《The Overpowered Outworlder》 [1.01] For Whom the Temple Bell Tolls John Wilson John had always prided himself on his ability to keep cool. Whether it was a lousy day at work, an unexpected rent hike, or lying awake at two in the morning listening to his obnoxious neighbors shagging their brains out, he had a simple philosophyroll with the punches. Life was unpredictable and had a habit of kicking in your teeth when youre already down. But John endured. He learned to adapt, to survive. But this? This was different. The sky stretched above him, vast and infinite, a tapestry of blue so rich it seemed almost unreal. It was not the dull, muted blue of New York City, washed out by neon lights and veiled in haze and smoke, but a sky that belonged to the dreams of poets. Wisps of white drifted lazily, their shifting forms like brush strokes upon an unfinished canvas. The sun shone high, a pale gold disc that cast light so pure it seemed to cleanse everything it touched. The wind whispered, warm and fragrant, carrying the echoes of a world untouched by post-industrial machines. He could smell the crisp scent of pine, the delicate perfume of blooming lotuses, the faint lingering trace of incenseas if monks had folded their prayers into the very fabric of the air. Somewhere in the distance, a temple bell chimed, deep and resonant, extolling some unknown hour. The grass beneath his fingers bent softly, jeweled with the last remnants of morning dew. In the distance, bamboo groves swayed like silent sentinels, their hollow rustling a song of forgotten ages. And beyond, perched upon half-shrouded mist-laden cliffs, were pagodas with golden rooftops that curved like dragon wings, gleaming in the sunlight. John sat up and realized everything was wrong. He was dressed in wide, flowing silk robes, of white and deep azure, without embellishment yet crafted with a quality that defied reason. The fabric shimmered with every movement, light as a whisper, firm as tempered steel, as though woven from something not entirely bound by this world. Then he felt ita current deep within. John sucked in a sharp breath. It was like brushing against the surface of a vast, unseen ocean, its depths stretching beyond comprehension. A hum, a vibration, a pulse of something primal, coiling and uncoiling within him like a serpent of untamed power. It moved with his breath, a torrent of sheer, unfiltered energy flowing through unseen pathways inside his body. Qi. It wasnt just energyit was something greater, something immense. It surged through his limbs, boundless, intoxicating. He knewif he willed it, he could flatten mountains, call forth arcane power, and step into the sky itself. His body felt weightless yet unbreakable, a vessel too perfect, too other, for his very human mind to fully comprehend. And yet, it wasnt his. His breath hitched. His handshis handswere smooth, unblemished, and strong, strangely unmarred by scars or callouses. They were not the hands of an overworked 27-year-old trying to make ends meet, nor the hands of a battle-hardened warrior as one might expect. Yet his mind whispered that he had a warriors history, that this body had memory, though he felt an eerie disconnectlike stepping into the skin of a legend, wearing power that did not feel entirely earned. A glint of shattered glass caught his eye. Among the mangled corpses and strewn weapons, a fractured hand mirror lay half-buried in the dirt. Beside it lay the corpse of a woman in white silk robes, once pristine, now stained crimson, her delicate hand still clutching the frame. A noblewoman, perhaps, a figure of station in a world whose rules he did not yet know. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. John hesitated, then reached for the mirror. The glass was cracked, but within the fractured pieces, he saw his own face. It was a face he had seen before. Dark golden eyes, burning with something ancient and untamed. High cheekbones, a sharp jawline. His black, wavy hair fell past his shoulders, caught by the wind like an ink stroke against the sky. A face that belonged to legends, to cutscenes, to a max-level character he had painstakingly customized down to the finest detail in Nine Mystical Realms Online. Jin Long. His fingers brushed his cheek, his jaw, tracing the contours of a face that was both his and not his. His heart pounded. This isnt real. It cant be real. And yet, when he exhaled, the breath that left him carried the weight of something irreversible. A sound. A shift in the air. Jin Long turned. A figure stepped from the trees, clad in black from head to toe, his movements fluid and measuredlike a predator stalking its prey. His face was masked, but his presence bled danger. This was not someone to be trifled with. The man sighed, shaking his head. "I apologize," were the only words he spoke, voice low and coarse like gravel against steel. Jin Long didnt have time to process what the apology meant before the stranger moved. A flick of the wristqi surged. A lance of energy, sharp and shimmering, tore through the air toward him. Jin Long flinched. His body reacted before his mind could catch uphis feet shifted, weight adjusting, and the world seemed to slow. He twisted, stepping aside as the projectile hissed past his cheek, incinerating the bark behind him. His heart slammed against his ribs. That was close. That was too close. The assassin remained unfazed. Hands moved in a blurmore projectiles, cutting through the space between them like blades of light. Jin Longs mind screamed run, but his body knew. Without thinking, his hand flicked outward, and qi rippled around himan invisible force pushing against the air, breaking the projectiles before they could reach him. The assassin stilled, eyes narrowing. Jin Long exhaled sharply. "Look, I dont want to fight you," he said, his voice steady despite the adrenaline pounding through him. "I dont know whats going on, but I have no beef with you. Can we talk like civilized men? The assassin studied him in silence. Thenthe killer moved, closing the gap between them in a few inhuman strides. A steel blade flashed into existence, its edge singing through the air. Expert swingscalculated, ruthless. Aimed to kill Jin Long. Jin Long instinctually sidestepped all of the assassins attempts, his footwork sharp, precise, and too perfect. He barely had time to register the weightless momentum before his palm moved on its own, striking forward The assassin''s body convulsed violently. A sickening crack filled the air. The assassin staggered, blood seeping through his face cover. His knees buckled, then gave out. