165. Science class

The next few days, Chen Ren fell into the rhythm of a very painful lifestyle.

His mornings began cross-legged on the floor with Wang Jun’s voice drilling into his ears, half instruction, half ego-polishing tales of his own brilliance. Soul cultivation demanded focus, silence of mind, yet somehow he was forced to chase his soul’s shadow while enduring the endless thunder of Wang Jun’s blabbering.

If soul cultivation was hard, listening to that head was an even harder task.

By the time afternoon came, sweat soaked his body from head to toe. That was when Qing He took over.

She was merciless. If he thought one day of dragging carts and holding planks beneath boulders was bad, he quickly learned that was only the beginning. Qing He never allowed him comfort—if anything, she went out of her way to strip it from him.

One day, she led him up a nearby peak, the cliff face sharp against the sky. There she ordered him to hang from the edge, his fingers curled against the cold stone, while two boulders were tied to his legs.

“Pull yourself up,” she had said simply.

And he did, again and again, until his arms trembled and his vision swam. He wasn’t allowed to use qi, not even when the rocks dragged him down and his grip faltered. Once, he slipped, plummeting toward the valley below, but Qing He only watched with calm eyes.

“A cultivator won’t die from a fall that small,” she had remarked.

Small? Chen Ren wanted to scream. From his perspective, it had been anything but. Still, he said nothing. He obeyed. Every day, he kept up with her brutal regimen, because every day the same training grew just a fraction easier.

Cultivator bodies were resilient. They healed fast, adapted faster. Muscles that had torn the day before came back stronger, bones that had creaked now steadied under strain. And step by step, Chen Ren’s endurance began to grow.

Qing He gave no special praise. Not even a slight smile was visible on her face, and words of encouragement was the last thing he expected. At best, she gave curt nods when he met her expectations. At worst, silence when he failed.

But Wang Jun was another matter entirely.

On the sixth day of their soul cultivation sessions, Chen Ren finally brushed against it—his soul.

It was the faintest sensation he’d felt, and a contact so brief yet so clear that he knew it for what it was. The moment his eyes opened, Wang Jun’s jaw dropped.

The old man’s eyes went wide, round as coins and his face twisted in shock as if Chen Ren had sprouted wings and flown across the room.

Yalan let out a snicker from the bed, her whiskers twitching in delight at the sight.

Chen Ren, half-exhausted and half-amused, only had one thought.

If I had a camera, this would be my new favorite picture.

Wang Jun’s voice cracked through the room, louder than it had been in days. “How in the hell did you manage that in just six days? No one I knew was able to do it that fast!”

Chen Ren smirked, leaning back slightly, still catching his breath. “Maybe I’m a genius.”

The old head scoffed so hard his beard shook. “If you’re a genius, then I’m the son of the heavens. When I achieved it in seven days, every soul cultivator I met called me abnormal. And you—” he looked at Chen Ren pointedly, “—you with those miserable spirit roots…”

Chen Ren raised a brow, his grin widening. “We both know spirit roots aren’t much of an advantage in soul cultivation. If anything, they’re a distraction.”

And that part was true. His progress hadn’t been talent—it had been stubbornness, memory, and luck. The sensation of the soul, that fleeting trace he had felt the first time he woke in this body after transmigration—that memory had been his compass. Without it, the constant roar of qi would have drowned him entirely.

But Wang Jun didn’t need to know that. He only needed to know that Chen Ren had reached the first step faster than him. And maybe, just maybe, it would shut him up about his “legendary” exploits.

Wang Jun grumbled, his scowl etched deep. “The heavens are really unfair…” His gaze hardened again. “Don’t grow complacent. This is just the first step. The next—soul contact—crushes most cultivators. Months of failure before they succeed. Some never do.”

Chen Ren shrugged, his smirk refusing to fade. “We’ll see how much time it takes me.” His eyes flicked toward Yalan, then back to Wang Jun. “I believe that’s enough for today’s lesson, isn’t it?”

The old man groaned under his breath. “Yeah, yeah, it’s over. Now go, let me read my novel in peace. I hope Qing He has some fresh tortures prepared for you today, enough to wipe that smug grin off your face.”

Chen Ren chuckled softly, rising to his feet. “Erm, actually,” he said, stretching the stiffness from his shoulders, “there won’t be any body cultivation today. Qing He’s busy with something. She told me I could do what I want.”

Wang Jun narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “And what exactly do you want?”

“I’ll be taking one of the classes.”

The head blinked. “Those lessons you’re giving to mortals?”

Chen Ren nodded. “Yes. I left them a lot of books, along with my own notes. Xiulan is teaching most of the time—reading comprehension, basic numbers, even some business practices. But today, I’ll be handling it myself. I’m going to introduce them to a little bit of science.”

At that word, Wang Jun’s brow furrowed, his gaze drifting as though trying to recall a half-forgotten memory. “Science… I know what that is, but I can’t remember it clearly.”

“Think of it as the study of the world,” Chen Ren said patiently. “How it works, how it moves, why things happen the way they do.”

