Chapter 16
Chapter 16: Strange
Mortals existed in the Heng Yun world too.
Even cultivators sometimes bore children without spirit roots. It wasn’t rare enough to be shocking—just a fact people learned and accepted.
When the Ling Zhen Sect selected menial servants for its official disciples, it often started with the disciples’ clans.
Wang Chu Yan was a case in point. She had a capable brother. Though he possessed only three spirit roots, he had been born unusually bright, and his progress as a spell cultivator far outstripped that of other disciples.
An elder took notice of Wang Fang and accepted him as a disciple. As an exception, he was granted the chance to select a menial servant early, which allowed Wang Chu Yan to enter the sect as well.
But not every cultivator had the shelter of a sect or a clan. For most, the beginning of their path came through chance—an accident, an encounter, a stroke of fortune. Once they drew qi into their bodies, they began the life known as that of a rogue cultivator.
Setting aside a handful of powerful loners who refused to be bound by sect rules, the overwhelming majority of rogue cultivators were weak. They hovered in the early and middle Qi Refining Stage, never pushing through.
They lived and mingled with mortals, forming settlements that grew into cities—some large, some small.
The group Zhao Chun was traveling with this time was headed to one such place: Ji City, a mid-sized city.
Hong Qi Sheng came from a rough background. During an escort job, bandits injured him badly. He was only saved because a passing major cultivator took pity and gifted him a pill. Hong Qi Sheng drew qi into his body on the spot—and not only that: he climbed all the way to mid Qi Refining Stage, and the major cultivator even taught him cultivation arts.
But he had already been in his thirties then. He also had four spirit roots. Joining a sect was out of the question.
After many twists of fate, Hong Qi Sheng arrived in Ji City, married, had children, and settled down.
His wife and daughter were both mortals. They could not inherit his arts. Terrified of leaving no successor behind, Hong Qi Sheng began to consider recruiting a son-in-law for his daughter.
He wanted someone honest and loyal—someone broad-minded. He didn’t demand exceptional talent. He only demanded diligence in cultivation and genuine care for his only daughter.
The moment the news spread, young men all over the city were delighted.
Hong Qi Sheng held considerable status in Ji City. And beyond that, his daughter, Hong Qian, was famous for her beauty—lovely features, a graceful figure, the kind of girl people whispered about before they even saw her.
Power and a beauty—who wouldn’t want both?
Hong Qi Sheng spent money to post a notice within the Ling Zhen Sect. On the one hand, he needed help verifying which candidates had spirit roots; he lacked the necessary treasure to do it himself.
On the other hand, the cultivation arts passed down by that major cultivator were more refined than what most rogue cultivators could hope to obtain. People had coveted them for years. Hong Qi Sheng, sitting at mid Qi Refining Stage, was difficult to move against directly.
But a future son-in-law would be different. Someone newly on the path would be weak—easily killed and robbed.
The Ling Zhen Sect wasn’t near Ji City, but its reputation was terrifying. The large and small sects around Ji City all avoided its edge. By hiring disciples from the Ling Zhen Sect, Hong Qi Sheng hoped to borrow the sect’s name and deter anyone with ill intent.
Only on this trip did Zhao Chun truly realize how formidable her sect’s standing was in the region.
When they stopped in a small town to rest, even at common taverns and inns—at roadside stalls, with vendors who had never seen a cultivator up close—people nearly dropped to their knees the moment they heard the group came from the Ling Zhen Sect.
Feng San Chu and the others remained calm, as if this happened all the time.
After two days on the road, they would reach Ji City by the next morning.
They stayed at an inn outside the city walls and ordered a full table of food.
The inn was the kind of place where immortals and mortals mixed without distinction. The air rang with voices and clattering bowls.
At the next table sat seven or eight burly men in plain clothes, swords at their waists. They drank from large bowls and spoke with no regard for who might hear.
“Have you heard?” one of them demanded.
“Heard what?” another snapped. “Spit it out.”
“You know Wind-Halt Forest, 300 li to the east?”
At the mention, Zhao Chun’s group didn’t react outwardly, but every ear sharpened.
“They say an immortal showed up there,” the man went on, raising his voice. “Doesn’t even need to eat to live!”
