Jin Long
"Before the heavens bore the weight of cultivators, before the first Sky Emperor carved law into stone, before the first blade was lifted against the oppression of fate, Qi moved—unbound, unshaped, untouched by the hands of men. It was the whisper in the wind before language, the pulse in the earth before roads, the tide that rose and fell with neither master nor slave.
The river does not question the mountain, for it knows only flow. The storm does not command the sky, for it is both its child and its keeper. The fire does not beg the wood to yield, nor does the leaf plead with autumn’s wind. They move, as they always have, as they always will.
The one who walks the Dao does not necessarily chase power, but enlightenment and remembrance—of the world as it was before men called themselves paragons, before steel whispered of war, before destiny was written in the blood of dynasties.
To cultivate is to surrender to the breath of creation itself, and in surrender, become boundless."
— Empyrean World Cultivation Standard, Preface to the Great Path
___
The first light of dawn spilled over the courtyard walls, creeping into Lao Ren’s manor like a silent trespasser. The night’s breath still clung to the air, cool and watchful. At the heart of the guest courtyard stood Jin Long—motionless as a shadow, straight as a bamboo stalk, blade in hand.
The verses of the Empyrean World Cultivation Standard pressed against his thoughts, not as mere words but as echoes of vague truths. Sleep had eluded him on his first night in Bei’An, so he had surrendered to study, letting the twilight hours slip through his fingers as he devoured the manual’s teachings. If wanted to survive in this foreign world, he needed knowledge and he needed it fast.
The doctrine of the Empyrean World Cultivation Standard was half philosophy, and half instructions, but Jin Long had quickly discerned a pattern—only a handful of passages consisted of the core of the text. The rest? An endless flood of commentary, critiques, and footnotes, likely compiled by later cultivators and scholars who delighted more in wielding ornate words than actual wisdom.
Even after reading much of the manual, he still couldn’t definitively answer one of his most basic questions—how powerful was he compared to the natives of Empyrea? Surely better than average, but what about the patriarchs of the grand sects, or the Sky Emperor himself?
Jin Long resolved that if the Empyrean World Cultivation Standard couldn’t provide him with answers, he would find them elsewhere. He knew from the game that this world housed sanctuaries of learning, where scholars and cultivators sought enlightenment. He would have to visit them one day. The Grand Astral Lighthouses, towering mystical spires, stood as beacons for those who sought the knowledge of Qi and cultivation. Then there was the Imperial Library of the Sky Emperor, whispered to contain the sum of Empyrea’s deepest secrets, its archives guarded by ancient oaths and impenetrable wards.
But for now, Jin Long had only one way to gauge his strength—by testing himself in battle.
Lao Ren had been more than willing to oblige. The merchant had offered his butler, Bo, as an opponent—a man of few words, with sun-bronzed skin, a wiry yet powerful frame, and a goatee that lent him an air of quiet wisdom. More importantly, Bo was a cultivator and supposedly a talented swordsman.
Jin Long had observed the quiet details of the manor. The servants were scarce—only a handful of maids and the ever-present butler, Bo. Though still grand, the estate bore the subtle marks of decline—faded paint on wooden beams, neglected corners where dust had begun to gather. It wasn’t difficult to infer that political tensions had strained Lao Ren’s business, likely forcing the merchant to cut expenses and consolidate his resources. Perhaps that explained why his family had chosen to travel without a proper escort—an unusual decision, given the risks. Yet, something didn’t quite add up. Lao Ren struck Jin Long as a meticulous man, not one to take unnecessary risks. There had to be more to the story.
From the pavilion steps, the merchant, Lao Ren, watched with an amused expression. “Whenever you are ready, Master Jin.”
Bo cupped his hands in respectful salute before summoning his sword. A dark-edged blade materialized in his grip, its balance and craftsmanship flawless. “Honored guest, I am ready.”
Jin Long returned the nod. There was nothing more to say.
His attack was slow, controlled. He held back, restraining his immense strength, careful not to overwhelm Bo. He wasn’t interested in dominating the butler, only in measuring himself.
His blade flickered through the air, a clean, precise arc aimed at Bo’s exposed wrist.
