139. Soul contact

Anji had never imagined a life like this. Not only was she busy to the point of her whole day being scheduled, but to feel the most content she’d ever been.

Morning to night was a blur of stock-taking, customer requests, and counting spirit stones. There were moments when she barely had time to sit, yet the sense of purpose, of doing something that mattered, brought a quiet warmth that lingered even in exhaustion. Was this what her father had felt, years ago, when he stood at the peak of the Void Blade Sect, wielding power and responsibility in equal measure?

He had likely envisioned her on a very different path—sword in hand, robes fluttering, climbing the stairway of soul cultivation with steady pride. Certainly not standing behind counters and counting pills.

And soul cultivation was what she started her day with—a lesson with her master.

She knocked once on the old wooden door before sliding it open, already bracing herself.

“You’re ten minutes late,” came the familiar bark from inside, gruff and sharp. “A good disciple arrives five minutes early, not ten minutes late.”

The corners of her lips twitched. It wasn’t irritation—not really. She had once believed it was. In truth, her master always sounded as though she had offended his ancestors simply by existing. But after a few weeks, she'd seen through the act. The frown was performative and was just how he spoke.

He liked pretending to be a strict master. She had nearly burst into laughter the first time she realised it mid lesson—that he was just pretending to be a strict master and had empathy towards her.

“I was checking the supply records one last time,” she said as she stepped inside, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “With business booming, Sect Leader Chen wants us to ensure production remains ahead of demand.”

Wang Jun scoffed at that, his upper lip curling. “That man does nothing but give orders. I haven’t seen him for three days. Is he even cultivating, or has he decided to become a merchant prince instead?”

She looked down to hide her grin. He wasn’t scolding Chen Ren—at least, not truly. That was just his way of asking,

Is he well?

It’s cute,

Anji thought and looked up when the grin was wiped off her face.

“He spends a few hours each day in the shop,” she said casually, brushing invisible dust from her robes as she walked around him to place the incense tray. “Checks in with the mortals, talks to the Jadefire Hall disciples. Make sure no one's slacking. And now, apparently, he and Tang Boming are digging through every record they can find on how the Darkmoon Sect screwed over their competitors. Even the techniques they teach their disciples and their pills are under review.”

Wang Jun huffed, nostrils flaring. “If only it were like the old days. Back then, you had a problem, you picked up your blade and gutted a sect before noon. There were no games or paperwork involved. Now you people just must make everything so complicated.”

Anji knelt before him, placing his head—his literal severed, talking head—on the silk cushion laid out on the mat. She said nothing in reply. She wanted to.

That sounds barbaric,

was on the tip of her tongue. But there was no point. She had learned early on that rebuking the old ways never got her anywhere in these lessons.

Besides, she wasn't here to argue history. She was here for another lesson in soul cultivation. She’d finally managed to achieve the first step of the soul cultivation which was to sense her soul and today, they would begin on the second step.

She pushed all her thoughts aside and looked at the incense that had begun to burn, curling wisps of pale smoke rising toward the rafters. Her eyes went back to Wang Jun and she took her position across from him.

She folded her legs beneath her, back straight and closed her eyes just to feel the scintillate of her consciousness drop inward.

The murmurs and the outside noise faded almost in an instant.

“You’ve sensed your soul,” Wang Jun finally said. “But don’t get ahead of yourself. Sensing it is the first step—and frankly, the easiest. I don’t care if you were born without spirit roots. Now that you’ve begun, I’ll treat you as any other cultivator under the heavens. You remember the first lesson?”

Anji’s hands tightened in her lap. “Yes, Master. The Nine Steps. The path to mastering the soul. To temper the soul until it may confront any technique, suppress any illusion, and strike fear into any cultivator.”

The head gave a dry huff, eyes narrowed like he was still searching for a reason to scold her. Instead, he said, “Then what’s the second step?”

“Soul Contact.”

“Mm,” he grunted. “At least you remember names. Now tell me—what is it?”

Her lips parted, but she hesitated. He never liked unsteady answers. Still, she tried. “It’s the act of... touching your soul with your thoughts. Feeling its shape.”

“Its name is its meaning.” The head’s tone was flat, as though quoting a line she should have memorized from scripture. “You’ve sensed it, yes. A flicker behind your chest, a presence that tugs your thoughts when you’re quiet. But sensing it is nothing. A child feels the wind and calls it profound. What matters is contact.

“You must reach it. Touch it with your intent. Not qi. Not your body. Your

intent

.”

Anji frowned slightly, brows drawing in. “But... how?”

A snort escaped him. “Do I need to teach you to breathe too? If you can't think for yourself, you’re better off doing something else other than learning soul cultivation.”

Her lips twitched, but she didn’t speak. The insults were his way of teaching. But more than that, she couldn’t find sense in every word he said. That had been the same situation when she had tried to grasp the first step. It eventually came to her, and she could only hope that it wouldn’t take a month this time.

“You’ll figure it out,” he muttered, confirming her thoughts. “You figured out the first step. This one’s no different. Sit. Breathe. Still the mind. Then reach.”

