163. Soul Cultivation 101

Anji looked at the books spread across the desk—the same desk Sect Leader Chen Ren had once used before leaving the city. There were stacks of account records lying open with the pages filled with numbers and notes. Sales were climbing steadily, not only from the steady supply Jadefire Hall sent day and night, but also from the small ventures Chen Ren had left behind.

Beside them rested another bundle of papers, these marked with Hun Tianzhi’s rough, hurried script. Notes on recipes. Failed mixtures. Adjustments. His efforts to strip out rare ingredients from her master’s formulas and still keep the pills effective.

She had been surprised when the package came. A man like Hun Tianzhi wasn’t one to share his work lightly. But reading through, she realized the truth—it wasn’t generosity. It was leverage. A way to prove his progress so he could demand more money for ingredients.

Anji frowned, fingers brushing the inked pages. The man wasn’t a fool. He had to know how well business was going. And with Chen Ren gone, she was the one holding the reins.

The numbers didn’t lie: if she granted Hun Tianzhi what he asked, nearly half their profits would be swallowed by his experiments. Ordinarily, she would have cut it down, offered a smaller purse of spirit stones, and called it done. But this wasn’t ordinary.

Relationships mattered in business, especially new ones. More than that, she could almost hear Chen Ren’s voice reminding her of the importance of research and development, of seeds planted now bearing fruit later.

She sighed. She had no choice. She would grant him what he asked. Still, the cost was heavy enough that she would need to write to the Divine Coin Sect for permission. With the snow and beasts thickening outside the city, even sending that letter was no simple task.

Just as the thought settled in, a sharp tap rattled the window beside her.

Anji flinched at the sound, her eyes snapping to the window. A bird perched there, its feathers dark against the falling snow. For a moment she wondered what it was doing in the middle of the city, but then her breath caught.

She recognized the sharp beak, glowing eyes immediately, it was a Striker Beak, a wild beasts that had nests deep in the forests. They rarely came near human walls, never mind landing right in front of a window. That much she knew from Zi Wen.

And the thought of him gave her the answer.

She crossed the room quickly. Sliding the window open, she braced herself, half-expecting the beast to lash out. But it didn’t. Instead, it lowered one talon, revealing something clasped tightly in its claws.

A letter.

It dropped the parchment into her hands, then gave a piercing cry that shook the glass panes before beating its wings and soaring away, vanishing into the wintry clouds.

Anji barely spared it another glance. Her focus was on the letter, her fingers trembling slightly as she broke the seal.

One look at the brush strokes, and her heart eased. The writing was familiar, unmistakable. This was Sect Leader Chen Ren’s words.

She sank back into her chair, the paper rustling as she unfolded it. Her eyes traced the words, and the blood drained from her face.

Blazing Ember Sect had contacted them.

Her fingers tightened against the letter, her knuckles pale. The name alone was enough to make her stomach twist, her breath shallow. For a moment, she couldn’t believe it had actually happened. Heavens, just the thought of them turning their eyes on her sect… it was enough to make her hands shake.

But as she read further, the lines shifted. Her heart slowed, steadied. She read it in his voice—and his voice according to the letter was calm—almost too casual.

The matter had already been dealt with. The man behind the war, behind her father’s death was gone. Dead. There would be no more threats from the Blazing Ember Sect.

Anji stared at the words again and again, her lips parting. It was written so simply, as if it were no more than a matter of trade, like a simple deal closed. Not the death of one of the greatest threats to the sect.

For a fleeting moment, she even wondered if it was fake—if someone had forged it to fool her. But the strokes, the rhythm of the brush… It was Chen Ren. There was no doubt.

Her hands lowered, letters spread across her lap, as a strange mix of relief and unease churned inside her chest.

And it had been delivered by a beast. Anji knew no other beast tamer than Zi Wen, no one else who could command such a creature to come straight into the city. Which meant it was true—Sect Leader Chen Ren and the others had somehow dealt with the Blazing Ember Sect.

So many questions rattled in her head.

What had actually happened? How did they survive? Why hadn’t she been contacted sooner?

But then the answer pressed down on her as easily as the snow outside. What could she have done, even if she had known?

She was still only a mortal, even if she forced herself to practice soul cultivation every day. All she could manage was maintaining the ledgers, the supplies, and keeping their business afloat. If she had been drawn into that storm, it would have only broken her, and left her duties here in ruins.

Still, the worry lingered. Was it really okay? Was it truly over?

Her hand drifted to the cold cup of tea sitting by the ledgers, untouched for over an hour. She lifted it and drank in one go, grimacing as the bitterness clung to her tongue. Even cold, it grounded her, cleared the fog in her head.

She set the cup down and turned back to the letter, tracing each stroke again. That was when her eyes caught something she had missed—the parchment was longer, folded over itself. There was more written at the back.