Steel met steel.
A sharp clang rang through the morning stillness.
Bo deflected the strike with practiced efficiency, countering immediately with a downward slash, sharp and forceful. Jin Long barely shifted, stepping back as if the attack had been foreseen before it was made.
His thoughts turned inward.
The sacred verses of the Empyrean World Cultivation Standard came to him effortlessly.
His body responded as if guided by invisible strings, falling into rhythm with the ancient words. The blade in his hand traced the air, an extension of breath, a punctuation to the scripture. With each verse, his stance adjusted, his strikes grew sharper, and the still morning air stirred.
“To step upon the Dao, one must first pass through the mortal shell, cleanse the body of its burdens, the mind of its doubts. Early Qi Cleansing is the struggle against impurity, the forging of the vessel. The breath of the cultivator is heavy, the meridians resist, and Qi flows as a river constrained. Before the wind may pass unhindered through a bamboo grove, the rot must be cleared. To cleanse the self is to uproot weakness, to discard falsehoods, to let the body become a temple unburdened by decay. This is the beginning, where all suffer.”
— Empyrean World Cultivation Standard, Qi Cleansing, Verse 1
This part was simple enough. With his effortless command over Qi, Jin Long had no doubt that he had long surpassed the Qi Cleansing realm. Like all cultivation stages, Qi Cleansing was divided into two phases—Early Qi Cleansing, where the body was purged of impurities, and Late Qi Cleansing, where the meridians were opened and strengthened.
The clash of steel continued, neither Jin Long nor Bo allowing the other to gain the upper hand. Though Jin Long let his body move on instinct, barely focusing on the duel itself, he couldn’t help but take note of Bo’s swordsmanship. The butler’s movements were crisp, disciplined—his footwork precise, his strikes measured. A true talent with the sword, just as Lao Ren had suggested.
“The mortal body is a cup filled with slow decay, and the first task of cultivation is to tip it over. The black sludge of impurities clings to flesh and bone, the residue of weakness, ignorance, and fear. Only through pain does the body reject its lesser self. The cultivator must endure, for that which is unclean does not leave without struggle. The first cycle of cleansing is the severance of mortality, the second is the breaking of disbelief, and the third is the stillness that follows—the moment where the cultivator no longer ages as others do, no longer walks as a mere man.”
— Empyrean World Cultivation Standard, Early Qi Cleansing
Jin Long interpreted the passage as outlining three key steps within early Qi Cleansing. In its natural state, the human body was frail, weighed down by bad habits and limitations—like a cup filled with stagnant, murky water. At this stage of cultivation, one had to empty one’s body, to purge the accumulated impurities of mortal weakness. Fortunately, he had already passed this stage, though he had no idea how one was even supposed to undertake it.
The commentary on this passage was frustratingly vague, implying that every cultivator followed their own unique path through early Qi Cleansing, with no standardized method. More specialized cultivation manuals existed—to help individuals refine their approach, accelerating their progress and minimizing the pain of the cleansing process.
“Twelve gates stand closed, twelve paths choked with dust. The cultivator must open them, one by one, to let the river of Qi flow unhindered. The eight great meridians form the foundation, the four lesser meridians temper the refinement. Each opening is a rebirth, a gate no longer locked. The body is no longer a prison—it is the beginning of something greater. But beware, for beyond the twelfth gate, the winds of the vast world call, and those who are unready will be swept away.”
Stolen novel; please report.
— Empyrean World Cultivation Standard, Late Qi Cleansing
The commentaries on meridian opening were surprisingly engaging. Scholars suggested that at least twelve meridians had to be unblocked before true cultivation could begin. However, Jin Long found the reasoning behind this number frustratingly vague. Why exactly twelve? The theories put forth in the texts felt unconvincing—mere conjecture rather than absolute truth.
Other commentaries noted that exceptional cultivators could open fifteen or more meridians, enhancing their qi circulation and control. Rumors and legends even spoke of mythical figures who had unlocked twenty or more, attaining near-divine mastery over their energy. The more meridians one opened, the smoother qi flowed, the more seamless control one could achieve.