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps before he slumped forward, motionless. Jin Longs breath was heavy in his chest. I just killed someone. The realization should have horrified him. Should have left him paralyzed with guilt. Yet, even as he contemplated, his breath stilled, his pulse slowed. He wasnt panicking. He wasnt shaking. Why? He looked down at the body of his assailant. Taking his life seemed easy, almost too easy. The silence stretched, vast and unbroken. Jin Long finally remembered to exhale again. His own voice, hollow. "What the hell?" The wind offered no reply, save for the faint chime of a distant temple bell. [1.02] Roads Less Traveled Jin Long The assassins breath had ceased. The warmth of life had drained from the corpse, leaving only a huskan empty vessel where ambition, duty, and struggle had once stirred. The body lay still, twisted in the grass, blood dark as ink against the green. The wind whispered through the valley, the rustling of leaves of ancient trees sounding like murmuring prayers for the dearly departed. Jin Long had killed a man. His hands had moved faster than thought. His strength had surged beyond his intent. In game, this would have been nothinga vanishing health bar, an enemy fading into pixels. But here, in this world that smelled of damp earth, where the wind carried the distant chime of a temple bell, where the blood pooled thick and real, there was no respawn, no second chance. Jin Long knelt beside the body, reaching out with slow, deliberate movements. The assassins mask had slipped, revealing a face not of cruelty or monstrosity, but of hardship. Lines of suffering etched his featurestoo many battles fought, too many failures endured. This was no great villain. Just a fallen warrior. Death was an abstraction in gamesdistant, clean, and mechanical, despite all the gore modern graphics could conjure. Here, it had weight. It settled into the bones, thickened the air, left a scar not on the flesh, but on the soul. Jin Long clenched his fist. Did he feel a little remorse? Perhaps, even though he knew killing the man had been in the act of self-defense. He understood the simple truth, but that didnt mean he had to like its outcome. If this world bore any resemblance to Nine Mystical Realms Online, then strength was the only currency that matterednot just strength of the body, but strength of ones will and of ones beliefs. Jin Long knew that he not only had to be powerful enough to be able to uphold his ideals, but also he needed to have the conviction to actually act on them. He would not hesitate to defend himself should anyone seek his life, but neither was he a coward. He would not abandon the sanctity of life or blindly embrace the law of the jungle at the first sign of hardship. What separated man from beast was his ability to hold onto his beliefs, even in the face of adversity. He had no doubt his late father, a tough son-of-a-gun like most career deep-sea fishermen, would roll out of his grave and find his way to Empyrea just to beat Jin Longs ass if he saw his son become anything less. Johnny boy, his old man used to say. When youre out there at the mercy of Mother Nature, you learn real quick what matters and what keeps you alive C faith in yourself and faith in your brothers. Thats all there is. The assassins corpse looked small beneath the vast sky. For a moment, Jin Long simply stood there and let his thoughts settle, allowing the warm wind to kiss his face. It was soothing. The air was pure, untainted by car fumes, untreated sewage, or the acrid stink of burning plastic. It was quiet C no hum of traffic, no impatient drivers blaring their horns, and no distant wail of sirens that often plagued the streets of The City where he had lived all his life. Jin Long let out a slow breath, deliberately shifting his gaze downward, postponing the grim task of having to search the dead for valuables. The weight of taking a life still lingered, and he wasnt quite ready to face the assassins corpse again. Instead, his fingers traced the fabric draped over himmoonsilk, impossibly smooth and soft, shimmering faintly. Recognition settled in. Indestructible. Self-cleaning. His end-game gear. These were the robes he had spent hundreds of hours grinding for, slaying mobs and bosses and collecting rare materials. But in the game, they had simply been numbersarmor rating, stat bonuses, passive abilities. Here, they were real, like everything else. His belt was fastened tightly, the embroidery of serpent dragons catching the light. His shoes, too, were pristine as freshly fallen snow, defying the dirt beneath them. Jin Long stretched his arms. His strength was undeniableevery movement felt weightless and effortless. He clenched his fist and felt power coil within him, waiting to be unleashed. I have no idea how to use this strength properly, and right now Im relying on instinct and luck. His knowledge came from muscle memory rather than conscious thought. His techniques were ingrained, but disjointedmastery bereft of the journey. He could fight. Maybe. But could he cultivate? Could he refine his qi? Enhance it? Conjecture and theorize its science? Break through his limits to achieve even higher realms? It was one thing to execute techniques at the push of a key, to chain combos, bind macros, click and level up a skill tree. But here, his body was his weapon. His mind was the controller. The games mechanics had become reality, and he needed more than just knowledgehe also needed experience. In the game, progression had been simplekill enemies, earn experience, level up. But this world did not offer neat experience bars. This world required understanding, practice, and insight. What about my character inventory? Experimenting, he mentally reached inward, hoping to seek the mindspace where his treasures were stored. In the game, his inventory had been boundlessan endless void brimming with weapons of legend, artifacts steeped in forgotten power, and relics of ancient lore. It was a treasury untouched by weight, time, or scarcity. But here, that vast trove had shrunk to something disappointingly less. Jin Longs consciousness brushed against the void, and only two objects appearedthe Indestructible Abomination and the Divinewood Flute. His brows furrowed. Where was the rest of his collection? He failed to sense anything elseCno advanced potions, celestial armor sets, rare artifacts, ancient cultivation manuals, or the endless stacks of crafting materials. Where was his hoard of spirit stones gleaming with condensed qi? They were goneCitems and tools that had once made him a force to be reckoned with and put him at the top of the leaderboards. Had the heavens stripped him of his wealth, or had the journey between worlds simply left him with what mattered most? Or was this all a cruel, vivid nightmare orchestrated by some sadistic being? Jin Long sighed, letting his focus shift inward once more, and reached for the Divinewood Flute. A pulse of energy rippled through him, and with a mere thought, the flute materialized in his graspa relic of dark, polished wood, its surface etched with delicate carvings of soaring cranes and drifting clouds and arcane text. It was light as breath, smooth as flowing water, yet within it, he could sense the latent power that slumbered beneath the surface. Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. He turned it over in his hands, brushing a thumb over the golden inlay at the mouthpiece. He had equipped this flute many times in Nine Mystical Realms Onlinean artifact once belonging to an elder of a long-forgotten sect, rumored to command the winds themselves. In the game, it had been a collectors item, only one-of-one in quantity, and thus much sought after by a small group of hardcore players. The Divinewood Flute was not an ordinary instrument. It had a history woven from time and tragedy in Nine Mystical Realms Online, shaped by the ambitions of men and the whispers of the heavens. It had been crafted centuries ago from the wood of the Jade World Tree, a sacred tree said to have stood at the heart of the Empyrean World, and had roots entwined with the currents of qi itself. When the tree fell, its essence seeped into the earth, blessing it with unfathomable energy, and from its remnants, only a handful of artifacts were ever forged. Later, the flute had fallen into the hands of Elder Feng Yao, a master of sound and qi who once led the Zephyr Cloud Sect, a sect renowned for its harmonious techniquesarts that tamed storms, guided winds, and calmed raging souls. They were not warriors in the conventional sense. Their blades were melodies, their shields woven from sound, their attacks so refined that the very air seemed to bend to their will. Legend told that when Elder Feng Yao played this flute, the winds would still in reverence, the clouds would part, and even the restless spirits wandering the mortal plane would pause to listen. His music could shatter stone or mend a broken heart, summon a tempest or lull a wild beast into slumber. But his sect had been wiped from history, and now few relics remained that paid homage to the sect of old. But here, as Jin Long held it beneath the cerulean sky, it felt like the world wanted something more. The air had stilled, as if itself leaning in to prompt a song. Curiosity overtook Jin Long, who lifted the wooden flute to his lips. The first note was soft, uncertain, like a whisper carried by the breeze. Then, with a slow inhale, he let the melody unfurla wandering tune, neither joyous nor sorrowful, an echo of something forgotten. The music drifted through the nearby forest, threading between the trees, dancing atop the tall grass like ripples upon still water. The wind, which had been quiet, stirred in response, curling around him, lifting strands of his dark hair as if playing with him. The last note faded into the field, dissolving into the hush of rustling leaves. Seems like I have some talent with music. Perhaps I can make a living here as a traveling musician? Jin Long mused and lowered the flute, turning it once more in his hands before, with a mere thought, willing it back into storage. The weight of the flute lingered, as did the memory of the melody. Jin Long didnt attempt to summon the other object in his inventorythe Indestructible Abomination. Not yet. He wasnt foolish enough to wield something so powerful without fully understanding its consequences. This sword was not just an instrument of destruction, it was a statement, a declaration of one''s existence in the grand scheme of heaven and earth. And this sword its very name whispered of calamity. If even half of its in-game descriptions manifested into reality, the repercussions would be monumental. He could already imagine the destructionlandscapes sundered, the souls of humans and beasts alike stripped, the laws of nature bending under its edge. It was not something to wield carelessly. For now, he let the weapon remain in the void. There would be another time and place for chaos and corruption. For now, he needed to understand this world before he tried to carve his place in it. Instead, his golden gaze swept over the carnage around him, surveying what could be scavenged. Looting in the game had been simplea click, a window displaying all the spoils, a choice to take or leave behind. But here, in this world of flesh and consequence, it was a slow and deliberate acthands searching, breath steadying, fingers brushing against rigid-cold corpses. The dead told no tales, but their possessions spoke volumes. Most of the valuables had already been taken, their owners picked clean by others. Jin Long sifted through the bodiesmost bore only the violent signs of a life abruptly ended. Torn robes. Cracked weapons. Trinkets that held no value beyond sentiment. There was only one last place to searchthe assassins body. Jin Long crouched beside the corpse once more, brushing aside strands of windblown grass. The fabric of the assassins robes was coarse, frayed at the edges, dyed a dull black meant for discretion rather than grandeur. He checked the assassins sleeves, his belt, his inner pockets. Nothing. Nothing but the bare necessities. Except for one thing. A simple silver band, gleaming faintly beneath the assassins lifeless fingers. A spatial storage ring was something every NPC cultivator possessed in the game. Unlike the limitless, omnipresent inventory granted to actual players for a hefty subscription, NPC cultivators were bound to the laws of the game. They relied on these ringsartifacts imbued with spatial propertiesto store their belongings, keeping their treasures hidden from covetous eyes and prying hands. Carefully, he slipped the ring off the assassins stiffening hand and onto his own. It was unadorned, simple, lacking the ostentation of a nobles jewelry. This was a ring meant for practicality, not vanity. Bind with qi. A faint pulse resonated through him. The ring shuddered, as if sensing its new master. Then, a warmth spread through Jin Longs fingertips, a thread of energy linking the artifact to his qi. He willed it to open. And within the rings spatial field, three objects surfaced. First C a jade slip, empty and unclaimed. These were objects typically used for storing information and long-distance communication. Second C three thousand advanced spirit stones. They were small gems brimming with condensed and partially purified qi. Three thousand was not much, but it was certainly better than nothing. Spirit stones were the currency of cultivators, used for everything from market exchanges to qi replenishment. And lastly, an old cultivation manualthe Empyrean World Cultivation Standard. Jin Long summoned the book from the ring, running his fingers over its bounded cover. It felt worn by the touch of countless hands before his. The golden characters on its spine shimmered under sunlight. A basic text, nothing legendary, but a foundation. And a foundation was exactly what he needed. Never thought Id see the day Id get excited about reading a textbook. Its pages were filled with intricate calligraphy, written in the same foreign language the assassin had spoken. Yet, as Jin Longs eyes skimmed the text, comprehension came effortlessly, as natural as reading English. Only now did he fully realizehe hadnt just learned this language, he had always known it. The knowledge was embedded in him, woven seamlessly into his mind as if it had always been there. Why? It was yet another unanswered question, another thread in the growing tapestry of mysteries surrounding his existence in this world. And for now, he would have to wait before he could get answers. Jin Longs lips curved into a faint, knowing smirk. While he had more questions than answers, the existence of this manual did confirm one crucial piece of information for him C he was indeed in the world of the Nine Mystical Realms Online, or at the very least, in some version of the game manifested into reality. He stored the book away, along with the spirit stones and the jade slip. Then there was the matter