Her brows knitted as she unfolded it, expecting details of what had happened. An explanation.

Instead, her lips parted in surprise. It wasn’t an account of the battle at all. It was something else entirely.

Chen Ren had written that after taking care of the Blazing Ember Sect, they had returned to the sect. And he—of all people—had decided to start learning soul cultivation. He said it was important for him and that he wanted guidance, so that Wang Jun couldn’t take advantage of him. He even asked her for tips, for her experience, the parts of training she thought mattered most.

At the bottom, in his sharp strokes, he wrote that the bird would return within the hour after circling the city. She could give it a letter—updates on the sect’s business, her advice on cultivation, anything he should know to prepare in advance.

Anji lowered the parchment to her lap, her heart oddly light.

Even as more questions crowded her mind, she felt the corners of her lips curve. The image rose unbidden—her master, stern in every way and form, trying to teach Chen Ren, who always seemed to stumble forward with half-formed plans and yet somehow make them work.

Her shoulders shook faintly.

That would have been quite a sight. I’d pay to watch it. But well, now I’ve a new duty to attend to.

***

Chen Ren suppressed the urge to grab Wang Jun by his skull and use him as a football for a match or two. The man’s droning voice was enough to test the patience of saints. He’d internally cursed more times in the past hour than he had done his whole life here.

Beside him, perched on his bed, Yalan let out a wide yawn, her long tail flicking lazily. But Chen Ren caught the faint curve of her whiskers—she was smirking, amused by his suffering.

“Now,” Wang Jun declared, clearing his throat as if giving a grand lecture, “it only took me a single day—just one—to sense my soul! Mastering the first step of soul cultivation in record time. Others at my level? Struggled for months. But me?” His eyes practically gleamed with self satisfaction. “A genius unmatched.”

Chen Ren fought the urge to roll his eyes, though at least Wang Jun’s earlier words had been useful.

Soul cultivation, like body and qi cultivation, had its own nine stages—steps, in this case. From sensing to touching, shaping to tempering, each one building on the next. Nine steps in all.

And, according to Wang Jun, a tenth.

“To tear away the mortal shell and rise as pure spirit,” Wang Jun had said with such reverence that Chen Ren thought the man might bow to his own reflection. “An astral being, free of flesh!”

Chen Ren, for his part, had silently decided he’d rather keep his body, thank you very much. Becoming some drifting soul didn’t sound like an upgrade, no matter how Wang Jun painted it.

But that had been the end of the teaching. After laying out the framework, Wang Jun slipped into endless boasting. His “glorious days.” His “unmatched genius.” His “legendary duels.” All those stories were said until Wang Jun himself shone like a golden idol.

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Halfway through, Chen Ren stopped listening altogether. His mind filtered out the voice like background noise, only catching the occasional word—“genius,” “peerless,” “unrivaled.”

Finally, he had enough.

“Can you not?” Chen Ren cut in, his tone sharp, eyes narrowing.

Wang Jun paused mid-gesture, squinting in annoyance. “Not what?”

“Stop talking about chasing down demonic cultivator souls.”

The older head’s eyes narrowed further, his tone almost offended. “Why? Soul battles are thrilling. Exciting! The kind of tales that stir blood for generations!”

“They are,” Chen Ren admitted dryly. “But I thought this was supposed to be you teaching me, not reciting

The Great Exploits of Wang Jun

.”

Yalan’s whiskers twitched again. This time she didn’t bother hiding her grin.

Wang Jun huffed, eyes half-distant. “You know…

The Great Exploits of Wang Jun

does sound like a fine title for when I—”

He stopped short at Chen Ren’s glare. “Alright, alright. I’m telling you these things because you need to understand what soul cultivation can achieve. If you don’t, you won’t take it seriously.”

Chen Ren’s voice was flat. “My life is at risk. I’m taking it very seriously. Why don’t we begin with the first step—soul sense?”

Wang Jun tilted his head, then gave a slow nod. “Sure. But know this—it’s not easy. Cultivators may have sharp senses for their bodies thanks to qi, but the soul is astral. It’s not touched by qi. Not directly. I managed to sense it in just a day, so if you can even do it in a week, it won’t be half bad.”

“You took two weeks.”

“What? How do you know that?”

“I asked Anji. She sent me a letter.”

Wang Jun’s jaw tightened. He muttered under his breath, “That girl… needs discipline.” His grumbling faded as his face turned more solemn. “Fine. It takes longer than I made it sound. Which makes me curious to see how fast you can do it.” His eyes sharpened. “Now. Close your eyes. Sit properly. Meditate. And listen carefully. Don’t reach for qi, don’t even think of it. Push it out of your senses entirely. You’re not a vessel of qi right now. You’re a vessel of something deeper.”