Jin Long allowed his qi to flow, circulating through his entire body in endless cycles. The blade whispered through the air, tracing a silver arc in the fragile light, a motion so fluid, so inevitable, that it felt less like a strike and more like a natural extension of the world itself.
His strikes came in waves, each unfolding like the stroke of a brush upon parchment. The courtyard air rippled at his passing, the lingering mist dispersing in swirling currents.
Yet, Bo countered each movement flawlessly. No matter how swift the feint, how deceptive the strike, the butler was always there, meeting him with equal precision.
Too slow.
Perhaps…
His qi stirred.
It flowed freely, coiling and twisting, screaming for release—yearning to be unshackled by the severe restraints he had imposed upon himself.
Jin Long stepped into Qi Adept without effort, feeling his qi core hum in power.
The formation of a core, capable of condensing and refining boundless qi, was the defining trait of a Qi Adept cultivator. This transformation—where raw, untamed qi became a concentrated ocean core—allowed the wielder to absorb external qi, refine it, and claim it as their own.
Yet again, frustratingly, the Empyrean World Cultivation Standard offered no precise guidance on how to achieve the creation of a core. Instead of clear techniques, the text merely suggested that cultivators seek out specialized cultivation manuals, as if the authors themselves had deliberately withheld the knowledge.
"A droplet may quench thirst, a stream may nourish the land, but an ocean commands the tides. Qi Adepts no longer sip from the river of life—they hold it within themselves, deep, vast, and inexhaustible. But beware: an ocean that rages uncontrolled will only drown its wielder.
The ocean does not form in an instant, nor does it remain still. The cultivator must deepen their reservoir, let the waves gather in their core, shaping the endless tides of their Qi. Here begins the first great step toward mastery—to imbue Qi into the world, to let their will linger in the blade, the arrow, the earth itself. A sword infused with Qi no longer cuts with steel alone, and a flame infused with Qi is no longer bound by mere fuel. The cultivator learns to shape the world not just with hands, but with intent."
— Empyrean World Cultivation Standard, Early Qi Adept
The butler lunged, his blade flashing like a bolt of silver in the morning light.
Jin Long did not retreat. He did not dodge.
Instead, he allowed his qi to surge into his sword, the energy sinking into the steel like ink into silk. The blade hummed in response, its edge sharpening beyond the limits of mortal craftsmanship, becoming a sliver of condensed will. Across from him, Bo did the same, his own weapon responding to the force of his qi, the air around it rippling with unseen power.
The moment stretched, suspended between them.
Then—impact.
Jin Long’s blade met Bo’s in a collision of raw force, the clash of qi-infused steel sending a sharp crack through the courtyard. Sparks burst like fleeting stars, their weapons vibrating with the weight of energy that neither had fully unleashed.
Jin Long pivoted, his motion effortless, fluid as a river breaking free from stone. He parried, his sword sliding against Bo’s in a smooth arc before twisting—reversing his grip in a seamless motion.
Bo barely managed to disengage before the next strike came.
Jin Long’s blade cut through the air, and the air yielded.
It did not resist, did not break—it simply parted, as if unwilling to stand in the way of something inevitable.
The mist that lingered in the courtyard swirled and danced, drawn into the wake of his qi-infused strike, shaped by nothing more than his intent.
"What is Qi, if not an extension of the self? The adept learns to let their energy extend beyond the confines of flesh—to walk unseen lines, to shape the air with a thought. But to control what is beyond oneself requires tethering—an anchor, a connection. Without it, Qi dissipates like mist, empty and fleeting. A poor tether is a frayed rope in a storm, but a strong one is the first step toward dominion. The cultivator stands on the cusp of command, yet remains bound to the need for connection. Their ocean is vast, but not yet sovereign."
— Empyrean World Cultivation Standard, Late Qi Adept
At the Late Qi Adept stage, the Empyrean World Cultivation Standard noted that cultivators could extend the influence of their qi far beyond the boundaries of their physical form. Their energy became an extension of their will, no longer confined to flesh and bone but reaching into the world itself.