of the assassins blade lying where it had fallen. Jin Long picked it up, giving it a cursory glance. It was a well-crafted and well-balanced weapon designed for an expert bladesman. Guess its mine now. He looked down at the dead man once more. The assassins fate had been sealed, his possessions now Jin Longs by necessity, by survival. A lingering sense of guilt settled in Jin Longs chest, heavy as the still air before a storm. He instinctually harnessed his qi, letting it pulse through him as he used his sheer physical power to carve a makeshift grave into the earth. The soil yielded easily beneath his strength, and when it was done, he laid the fallen assassin to rest. It was not the work of a skilled gravedigger, nor was it adorned with the dignity of a proper burial. But it was something. And sometimes, something was enough. With the deed finished, Jin Long felt unburdened and lifted his gaze toward the distant horizon, where the sky stretched endless and unknowable. The sky had begun to darken, yellow bleeding into a mix of red and orange. A flamehawks cry echoed across the valley, a sharp, piercing sound that spoke of unseen things watching, waiting. The sun dipped lower, casting longer shadows that stretched toward the winding road ahead. He had spent enough time loitering. It was time to take to the roads, whether theyd be less traveled he did not know. [1.03] Road to Perdition Jin Long Hours had passed before he finally encountered anyone else on the road. The scent of crushed grass and churned earth reached Jin Long before he laid eyes upon them. Then, sharper still, came the tang of fear, the bitter stench of unwashed bodies, and the unmistakably sour taste of killing intent. The sun had nearly descended completely, melting into the horizon like liquid gold poured over the ridges of distant mountains. Shadows stretched long, creeping like silent phantoms over the uneven dirt road. A caravan lay upon the road, its heavy wooden frame leaning awkwardly and rendered useless by a shattered wheel. Whatever had caused the incident had also caused the caravan to scatter its cargosilk, trinkets, metals, grain, salted meats, and spices. The two-headed ox at the front of the caravan tossed its thick neck, bellowing its distress, nostrils flaring as it strained at its bindings. Three ragged men loomed over the wreckage. They stood like wretched wolves circling a wounded deer, their clothes tattered, their faces worn with hunger and cruelty. They carried weapons, but nothing of refinementa rusted sword, a chipped dagger, and a club stripped from a broken cart. They did not appear to be warriorsjust desperate men with nothing to lose. Bandits, Jin Long surmised. The trappings of desperation, of hunger, of those who had lost everything except the will to take from others. An old merchant knelt before them, one hand pressed against his ribs where a bandit had struck him. Behind him, a woman, shielding a boy no older than ten, her body curled protectively around him, though fear shone plainly in her tear-streaked eyes. "Please," the merchant wheezed, his voice hoarse, filled with the weary resignation of a man who knew his doom was at hand. "We have nothing more to give you." A bandit grunted, tightening his grip on his rusted sword. "That so?" He raised the blade, its corroded edge catching the light in one last cruel shimmer. The sword never came down. Jin Long had moved. No blur of speed, no wasted motionjust a shift, a silent ripple in the air. Before the bandits blade could finish its descent, it jerked violently from his grasp, as if the unseen hands of the divine had reached forth to snatch it away. The weapon spun in the air, wrenched free by an invisible force, before clattering against the dirt, lifeless and defeated. Jin Long struck. A single, carefully controlled palm strike landed squarely against the bandits back. The force rippled through the mans spine, an impact not of mere strength, but of cultivated power, of mastery over the unseen energies that wove through the world. The bandit lifted from the ground, weightless for a breath, before hurtling like a thrown ragdoll, skidding across the dirt until he collided against a broken stump. He choked on his blood, his face twisted in agony as his final breath slipped past his lips like mist upon a winter morning. Jin Long reacted in surprise and frustration, having thought he had adequately held back his full strength to avoid causing a fatality. Clearly, he was much more powerful than he realized, or the bandit was much more fragile than he seemed. The remaining bandits assessed the situation, realizing their advantage in the fight had suddenly flipped on its head. Jin Long brushed a stray strand of hair from his face. His moonsilk robes, unblemished, fluttered in the dusk breeze, untouched by the brutality of the moment. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! "Id have to ask you to stop harassing this gentleman and his family," his voice was even, a mere suggestion rather than a demand, but laced with authority. Jin Long was trying his best to imitate the posture and disposition of an exalted cultivator. "Unless, of course, you wish for me to intervene further. And Id rather not kill either of youby accident." For a moment, the only sound came from the distressed ox, its hooves kicking against the earth in restless panic. To Jin Longs surprise, the bandits did not flee. The taller of the two met his gaze with a hollow stare, the look of a man who had already accepted his death. His lips twisted into a grimace, somewhere between a sneer and a plea. "Better I die in your hands than theirs," he muttered. The other bandit nodded in quiet agreement. They lunged in coordination. The first swung high, a broad, reckless arc aimed to crack Jin Longs skull. A mistake. It was sloppy, desperate, an attack borne of fear, not skill. Jin Long stepped forward instead of back, slipping into the bandits guard with the ease of a falling leaf. He caught the bandits wrist mid-swing. A sharp twist, a precise application of pressure, and a sickening pop followed. The bandit screamed, his club falling uselessly from his limp fingers. His knees buckled as pain overtook him, his body collapsing into the dirt. The second bandit aimed lower with his daggera stab to the gut, direct and savage. Jin Long shifted at the last moment, the blade slicing through empty air where he had just been. Jin Long dropped low, sweeping his leg in a single, fluid movement and catching the bandits ankle. The bandit toppled violently, limbs flailing, body twisting midair before colliding with the earth. His head struck the earth with a dull crack, and his weapon rolled from his slack grip. The battle was over in less than five breaths. Or so Jin Long thought. He heard a ragged breath, a muttered curse, and felt ita flicker of unstable qi, the sharp crackle of paper igniting in the wind. Jin Long turned just in time to see the downed bandit pull a folded talisman from his sleeve. It glowed an angry, pulsating red, the script of destruction scrawled across its surface trembling with barely contained energy. An exploding talisman. The bandits hand trembled, his breath labored, his eyes filled with