Chen Ren frowned. “How am I supposed to do that? Whenever I close my eyes, I sense qi. It’s everywhere.”

“That’s the point,” Wang Jun said. “Qi is not the only current flowing through you. You need to stop drowning in it. Beneath it, behind it,

through

it—there is your soul. Find it. Feel it. Make contact. Once you do, once you can grasp it instantly, only then can we move to the next step.”

Yalan flicked her tail, whiskers twitching in amusement. “Sounds like he’s asking you to ignore the ocean and hear a single drop of water.”

“Exactly,” Wang Jun said, his lips curling. “If he can’t even hear his own soul, what business does he have trying to shape it?”

Chen Ren sat still for a moment, his brow furrowed. “How does a soul even feel like?”

“Hard to explain.” He paused, eyes narrowing as if searching for the right words. At last, he said, “It’s your being. The body’s only a vessel. The soul—” he looked at Chen Ren’s chest, “—is you. Think about how you would feel if you were stripped bare of everything else. That’s what you’re searching for.”

Chen Ren almost grumbled aloud. It didn’t make sense. None of this did. But he knew there was no point arguing. Some things couldn’t be explained; they had to be touched.

So without another word, another question, he shifted into a meditative posture, spine straight, hands resting against his knees. His eyes slid closed. He drew in a slow breath, then let it out, the sound of air moving loud in the quiet room.

And immediately, the qi surged into his awareness. Rivers flowing unseen, threads weaving through the walls, the sky, his very veins. It wrapped him from every side, a constant pressure that refused to be ignored.

He tried to push it out, but in the next minute, it clung tighter. He tried again—shutting it down, forcing it away.

Nothing happened. He failed at trying to force it.

His brows pulled tight, and with a faint hiss, his eyes opened.

Wang Jun’s brow lifted. “Already giving up?”

“It’s nothing.” Chen Ren forced his voice flat and closed his eyes again.

This time, when the qi pressed in, he didn’t fight it. He let it be, like background noise. He focused elsewhere, dragging his thoughts inward, not outward.

The soul… my being. What does it feel like? Where is it hiding?

Slowly, carefully, he pushed past the hum of qi.

He had one advantage—one he had never spoken of to Wang Jun. He had lived in more than one body. The memory was foggy, broken, but he remembered the first time he had opened his eyes in this flesh. The confusion. The agony. And beneath it, something else.

A whispering presence, faint and unearthly, that had run through every inch of him before settling, like a tide washing back into the sea.

He chased that memory now. That ethereal sensation of being.

Now that… was a beginning. Because the more he reached for it, the edges of his qi blurred.

He kept reaching and reaching—until, for a heartbeat, he thought he felt it. A pulse—not of blood, not of breath, but of something deeper.

Even if he couldn’t be certain, there was a good chance the faint pulse he’d felt earlier was his soul. Chen Ren latched onto that memory, chasing it again and again. He searched every corner of his being, combing through himself for that same thread, that quiet spark.

But it was easier said than done.

Each time he tried, qi overwhelmed his senses—currents tugging at him, pulling his awareness back into its familiar tide. Again and again he had to force it aside, starting from the beginning, only for the same cycle to repeat.

Still, Chen Ren refused to stop. He wasn’t expecting to succeed in one day. What he wanted was a trail, a path he could tread again tomorrow. He sat cross-legged for hours, breath slow, mind digging deeper each time.

Yet no matter how he searched, the path always vanished beneath him. Maybe his ability wasn’t what he thought. Maybe his luck simply wasn’t here today. Either way, his patience thinned.

By the time another wisp of qi tugged against him and dragged him off course, frustration boiled up. His eyes snapped open, his jaw tight.

Across from him, Wang Jun pursed his lips. “Seems you’re not a genius at soul cultivation after all.”

Chen Ren exhaled sharply through his nose. “I’ll reach it before you did.”

Wang Jun’s eyes narrowed, his grin widening. “We’ll see about that. Do you still want to keep at it today?”

Chen Ren shook his head, his shoulders heavy. His mind wasn’t steady anymore, and he knew it. “No. We’ll continue tomorrow. I need to find Qing He anyway. There’s more I have to learn on body cultivation.”

He rose, stretching the stiffness from his legs, and strode to the door. The wooden floor creaked under his steps as he entered the hall.

Behind him, voices drifted through the room.

“Three weeks,” Wang Jun’s smug voice carried. “That’s how long it’ll take him, no less.”

Yalan’s purr of amusement followed, her tone lilting. “One. He’s stubborn. Stubborn ones surprise you.”

Chen Ren didn’t stop to hear the rest. He had too much waiting for him, and no interest in who was betting for or against him.

He only tightened his jaw, resolve simmering as he walked away.

***

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