Jin Long recalled the assassin’s long-range qi blades—silent, spectral slashes that cleaved through the air like whispers of death. He remembered his own qi barrier, conjured instinctively in the heat of battle to shield himself and Lao Ren’s family from an exploding talisman. Though different in execution, the principle remained the same: qi given form beyond the body, a force that existed without chains.
Jin Long turned to Bo, his gaze steady. “Cultivator Bo, please be prepared. I would like to test a ranged qi technique.” His voice was calm, yet beneath the surface, anticipation coiled like a drawn bowstring. “I promise to hold back.”
Bo inclined his head, his expression unreadable but respectful. “Understood, honored guest.”
Jin Long exhaled slowly, allowing his body to slip into perfect stillness. The qi within him stirred, not as a wild surge, but as a current flowing through his meridians, threading through his limbs with effortless precision—like a tide answering the call of an unseen moon.
He turned his gaze inward, into the very core of his being.
Within, his qi did not form the vast, swirling ocean of an early Qi Adept, nor the simple double-helix ring of an early Qi Master. What pulsed at the center of his existence was something else entirely—a symbol of Yin and Yang, formed by strands of qi in the shape of octuple helixes, a twisting pattern of eight luminous strands, coiling in perfect balance.
The Empyrean World Cultivation Standard described qi in many ways. For some, it was a raging river, wild and untamed, always seeking to burst through its barriers. For others, it was a beast, a primal force resisting its master’s control at every turn.
But for Jin Long—qi was breath. It was shadow. It was obedience itself.
It did not fight him. It did not resist. It followed. As though it had never belonged anywhere else.
This, he knew, was the mark of a true master.
His eyes sharpened.
The qi within him harmonized with the qi in the air, the two forces converging like the final notes of a song waiting to be played. He did not need incantations. He did not need grand gestures.
Through will alone, he slashed his blade toward Bo.
A single thread of qi erupted from the motion—razor-thin, luminous, honed beyond steel itself. It flew like a falling star, warping the very space it traveled through.
Bo reacted instantly. The butler’s qi surged outward as he raised a barrier, his energy slamming into the incoming attack.
The courtyard shook.
A burst of energy detonated at the point of impact, sending a shockwave rippling outward. Dust and mist spiraled into the air, robes flared violently in the gusts, and Lao Ren staggered back, barely keeping his footing.
When the energy finally dispersed, Bo stood with labored breath, his shoulders rising and falling, his stance steady but shaken. He slowly lowered his arms, the remnants of his qi barrier flickering before vanishing entirely.
“Honored guest,” Bo said between steadying breaths, “you are… beyond my ability. This humble servant can no longer continue our exchangel.”
Jin Long sighed inwardly. He had wanted to push further, to truly test the depths of his strength, but it was painfully clear—Bo was simply no match for him.
This had only been a fraction of his power. The realization left him somewhat disappointed. He had hoped to finally try out his Crimson Tyrant Crushes the Heavens blade art, a technique that demanded both precision and devastation. Perhaps another time.
With a quiet breath, he withdrew his qi, allowing it to settle within him once more.
“I apologize, Butler Bo,” he said, his voice measured and calm. “It was not my goal to push you beyond your limits. I agree it’s best we stop here for now.”
Lao Ren, ever perceptive, smoothly interjected to lighten the mood.
“Master Jin,” he said, his tone warm yet knowing, “it seems my butler is unable to provide you with a proper challenge. Perhaps a visit to the city is in order? There are places in Bei’An where cultivators gather—places where you may find opponents truly worthy of your skill.”
Jin Long considered the offer. It was a reasonable suggestion—he had wanted to explore Bei’An, to immerse himself in the sights and culture. And now, the prospect of testing his strength against stronger cultivators was also tempting.
Besides, with another 500 advanced spirit stones now in his possession—compensation from Lao Ren—Jin Long suddenly found himself with a small fortune to burn.
By Lao Ren’s estimate, the average non-cultivator in Bei’An earned around 100 spirit stones per month. Each advanced spirit stone was worth ten standard spirit stones, meaning that in an instant, Jin Long had amassed the equivalent of thirty-five years’ worth of an ordinary person’s wages.
Not too shabby.
“Alright. Lead the way, Merchant Lao.”