both hatred and reckless determination. "Fuck this unfairness," he rasped, "If I die, I''m taking all of you with me!" Jin Long instinctually reacted again. The very air shimmered, rippling outward like the surface of a still lake disturbed by a single drop of rain. A barriertranslucent yet unyielding, forged of sheer will and boundless qierupted into existence, encasing the merchants family, the caravan, and himself in a protective dome. A deafening roar split the evening air. Flames and shattered earth burst outward, a violent storm of force and heat ripping through the dirt. The shockwave sent dust and debris howling into the sky, turning the world into a chaos of incendiary red. But the barrier held. The explosion struck it like a tidal wave against an unyielding cliff. Flames scattered harmlessly across its surface, the heat curling against the barrier before dispersing into nothing. Within the barrier, there was only silence, the aftershock of destruction muffled by Jin Longs will. Then, as quickly as it had formed, the barrier dissipated, the shimmering wall of qi fading back into the wind. The banditwhat was left of himlay sprawled in the smoldering crater of his own making. The scent of burnt earth and charred flesh clung to the air, heavy and suffocating. The bandits remaining companion was not so lucky either. Why? Jin Long wondered. He had clearly meant to spare the two men, or else with his strength he couldve easily snuffed them. Jin Long was also puzzled by something else. It was clear that the bandit who unleashed the explosion had once walked the path of cultivationhis ability to wield the talisman proved as much. At one point in his life, the bandit had chased the heavens, sought enlightenment, grasped for power beyond mortal reach. And yet, he had fallen and taken the road to perdition. What had broken him? Was it fates cruelty, or his own failings? What weight had bent his back, what hunger had hollowed his soul, until all that remained was a desperate man willing to burn himself to ash for mere banditry? Jin Long continued to ponder, doing his best to avoid the one question he feared to ask himself. What would be his cultivation story? [1.04] The Merchant of Bei鈥橝n Lao Ren Lao Ren had spent a lifetime mastering the delicate art of transactions, and of understanding human nature. His life had been a careful balance of profit and loss, risk and reward. He had bargained in the finest silk halls of BeiAn, spoken in hushed whispers with men who controlled more wealth than entire cities, and bartered with ruthless traders who could smile and slit your throat in the same breath. And yet, never had he stood so close to calamity. The battle had ended. The world had stilled. The air hung thick with its aftermathscorched earth, the pungent scent of burnt flesh, and the heavy silence of finality. The qi barrier was gone now, its divine radiance faded like a dream. But the memory of it remained, lingering in the air like a trace of thunder after the storm. Lao Ren trembled, his palms pressed into the dirt, his breath uneven from the bandit''s earlier blow. His boy still clung to his mothers robes, muffling his quiet sobs, while his wife shuddered against him, her face pale and tear-streaked. But Lao Rens gaze did not waver. He was transfixed. The cultivators silk robes fluttered lightly in the breeze, unmarked by dust and blood. His dark hair, wavy and untethered, swayed against the winds pull. Yet it was not his unearthly composure, nor his untouched garments, that made Lao Rens breath still. It was his eyes. Black-gold, burning low in the twilight and everfire lanternsa gaze that held something ancient, something that weighed the world and found it wanting. Lao Rens instincts, sharpened by years of dealings, whispered to him nowthis was no ordinary cultivator. Lao Ren had known cultivators. He had done business with themrogue disciples, wandering swordsmen, and even a few sect elders. But they were men of earthly ambition, always asking, always taking, perceiving the lives of mortals to be transient. After all, the average cultivator lived many lifespans, unchanged as numerous generations of mortals ebbed and flowed. For these beings of which the fates decreed, concepts such as honor, righteousness, cruelty, and pride held a different meaning than for mortals. Regarding this particular cultivator, Lao Ren was clear on what he had to do. Lao Ren may be shrewd, but he also knew honor - and opportunity. A debt must be repaid, but that didnt mean he couldnt stand to profit at the same time. He forced himself to move. Lao Ren swallowed, his throat dry, and pressed his forehead against the earth. His voice came hoarse but firm. Without any bidding, Lao Rens wife prostrated herself as well. In times like these, Lao Ren was grateful he had chosen to marry a wise woman and not the babbling, airheaded beauty whom his parents had wanted to match him with all those years ago. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. "Esteemed Cultivator," he rasped. "You have done a great deed, vanquishing these outlaws and saving our humble lives. For that we of the Lao family are forever in your debt. May I ask how we can repay you, Great Savior?" A rustling of fabric, then a voicecalm, effortless, almost indifferent. If I had to be honest, I dont think I had to do much at allthey practically blew themselves up," the cultivator replied, casting a glance toward the charred corpses. Lao Ren lifted his head slightly, studying him carefully and perceiving. "While that may be true," he said with deliberate reverence, "it does not lessen the fact that you chose to come to our aid, despite having no such obligation. Please allow me to offer you something of worth as a token of my gratitude. I am Lao Ren, a merchant of BeiAn. I trade in the finest silks, rarest spiritual teas, and the most sought-after goods in all of BeiPing province. If you require spirit stones, I can offer it in abundance. If you require treasures, I can procure them. You have only to name your request, and if it is within my power, I shall fulfill it. For a long moment, the cultivator said nothing. His gaze drifted, not toward Lao Ren, nor the corpses, but toward the glow bugs gathered at the forests edge, their golden light pulsing softly against the dusk. His expression was unreadable. Not cold, but distant, as if he straddled two realms, one foot in this world and another somewhere far beyond. Lao Ren held his breath, willing his racing heart to steady itself. The cultivator did not seem like the kind to haggle over coin, but Lao Ren knew menall men, mortal or not, sought something. Power, knowledge, security, purpose, companionship. And if there was one thing Lao Ren had learned over the years, it was that the greatest transactions were not measured in mere currency, but in favors, alliances, and opportunities. At last, the cultivator spoke. I appreciate your sincerity," he said. "It would be rude of me to refuse your goodwill. But truthfully, Im not yet sure of what I need. Perhaps if you give me some time, Ill come up with a reasonable request. Lao Ren nodded, his shoulders easing ever so slightly. A fair arrangement. Then it shall be done, he said