Qi Refining Stage cultivators still needed food. Only after reaching Foundation Establishment Stage could one truly abstain and leave mortal needs behind.
This region was remote—mountains and forests everywhere. Why would a Foundation Establishment Stage cultivator appear here?
“That true?” someone scoffed. “Or did you fall asleep and start dreaming?”
“How could I lie?” the man insisted. “That immortal started a sect deep in the woods. Even took a few disciples!”
He slapped an empty bowl with his palm. “And get this—there’s a huge white jade plate. Shine it on someone’s face and you can tell whether they’ve got the fate for cultivation. Isn’t that something?”
A testing disc. You didn’t see one often outside, but every major sect possessed them. Shine it on a person’s forehead; if it glowed, the person had spirit roots.
Meng Han had brought such a disc for use at the son-in-law selection.
It wasn’t as extraordinary as the Spirit-Illuminating Screen Wall, though. The disc could only tell whether someone had spirit roots at all. It couldn’t reveal their type or quality.
Zhao Chun still remembered the silverfish Cao Wen Guan had used the day she entered the sect. Later, she learned why: the Fei Hu Small World’s spiritual energy was too thin for the jade disc to react properly. The sect had relied instead on fish born at the source of Sky-Piercing River—creatures that carried spiritual energy within them. They were precious.
Not every Small World was so depleted. Fei Hu had been cut off from Heng Yun for a long time, and its spiritual energy had largely dispersed.
Other Small Worlds still retained enough spiritual energy to support long-lived mortals with fewer illnesses, even if it wasn’t enough for cultivators to train.
The men kept talking.
“They say that immortal’s kind,” someone said, sounding wistful. “If you’re under 35 and you’ve got that fate, you can go in.”
He sighed and lifted his bowl again. “Too bad we’re past it. If we were younger, we’d go try our luck.”
Zhao Chun’s brow furrowed.
For cultivators, earlier was always better. Past 20 was already late unless one was a rare genius—someone with a heaven spirit root or dual spirit roots. Without that, reaching mid Qi Refining Stage became nearly impossible.
A small sect could lower its threshold, but not to this extent.
Zhao Chun’s table exchanged glances. Something felt off. Then again, there were cultivators who acted outside normal logic—like the major cultivator who had gifted Hong Qi Sheng a pill, or the Essence Condensation Stage elder in their own sect who preferred the company of mortals. Such people were difficult to predict.
In the end, they let it go. After finishing their meal, everyone returned to their rooms.
Zhao Chun sat cross-legged on the bed.
Since her confinement ended, she had opened two additional meridians over the last two months. Now she had reached her sixth, the Hand Taiyang Small Intestine Meridian, and she was at the final step.
Metal-and-fire spiritual energy flowed through her like a tide. With one last push, the meridian opened completely.
Half.
Twelve meridians in all, and she had completed six. If this continued, in roughly another half year she would break into Qi Refining Stage third level.
The speed made even her heart race.
Yet every thread of spiritual energy was something she had cultivated day after day. Every meridian she opened, she understood.
At one point she had wondered if her meridians were unusually narrow, and that was why her progress seemed so fast.
But after discussing it with Lian Jing, she became certain that while her meridians weren’t vast like rivers, they were still better than most cultivators’.
Later, during a small lesson, she asked Xun Xian about it. He had thought for a moment and said, “Fire is violent and metal is sharp. Cultivators of those attributes do progress faster at Qi Refining Stage second level. You cultivate both, so it’s likely that.”
Then he turned to the other disciples. “Don’t envy her too much. Once you reach Qi Refining Stage third level, you must nourish your acupoints. That’s where wood and water cultivators gain the advantage.”
The disciples nodded vigorously. Only the earth-aspect cultivators pulled long faces, looking like they’d been left behind by all five elements.
Zhao Chun slipped her hand into the inner pocket of her robe and drew out a clear bead—the one she had picked up from the dry well.
As her cultivation advanced, the bead seemed to grow clearer, more luminous. Yet it had never again produced the strange brilliance it had shown that day.
It felt faintly alive to her. She kept it on her at all times. Aside from the way it dug into her when she slept, it didn’t do much—but she couldn’t shake the feeling that it had some connection to her, as if they were linked and neither could easily leave the other.
“What are you, really?” she murmured, closing her fingers around it.