Chapter 10
Chapter 10: Awakening Spiritual Roots
The players hurried back to their respawn point, excitement buzzing in their chests.
Every game needed a main quest. Theirs was simple: protect the Sect Master named Song Jiu Lai.
If they had to treat the Sect Master as the most important woman in their lives… then who else could she be but Mom?
They filed in cautiously. There she was—Song Jiu Lai—standing in front of the central house, smiling as if she’d been waiting all along.
She wore her original face. If you were arriving in a new world, it made sense to keep the one you were born with. Familiar. Comfortable. Hers was refined and pretty in a way that put people at ease—delicate features, gentle eyes, the kind of beauty that looked harmless.
A pale-blue, ancient-style long dress flowed around her. When she smiled, she carried the soft charm of a classical heroine.
A face like that wasn’t suited to forcing an icy “aloof master” persona, so Song Jiu Lai didn’t torture herself trying. The opening had already spelled it out—this was a broken sect. What was the point of pretending to be some untouchable sage?
The System’s voice cut in: “Lift the corners of your mouth. I want a perfect forty-five-degree arc.”
Song Jiu Lai: “…”
With the System’s earlier warning, and after witnessing A Wu’s uncanny abilities, the players didn’t dare get too loud. They still couldn’t stop whispering.
“Holy shit, she looks even younger than me. So cute. Doesn’t feel like Mom—more like a daughter.”
“Bold. I’m calling her Mom, you’re calling her daughter. You trying to take advantage of me?”
“…I could be her wife.”
“Eat dirt. No wives. That’s everyone’s Sect Master!”
“She looks young, but she might be like… a hundred.”
Song Jiu Lai felt her smile starting to strain. If she didn’t speak soon, she’d crack her own image. Once most of them had arrived, she went straight to it.
“Welcome to Longevity Sect on Yun Zhou Continent. I am Sect Master Song Jiu Lai. From today onward, I will lead you in restoring Longevity Sect to glory. And all of you will become Inner Sect Disciples of Longevity Sect.”
It was a flawless NPC-style speech. The players fell silent immediately, terrified they might miss even a single word.
Inner Sect Disciple—just hearing it sounded powerful.
Song Jiu Lai didn’t waste time. “As a newcomer benefit, I will give each of you one Spiritual Root Inner Pill. It will awaken your spiritual roots and formally begin your cultivation journey.”
“After you take it, each person’s reaction time will differ. The spiritual-root talent you awaken will also differ. This is fate. Do not let jealousy take root. On the path of cultivation, you refine the body—and the heart.”
“As the Longevity Sect Master, I only hope every disciple walks farther and farther on this road.”
In other words: once the roots opened, people would vary. Some would be gifted. Some would be average.
“Got it. Gacha rules. Some people are blessed, some are cursed.”
“Yeah, I’m used to it. I’m not even hoping for good roots.”
“So even in cultivation games, you still have to roll the dice.”
“It’s fine. Bad talent doesn’t mean you can’t go far. Comebacks are in right now!”
“Underdog comebacks were a cliché eight hundred years ago. These days it’s all about stumbling into a hidden quest and grabbing a broken treasure.”
They took it absurdly well—like they’d been trained for it. Besides, cultivation novel readers knew the pattern: too much talent early often meant being targeted first. Nobody wanted to be the flashy cannon fodder.
Song Jiu Lai’s smile deepened, satisfied. She lifted a hand.
Fifty thumb-sized pills appeared in the air, glowing with a smooth, jade-like sheen. Calling them “medicine” felt wrong—more like carved gemstones. They hovered in a neat cluster.
Then she raised her hand again. The pills drifted forward, one by one, stopping in front of each player as if guided by invisible threads.
That single move stunned them. Online games were one thing. Full-dive presence was another. Even TV special effects couldn’t compete with watching the impossible happen right in front of your face.
Thanks to Su Huan Li’s Mustard Seed Pouch, Song Jiu Lai could keep her act perfect. Otherwise she’d be awkwardly passing pills by hand—like a nurse handing out tablets.
“Swallow the pill,” Song Jiu Lai said. “Sit and meditate where you are. Enter a trance state. The pill will begin reshaping your spiritual roots.”
“The process may take fifteen minutes, or up to an hour. It depends entirely on your talent.”
“When all of you have successfully opened your spiritual roots, I will tell you what comes next.”
She turned and walked inside.
The pills drifted down. The players held them curiously in their palms. Warm. Smooth. Heavy enough to feel real.
That big… just swallow it?
But it was a game. Nobody hesitated. One after another, they tipped their heads back and swallowed.
The moment the pill touched the tongue, it dissolved—like jade melting into water—sliding down in a warm stream that vanished into the body.
Before anyone could even react, the world snapped to black.
Opening spiritual roots in progress. Total time: 1 hour 45 minutes…
Yun Zhou Continent disappeared. Only the line of text remained.
So, basically… a version update.
Han Tian’s timer read: 2 hours 35 minutes.
He froze. The Sect Master had implied the longer the better, but he couldn’t tell if that meant he was lucky or just… stuck.
Zhou Xiao’s read: 2 hours 20 minutes.
Wu Da Hu’s: 1 hour 30 minutes.
It wasn’t until they logged out that reality hit properly—when the VR headset’s weight on the bridge of the nose suddenly felt heavy again. The players blinked, unsettled, and realized: they really had been inside.
Zhou Xiao nearly lost her mind with joy. She immediately opened the main game group chat.
As expected, it had exploded.
Not with the people who got in, but with the people who didn’t.
Ever since the reviewers were called back to log in, the ones online had practically never gone offline. In-game time ran 2:1. They’d chopped wood and eaten a meal over there, and two hours had passed over here.
Two hours without replying to a single message.
When you were fully immersed, who had time to type?
[Old Daoist Ascended: Holy shit, you’ve been playing that long—good or bad, at least say something. Why aren’t you replying at all?]
[Philanthropist: It’s just a VR game. Are you really so obsessed you don’t even have time to reply? Don’t tell me the company teamed up with the players to pull some stunt for advertising.]
[The Sun Shines On Your Dark Heart: Come on. Earlier, big shot Jing Bao Tian logged off and told the people who weren’t in to hurry and log in. I’ve rarely seen him that excited. How much would it cost to get him to hype a game like that?]
[Back Then Tigerquake: Hahahahaha, brothers, I’m done talking. From now on I’m not on the same starting line as you. @Little Titan Girl @Jing Bao Tian @Run Naked In The Wind @Jump High, Pee Far—how long did you get? Mine was only an hour and a half.]