smoothly. It was better this waydebts, when left unattended, had a way of souring even the best of men. And a Lao always made sure to pay his debts. The cultivators gaze drifted once more, this time towards the damaged caravan. "Youre headed somewhere?" Lao Ren inclined his head. "Yes, my family and I are returning home to BeiAn." Lao Ren hesitated, then pressed forward. "The roads have become perilous of late. Bandits prey upon merchants like locusts upon a ripened field, and the city patrols have long since abandoned the outskirts. If I may be so bold as to make another request" The cultivator gave a slow nod. Permission to continue. Lao Ren did not waste it. I humbly request your accompaniment and protection to the gates of BeiAn. Upon our arrival, I shall compensate you fairly, in accordance with the market rates of the city. This will also give you time to consider your request in full. Another pause. Then Ill come with you. The feeling of relief and anticipation flooded through Lao Ren, though he kept his face composed. He dipped into another bow, deeper this time. Then, just as he turned to give instructions to his wife and child, the cultivator added, One more thing, Merchant Lao. Lao Ren stilled, tilting his head attentively. I prefer to travel discreetly, the cultivator said simply. "Privacy is important to me." He smiled knowingly. "Of course," he said, bowing once more. "As you wish, Esteemed One." [1.05] Matters not how Strait the Gate, Master of my Fate Lao Ren The cultivator, named Jin Long as Lao Ren had learned, moved like a drifting cloudsilent, weightless, yet with an undeniable presence, as though the world itself shifted around him rather than the other way around. Jin Long stepped forward, brushing past him with quiet ease, the cultivators gaze settling upon the damaged caravan. Jin Long crouched beside the splintered wheel, his fingers tracing the jagged cracks with a deliberation that suggested more than simple curiosity. "You have a spare?" Lao Ren nodded quickly, motioning toward one of the crates nestled atop the caravan. "Yes, but its heavy, and we have to remove the old wheel somehow. I can" Before Lao Ren could complete his sentence, Jin Long had effortlessly, though carefully, pried off the broken wheel like tearing a piece of hot bread. There was little sign of strain, no bracing of his body to accommodate its bulk. He simply carried it aside, letting it settle against the ground. Lao Ren suppressed a shudder that crawled up his spine. He knew cultivators were strong. He had seen them slice through steel, crush stone, shatter bones with a flick of their fingers, but it never got old seeing such casual display of power. At one point in his youth, Lao Ren had aspired to become a cultivator, but alas, the heavens were cruel. On his twelfth winter, Lao Ren had been tested by a local sect and had discovered he did not possess the requisite base root needed to absorb qi. The road of cultivation had been denied to him, so he turned to trade. While Lao Ren was reminiscing, the cultivator had moved on, fitting the new wheel into place with the precision of a seasoned craftsman. Not requiring tools, his hands worked with certainty, fingers adjusting, pressing, securingmovements that indicated experience. "Youre a cultivator," Lao Ren murmured, watching as the wheel clicked into its housing with an audible snap. "But youve done a laborers work before?" Jin Long didnt answer at first. Thena slight smile, a knowing curve of the lips, as if he alone understood the joke the heavens played. "I''ve had to do a lot of things before." Lao Ren nodded slightly, considering pressing further but then thought better of it. The cultivator had asked for privacy, and Lao Ren would oblige. Above them, the sky had deepened into twilight, the air crisp, scented with night jasmine and damp loam. The caravan groaned as the two-headed ox settled down, its earlier panic fading into uneasy restlessness now that the caravan had been made upright. At last, after what had felt like a lifetime, they were ready to move. ___ Lao Ren The road stretched before them, wide and endless, bathed in the pale glow of the rising moon. Shadows danced across the dirt path, caused by the rhythmic flickering of everfire lanterns, their ethereal flames swaying gently with the caravans slow march. Lao Ren walked a step behind Jin Long, the cultivators presence an enigma, silent yet unshakable. The cultivator had rejected his offer to rest inside the caravan. Behind them, his wife and son were situated safely in the drivers seat. For a time, silence rulednot the awkward quiet of strangers, but the kind that settled naturally between those lost in thought. Lao Ren noticed that Jin Long seemed to have a strange fascination with their two-headed ox, as if the cultivator had never seen such a creature before. Then, like a pebble breaking the stillness of a pond, a childs voice rang out. Mister Cultivator, are you really strong? Lao Ren winced, turning sharply toward his son. Renjun! His wifes hand was faster, tugging the boy back with a quiet hiss of warning. Jin Long, who had been absentmindedly feeding the ox with long blades of grass, blinked, then turned to regard the child with mild amusement. Renjun, most likely no more than ten, sat perched at the caravans edge, his legs swinging idly, his eyes curious and unguarded now that the danger had passed. The boy had the kind of eyes that had not yet learned to fear cultivators. Jin Long smirked faintly. I suppose. The boy squinted. Are you stronger than the city lord? Lao Ren nearly choked. Heavens help me, this boy will be my undoing. Jin Long raised a brow, though not seemingly offended. "I dont know. Why do you ask?" Despite his mothers disapproval, Renjun hopped off the caravan with practiced ease, kicking at the dirt as he walked beside them. All the kids in BeiAn talk about the city lord. Some say hes strong, some say hes weak and afraid. The older boys he glanced up at Jin Long, lowering his voice, say a war is coming and that he needs strong cultivators to help us. Lao Ren sighed, casting his son a look that could quell an ox. Renjun. Enough. Let the Honorable Cultivator be. But Jin Long did not discourage Renjun. If anything, there was a flicker of intrigue in his golden gaze, though he masked it well beneath his composed expression. He simply asked the boy for clarification, What war? Renjun blinked, then scrunched his face in mild exasperation. The war... His mouth opened, but he hesitated, glancing at his father. Lao Ren smoothed the folds of his robe, his tone carefully measured. Esteemed One, I take it you are not from BeiPing province? You must be unaware of the storm brewing in these lands. Jin Long tilted his head slightly. "No, Im not. Is it that obvious?" Lao Ren offered a knowing smile. "I am a merchant. Discernment is my trade. Your accent leans too standard Empyrean, refined yet lacking the cadence of regional dialects. It is rare to hear the standard Empyrean accent in this province." Jin Long said nothing, but his gaze sharpened. Lao Ren continued, his tone now solemn. "Regional tensions have been rising. Two great sectsthe Hidden Grove Sect from the north and the Thunder Phoenix Sect from the southstand at the brink of war. The problem is that BeiAn is geographically situated in the middle, so were lodged between two great beasts hungry to devour each other. If it comes to war, we will not be spared. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. "I see. What does your city lord think about the situation?" Lao Ren exhaled. "Now thats the million stone question. I dont presume to know what the city lord is thinking, though there are plenty of speculations. What do you personally think? His voice lowered. I think the city lord is no fool. He does not wish to be a pawn, nor does he desire the city to fall under the shadow of a greater power. He is not weak, but neither is he strong enough to remain neutral if war erupts. And so, his best option is to waitto wait for an opportunity." Jin Long said nothing, but Lao Ren felt a shift in his presence. The road stretched ahead, winding toward the towering gates of BeiAn, where the city''s lanterns flickered like distant stars, oblivious to the impending turmoil. Seeing BeiAn in the distance was a sight for sore eyes, and while Lao Ren was happy to have safely returned home, he couldnt shake off the uneasy feeling that the fate of his city would somehow be tied to this enigmatic cultivator. ___ Jin Long Jin Long noticed that the dirt path gave way to smooth stone as they approached the city. They passed through fields of golden wheat, swaying in a dreamlike trance beneath the moons serene gaze. As the land stretched closer towards BeiAn, it became a living scroll of ink and poetrysmall villages nestled between hills, the warm glow of lanterns flickering from bamboo-thatched homes. There were a plethora of small shrines scattered about, standing in quiet reverence to the local gods. Some were neglected, dust accumulating on their stone altars, while others contained freshly brought burnt offerings and fruit. Occasionally, they passed travelers moving in the opposite directionfarmers carrying goods, solemn monks in simple robes, and errand boys rushing to deliver messages. Each paused at the sight of the caravan, bowing respectfully to them before hurrying along. The merchant, Lao Ren, proved to be a pleasant companion. He spoke with the ease of a man accustomed to cultivators, his words measured but never insincere. He spoke of market shifts, trade disputes, the dwindling caravans that once lined the roads like veins feeding the citys lifeblood. For his part, Jin Long listened. Information was a priceless commodity, and what better way to understand the political and cultural currents of the land than to hear them from the lips of one who had spent a lifetime navigating its currents. BeiAn was a city with bustling markets in Nine Mystical Realms Online. In the game, it had been a hub of player-to-player trade, a meeting ground where players exchanged rare artifacts, bartered for crafting material, and made fleeting alliances before vanishing into their own quests. Yet, for all the hours he had spent in BeiAn in the game, he could neither recall the citys fate nor whether the storyline even mentioned anything about a war. Unfortunately, this is where his in-game knowledge failed him. Jin Long had never bothered paying attention to the details of the storyline, preferring only to grindthe endless, mind-numbing cycle of leveling, of battling dungeons for loot, of optimizing statistics. You must have noticed, Lao Ren remarked, his voice quieter now, that the roads have grown less safe these past months. Fewer travelers, fewer merchants. A slow suffocation. Bad for business. Jin Long glanced at him. "You mentioned earlier that the patrols have abandoned the city outskirts. Whats going on there?" The merchant sighed, his expression shadowed. Rumors are the city lord is reluctant to dispatch his cultivators for anything other than the most important tasks. There have been incidents in the recent past where BeiAn cultivators have been ambushed in the wilderness beyond the city walls. The city lord is making a play to preserve his strength. "These ambushes seem a bit suspicious. Do you think the sects have anything to do with them?" Lao Ren hesitated. "That is an astute observation. I have no evidence, but Im inclined to agree. After all, if the city lord will not make a choice to ally with one of the sects, the sects will gladly force his hand one way or another." Jin Long considered this, his mind turning over the quiet, relentless logic of power in this world. Cities were not simply places of residence or commerce. They were pieces on a board, leverage in the grand game of sects, clans, and dynasties. From the moment a cultivator stepped on the path of immortality, they were forced into a war that had neither beginning nor endan unceasing struggle that stretched from the mortal realm to the very heavens themselves. And at the pinnacle of it all, far beyond mortal eyes, was the Celestial Sky Emperor, ruler of Heavens Court. He had never considered the weight of this worlds politics before. In the game, conflict had been nothing more than a backdrop, a setting for players to rise in strength. Now, it felt real, and the consequences could mean more suffering and death. The wind shifted, carrying the scent of distant rain. Ahead, BeiAn finally came into view. Its great stone walls, infused with layers of protective qi, rose like an unshakeable bastion against the darkening sky. The sheer magnitude of its fortifications spoke of wealth, history, and the silent vigilance of those who ruled it. From within, the hum of life drifted toward them, carried on the evening windthe distant echoes of barter, the rhythmic cadence of merchants hawking their wares, the warmth of laughter spilling from taverns, and the delicate strains of a guqin being plucked in practiced precision, its melody floating like a whispered poem upon the air. Above the rooftops, lanterns flickered like scattered stars, swaying with the night breeze, uncaring of the war looming beyond the horizon. And then, in the heavens above, they came into sightflying cultivators. Like spirits untethered by mortal limitations, streams of cultivators flew effortlessly to and from the city by the western gate. Some soared in quiet solitude, their silhouettes barely visible against the tapestry of twilight, while others traveled in small groups, their low murmurs lost to the distance, and still others flew with the aid of flying swords and fans and air-borne beasts. Jin Long noticed that very few cultivators flew directly over the city. The vast majority of cultivators promptly descended as they approached the city wall. So this is a city of cultivation. Jin Long had an itch to try out flying himself. He knew he could probably stumble his way into it, but it was a matter of technique and efficiency. Perhaps the cultivation manual he picked up could point him in the right direction. Higher still, a select few hovered motionless, suspended like celestial sentinels above the citywatching, waiting. Guardians, enforcers, perhaps even spies, lingering between the boundaries of mortal strife and divine detachment. Occasionally, a streak of colored qi flashed across the night as one of the sentinels surged forward