Anji bowed her head, murmuring a soft “yes, Master,” before letting silence claim her.

She shifted her legs beneath her, placed her hands in her lap, and closed her eyes. The incense continued to burn, its scent making its way into her lungs with each breath. She let it carry her inward, falling into the pattern he’d drilled into her body over the last weeks. It had been the hardest thing for her—to get into the state, but now, it took only half an hour.

Inhale. Four counts.

Hold. Eight.

Exhale. Ten.

Her breath tugged her deeper into herself, like drifting down the layers of a still lake. Her thoughts slowed. Frantic pieces of the day—ledger tallies, pill shipments, the drunken nonsense of Tang Boming—began to fade. Even the gentle grumble of the head, now reduced to a faint echo and slipped away.

She no longer felt the floor beneath her. The stone tiles, the cool still air, even the faint scent of old herbs clinging to the room—all of it was gone.

There was only

stillness

.

She drifted, unanchored, suspended in a void not of darkness but of silence. Thought faded, leaving behind only awareness.

And there—within that stillness—she sensed a presence again.

It wrapped around her, thin as mist, clinging to every inch of her body. It wasn’t bound to her core, as she had once assumed. It wasn't hidden deep within chest or behind her mind. No—this presence spread across her skin, beneath her bones, within her breath. It was everywhere.

Her soul.

Not one part of her.

But

all

of her.

The realisation came like a slow ripple across water. Anji inhaled, steady and shallow. She tried to hold on to the sensation. Tried to brush it—just lightly—with her thoughts.

Nothing happened.

She frowned, inwardly.

Intent

, Wang Jun had said.

Not qi. Not muscle. Not even willpower.

Intent.

So she focused. Thought of reaching. She imagined her thoughts rising from her mind like misty fingers, stretching outward to touch the presence surrounding her.

Again, nothing.

She tried harder. Shaped her intent more clearly. Willed her thoughts to press against the soul-skin that cloaked her body. She imagined the sensation—what would it feel like? Would it be warm? Cold? Would it tremble beneath her thoughts like water?

Still, the soul did not stir.

Time passed in silence. How long, she didn’t know. Minutes? Hours?

Her thoughts blurred. The focus she had built so carefully began to crack at the edges, and the void that had welcomed her now pushed against her like a tide.

A sharp ache bloomed behind her eyes.

Her breathing faltered and she felt her throat close up, stopping her airway.

Too much.

She had gone too deep. Too long.

With effort, she pulled herself back—like swimming against a current—and let go of the soul’s presence.

Slowly, her senses returned.

The stillness gave way to sound. The weightless void became the cold press of stone beneath her. Her back ached. Sweat clung to her robes.

She blinked her eyes open, and the room sharpened into focus again, she took it all in.

Across from her, Master Wang Jun just stared at her.

She swallowed, wiped the back of her hand against her forehead, and met his gaze.

A long sigh broke the silence.

“So.” Wang Jun said sharply, but not unkindly. “Can’t touch it, huh?”

Anji opened her eyes the rest of the way, blinking away the staleness. She shook her head once.

“No.” Even she was surprised by the frustration that layered her voice. “Not yet.”

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She didn’t expect mastery in a day—she wasn’t naive—but still… to fail at even brushing the surface left a bitter taste in her mouth.

“I’ll keep practicing.”

“You’d better,” the head grunted. “You won’t last long out there without the second step. Not if some bastard with a whiff of qi decides to come for you.”

Anji nodded. “I won’t disappoint you.”

She rose to her feet, brushing the back of her sleeve across her forehead. Her legs ached from sitting so long, but the moment she reached for him, her fingers moved gently, placing the head back down on his small embroidered pillow like setting a relic on an altar.

She was nearly at the door when his voice floated out again, dry and complaining.

“Send me more books.”

She paused.

“I already finished the ones you brought last time. Sitting here with nothing but my thoughts is a recipe for madness.”

Anji turned her head, guilt flickering across her face.

“I’ll bring as many as I can today.”

“You’d better,” the head muttered. “Or next lesson, I’ll have you reciting alchemy manuals backward.”

A smile ghosted over her lips.

She stepped into the corridor, pulling the door shut behind her with care. The quiet click echoed in the stillness of the inn. For a moment, she simply stood there, staring at the wood grain of the door.

He was bored.

Of course he was. He had no body, no hands, no way to move through the world but through her, and even then only in conversation. They hadn’t dared risk moving him through the city streets. Too many risks. Too many eyes. Even so, she had tried—once—to arrange a tour of the inn.

It hadn’t worked out.

“I should ask Hong Yi again,” she murmured. “Maybe he really can make him a body.”

But that was for later.

Right now, there was work.

Anji moved down the wooden corridors through the inn. The inn bustled faintly, sounds of other tenants stirring, but she didn’t stop. The door swung open, sunlight washing over her face.

The street was already alive as she moved through it.

It was alive in every form one expected it to be. There were carts that rolled past vendors who shouted, trying to get the attention of any customer that walked looking at their stalls.

