoming aware of the qi, I was instructed to visualize it as a swirling vortex, a whirlpool of energy that surrounded me, waiting to be drawn in. The second step, Azure Inhalation, was where the differences became stark. The original technique instructed the cultivator to breathe in the qi through the nose, drawing it into the lungs. The refined version instructed me to breathe through both the nose and the skin, creating a suction effect that pulled the qi into my body from all directions. It was a strange sensation, like being submerged in a warm bath, the energy seeping into my pores, my flesh, my bones. The third step, Circulation of the Moon, was where the true genius of the refinement revealed itself. The original technique had a single, linear pathway for the qi to follow. The refined version had a spiraling, helical pathway that wound through the meridians, creating a centrifugal force that pushed the qi deeper, faster, more efficiently. It was like comparing a lazy river to a raging rapid. The qi didn't just flow. It raced. It surged. It roared through my meridians, scouring away blockages, widening pathways, strengthening the walls. The fourth step, Azure Condensation, was where the efficiency really showed. The original technique simply gathered the qi in the dantian, letting it pool like water in a basin. The refined version compressed the qi, forcing it into a denser, more concentrated form. It was like turning steam into water, and water into ice. The qi in my dantian became heavier, more solid, more potent. And the fifth step, Returning to Stillness, was the same in name but different in practice. Instead of just settling the qi, I was instructed to leave a small, residual current circulating through my body, a passive loop that would continue to draw in and refine qi even after I stopped actively cultivating.
I felt the difference immediately, and it shocked me. When I was cultivating with Chen Yuxi, using the original technique, it took me ten minutes to absorb four wisps of qi. The process was agonizing, a constant struggle against the resistance of my own body. But now, with the refined technique, even without complete mastery, I was absorbing six wisps in eight minutes. That was a fifty percent increase in efficiency, and I was only a few hours into the learning process. I ran the calculations in my head. If I could absorb six wisps in eight minutes now, then in an hour, I could absorb forty-five wisps. In three hours of dedicated practice, I could absorb one hundred and thirty-five wisps. And that was without the passive cultivation effect. Once I fully mastered the technique, once the passive loop was fully active, I would be absorbing qi constantly, even in my sleep, even while eating, even while walking. My cultivation would never stop. I would be growing stronger every second of every day. The implications were staggering. I could catch up. I could surpass. I could become something more than a background character.
I'll find out how much weights cost, I thought, my mind already racing ahead. I'll use them to physically train myself. I need to build my strength, my speed, my endurance. The qi enhances my body, but I need a strong foundation to build on. Tomorrow's schedule would be simple. Cultivate in the morning for three hours. Then practice hand-to-hand combat. Then the Azure Moon Sword Art. I'll see if I can get the system to analyze and refine the sword art too. And I'll need to look for jobs to perform. I need resources. Even the lowest-tier spirit stones would be better than nothing. I need contribution points. I need pills. I need manuals. I need everything.
I asked the system, my mental voice curious.
Ethan:The refined Azure Moon Breathing Art is a Quasi-Spirit Grade technique. And yet, it's so broken. I can literally cultivate in my sleep. At all times. It's like a cheat code. Would Spirit Tier techniques be even more broken?
Spirit Tier techniques are fundamentally more advanced than Mortal Tier techniques. They operate on different principles, utilize higher forms of energy, and produce exponentially greater effects. A Spirit Tier breathing art, for example, would not merely absorb ambient qi. It would actively purify and refine it, removing impurities and increasing its potency.A Spirit Tier sword art would not merely cut flesh and bone. It would sever spiritual energy, disrupt meridians, and damage the soul itself. A Spirit Tier movement technique would not merely increase speed. It would allow short-range teleportation, phasing through obstacles, and stepping through space itself. However, Spirit Tier techniques are also exponentially more difficult to learn, require significantly more qi to execute, and place enormous strain on the cultivator's body and soul. They are not merely upgrades. They are transformations. They change the very nature of the cultivator who wields them. The Quasi-Spirit Grade refinement of the Azure Moon Breathing Art is impressive, but it is still fundamentally a Mortal Tier technique. It has been optimized to its absolute limit, but it cannot transcend its original grade. To truly experience the power of a Spirit Tier technique, the host would need to obtain one. And Spirit Tier techniques are not freely distributed to outer disciples. They must be earned. Through contribution points. Through advancement. Through proving one's worth.
I nodded slowly, absorbing the information. So I had a long way to go. A very long way. But I had a system. I had a plan. I had a foundation. And I had time. I laid down on the thin mat, staring up at the dark ceiling. The room was cold, the floor was hard, and the silence was absolute. But I didn't mind. I had endured worse. I had endured a lifetime of pain and loneliness and fear. This was nothing. This was just the beginning. I closed my eyes and let the passive cultivation effect of the refined breathing art begin to work, drawing in tiny wisps of qi even as I drifted towards sleep. Tomorrow, I would train. Tomorrow, I would work.