with breakneck speed, vanishing beyond the walls in pursuit of some unspoken duty. Jin Long observed them with quiet excitement. It was one thing to see flying cultivators in the gamemere animations, pixels coded into existence. But here, in a world where qi was not a resource bar but a force flowing through all things, it felt different. The cultivators very presence exuded an aura of power, of quiet confidence, of beings who had long shed mortal burdens. The sky was not just an expanse aboveit was a battlefield, a domain, a privilege afforded to those who had surpassed mortal limitations. The powerful soared freely, while the weak remained below, bound to the dust of the earth. And somewhere in between, between the untouchable and the forgotten, was BeiAn. A city of merchants, of hidden power, of fragile neutrality teetering on the edge of the unknown. Jin Longs gaze continued to linger on the celestial figures above, their robes shifting in the night wind, so regal, so above. For the first time since awakening in this world, a quiet certainty took root within him, steady and unshakennot a momentary instinct, nor the fleeting resolve of a man caught in the throes of survival, but something deeper, more absolute, like the first unfurling of an unbreakable path. Whether BeiAn would soon become a battlefield was not his concernnor was it his responsibility. The tides of war, the ambitions of sects, the hidden schemes that lurked in the shadows of powerthese were currents that sought to drag all beneath their weight, but Jin Long had no intention of being swept away. Fate? Destiny? Karma? He rejected them all. He was master of his own will, unshackled by prophecy, untethered by the invisible threads that sought to weave him into a grander design. Whatever celestial game the heavens played, whatever cycle of cause and effect dictated the fates of cultivators and menhe refused to be another name written in the records of inevitability. He was Jin Long, and he was John Wilson. An outworlder. And that meant he would walk his own path, one step at a time, not dictated by prophecy or divine will, but by his own choices, his own convictions. Whatever came next, whatever struggle awaited, he would face it as he always had. On his own terms. For the first time in years, Jin Long felt something that had been long buried beneath exhaustion, beneath the monotony of endless grinding and meaningless repetition. An adventure unfolding before his eyes. A world waiting to be understood. BeiAn was waiting. And something told him this was only the beginning. [1.06] The Empyrean World Cultivation Standard 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 movedunbound, 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 autumns 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 remembranceof 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 Rens manor like a silent trespasser. The nights breath still clung to the air, cool and watchful. At the heart of the guest courtyard stood Jin Longmotionless 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 BeiAn, so he had surrendered to study, letting the twilight hours slip through his fingers as he devoured the manuals 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 patternonly 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 couldnt definitively answer one of his most basic questionshow 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 couldnt 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 Empyreas deepest secrets, its archives guarded by ancient oaths and impenetrable wards. But for now, Jin Long had only one way to gauge his strengthby testing himself in battle. Lao Ren had been more than willing to oblige. The merchant had offered his butler, Bo, as an opponenta 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 scarceonly a handful of maids and the ever-present butler, Bo. Though still grand, the estate bore the subtle marks of declinefaded paint on wooden beams, neglected corners where dust had begun to gather. It wasnt difficult to infer that political tensions had strained Lao Rens 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 escortan unusual decision, given the risks. Yet, something didnt 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 wasnt interested in dominating the butler, only in measuring himself. His blade flickered through the air, a clean, precise arc aimed at Bos 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 phasesEarly 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 couldnt help but take note of Bos swordsmanship. The butlers movements were crisp, disciplinedhis 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 followsthe 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 limitationslike a cup filled with stagnant, murky water. At this stage of cultivation, one had to empty ones 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 existedto 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 prisonit 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 unconvincingmere 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 releaseyearning 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 transformationwhere raw, untamed qi became a concentrated ocean coreallowed 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 lifethey 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 masteryto 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. Thenimpact. Jin Longs blade met Bos 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 Bos in a smooth arc before twistingreversing his grip in a seamless motion. Bo barely managed to disengage before the next strike came. Jin Longs blade cut through the air, and the air yielded. It did not resist, did not breakit 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 fleshto walk unseen lines, to shape the air with a thought. But to control what is beyond oneself requires tetheringan 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 assassins long-range qi bladessilent, 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 Rens 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 precisionlike 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 entirelya 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 masters control at every turn. But for Jin Longqi 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 motionrazor-thin, luminous, honed beyond steel itself. It flew like a falling star, warping the very space it traveled through. Bo reacted instantly. The butlers 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 clearBo 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 its 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 BeiAn where cultivators gatherplaces where you may find opponents truly worthy of your skill. Jin Long considered the offer. It was a reasonable suggestionhe had wanted to explore BeiAn, 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 possessioncompensation from Lao RenJin Long suddenly found himself with a small fortune to burn. By Lao Rens estimate, the average non-cultivator in BeiAn 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 persons wages. Not too shabby. Alright. Lead the way, Merchant Lao.