And through all the business, she saw cultivators in travelling robes speaking in excitement, pointing to the left. Some men and women stopped in the middle of the road, just to figure out what was going on.

Just ahead, two guards were struggling to hoist up a large silk banner over a polished wooden frame. The fabric rippled in the morning breeze before unfurling with a sharp snap. Bright golden letters gleamed against the dark red silk,

Flames of Merit Trials.

Her eyes narrowed as she read the name and from the whispers around the banner, she understood what was going on and wondered if Chen Ren knew about it. After taking another look at it, she put it to the back of her mind and focused on getting to work.

The Divine Pill Apothecary was right across the street. A cultivator opened the gate and she saw the state of the shop inside.

She frowned as she realised—she was late.

The shop was already buzzing.

One thought went through her mind:

Hopefully… no chaos had decided to show up this early.

She crossed the street immediately, walking toward the shop.

The chime above the door rang lightly.

At first glance, all seemed well.

Cultivators milled through the aisles, inspecting shelves, murmuring about discounts, purity, and taste. The herbal aroma and the faint shimmer of qi-rich powders hung in the air. But her gaze snagged almost immediately on the far side of the room.

Zushi stood stiff and awkward, shoulders bunched as though trying not to shrink. Before her stood a young man with ornate sleeves and a golden clasp in his hair—rich, probably. Spoiled, certainly. His stance screamed entitlement. His chin tilted upward, his fingers tapped impatiently on the counter.

Anji's lips thinned. She was already moving before she consciously decided to.

“Is there a problem here?” she asked as she approached, trying to sound as polite as she could.

The young man turned, one brow raised as though the mere sound of her voice offended him.

“And you are?”

“Anji,” she said. “Manager of this shop. What can I do for you?”

Finally, some recognition flickered across his face. He straightened, a pleased smirk settling on his lips.

“Finally, someone important enough to speak to.” He gestured lazily at Zushi. “This mortal refuses my request. I assume you’ll handle it better.”

“Hmm, I’ll see what I can do about it. So, what is it?”

“I want Flavoured Essence Pills,” he said, rolling the words around like they were pearls. “The ones I’m using now are awful. Bitter, bland… unacceptable. I sent someone yesterday to place an order for a private batch. You people refused.”

She inhaled through her nose, slowly. Of course they had.

“I see. Unfortunately, we don’t manufacture Essence Pills. Not currently.”

He waved a hand. “Then start. I’ll pay for it.”

Anji arched a brow. “And how much are you offering?”

“Ten spirit stones,” he said, puffing his chest slightly. “And the chance to do business with someone important.”

Ah. There it was.

Her eyes didn’t narrow, but her silence shifted. That same heavy, blank expression she’d learned from watching Chen Ren talk to anyone important began to form on her face.

Ten spirit stones?

Essence Pills of average purity sold at fifteen. Even the low-grade ones went for twelve, and this man was offering ten—and calling it generous? And that so-called ‘chance’? She’d heard all about what these young masters offered. Mostly trouble, never profit.

She folded her hands in front of her.

“We don’t make that pill,” she said. “And flavoured or not, modifying a recipe isn’t like changing robes. It takes time. It takes years. What you’re offering wouldn’t even cover a quarter of the cost.”

His lips twitched, but it wasn’t amusement—it was fury creeping up his face. The false charm faded like paint in rain.

“Do you even know who you’re rejecting?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said in the most polite voice she could manage. “What you’re asking isn’t something we offer. If you need that pill, there are other alchemists in the city.”

His nostrils flared. “That doesn’t matter anymore. What matters—” He stopped mid-sentence, eyes widening.

Color drained from his face in seconds. His hands, which had been gesturing wildly, dropped to his sides. His legs stiffened.

Anji frowned in confusion—Is he okay?— but the answer walked in. Yalan, flickering her tail, walked in with grace. Beside her, Chen Ren walked with the same calmness he carried into business meetings, but Yalan’s amber gaze glinted.

An aura technique.

The young master was shaking. He looked like he was about to get on his knees.

Before he could collapse, he bowed—barely—and rasped, “No—it’s fine. I was just leaving.”

His voice cracked like a snapped reed as he half-walked, half-stumbled out the door.

Only after it closed behind him did the tension ease from the room.

Anji exhaled. “Thank you,” she said, glancing between the two.

“Another idiot trying to act like he owns the place?”

“One of many,” she said with a nod.

“How many has it been now?” he asked, frowning.

“Dozens.”

Chen Ren scoffed, muttering, “Prosperity draws out more vermin than sunlight.”

Then his gaze shifted—serious now, all the ease draining from it. He looked at her like he was measuring something beyond the present.

“What?”

“Come, let’s talk in the back.”

Her steps faltered. “Something happened?”

Chen Ren’s eyes flicked toward the customers and the counter staff, checking—always checking. Then he leaned closer, voice quieter than a breath.

“Yes. Darkmoon sect’s played their hand.”

Anji’s stomach tightened. “How?”

“They sent a spy.”

***

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