“Sounds far too complicated for mortals.”

Chen Ren gave a faint grin. “It’s all in how you teach them. If you give it the right shape, they’ll enjoy it. Even Yalan might enjoy it.”

At the mention of her name, Yalan lifted her head from where she had been lounging, amber eyes narrowing in curiosity. “Why would I enjoy it?”

“Because today,” Chen Ren said with a sly smile, “I’ll be teaching about fire. Not just fire, but how fire

works

.”

Her whiskers twitched, her tail flicking once against the floor. A small smirk tugged at the edge of her mouth. “That… might not be boring.”

***

Chen Ren looked across the room that had become their classroom. It was the same hall where he had once stood to give his first speech as sect leader. Back then, eyes had been wary, shoulders stiff, every person measuring him as if uncertain of being in the sect. Now, being in front of them; their presence felt warmer, more familiar.

Of course, there were a bunch of nervous faces, but most met his gaze with trust, or at least with less doubt.

One of those nervous faces was Mei Lin, seated near the front, biting her lip as though she feared answering a question that hadn’t even been asked yet. Chen Ren offered a small smile at her. That made the tension in her shoulders ease, just slightly as she looked down at her lap.

His gaze swept further and caught something he hadn’t expected.

On one of the chairs, perched as though it owned the place, sat Whiskey. The fat squirrel-like beast was rubbing his belly with both paws, looking far too smug for a creature that had barged into a lesson uninvited.

Chen Ren nearly chuckled aloud. The beast had been lingering in the sect during his recent travels. If Tang Xiulan’s reports were to be believed, Whiskey’s rivalry with Xinxin, the weasel, hadn’t cooled in the slightest. They fought, played, and got along with the children in equal measure. The only real complaint was the same one as always—Whiskey’s insatiable appetite. Barrels of wine and ale vanished mysteriously, often with the squirrel found sprawled beside them in drunken triumph.

As Chen Ren’s eyes lingered, Yalan’s voice brushed across his mind, dry and sharp.

“

You should start. I’m getting bored.”

He shifted his gaze to her. She was perched atop the teacher’s table at the side, tail flicking, amber eyes half-lidded with disinterest.

Chen Ren gave a slight nod and turned back to the room.

“I don’t think introductions are needed,” he began, clutching his hands in front of him. “You all know who I am.”

That quietened the room, every head tilting toward him.

“I’ve heard that you’ve been diligently taking the lessons provided by the sect, and even looking for books from the library to study on your own.” His eyes moved slowly across them, pausing just long enough that the nervous ones straightened in their seats. “That is commendable.”

A few faces brightened at his praise, faint smiles breaking the tension in the room. Chen Ren let that warmth linger only a breath before continuing.

“But today,” he said, “we won’t be learning numbers, language, or business tactics. Today will be something different. A thing called science

.

”

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The word itself drew confusion. Several frowned, some tilted their heads, waiting. A few simply stared blankly. And on the back chair, Whiskey let out a loud burp, patting his belly as though to punctuate the silence.

Chen Ren ignored it.

“Science,” he continued evenly, “is the study of the universe. For those who don’t know—‘universe’ is the wide space that holds our world, the heavens above and everything within. If that feels too distant to grasp, then think of it as this: the study of everything around us. The world we see, hear, and touch.”

His eyes swept the room. They were listening now. Even the confused ones leaned forward, sensing that this was not another lesson on ledgers or trade.

“You all know many things happen around us,” Chen Ren said. “But do you know how? Do you know why clouds gather and pour rain? Why does a fire start when you strike a flint? Or how your body is able to move, breathe, live?”

For a moment, silence hung, and then a boy—Chun—raised his hand hesitantly. His voice cracked slightly as he spoke. “But… Sect Leader Chen, why do we need to learn that? I don’t think it helps us in business.”

A ripple of agreement passed through a few of the others. Practical minds, bound by what they could measure in coin and gain.

“Hmm, Chun, our sect is more than business. We are also the first generation of people who will innovate. To create. To bring forth things the world has never seen. And to do that, you must understand how things work.”

He stepped forward, his tone steady but carrying a spark that drew their eyes. “If you don’t know how your body functions, how will you ever hope to heal it when the pills run out? You may have access to medicines that other mortals cannot dream of, but even cultivators admit, there is much they do not know. So it falls to us to learn what they overlook.”

The room was silent now. Mei Lin’s lip-biting was forgotten, Chun’s brow furrowed in thought, even Whiskey paused in his lazy belly rub.

“Today,” Chen Ren said at last, his eyes flicking toward the small lamp burning at the side of the room, “we will learn about fire. And how it truly forms.”

A hand shot up from the second row. Ping Hui, a boy with round cheeks and blue eyes, spoke quickly. “Doesn’t fire form by burning coal or wood?”

Before Chen Ren could answer, another voice cut in from the back. “But I’ve seen cultivators light fire out of nowhere. Elder Zi Wen said it’s by burning qi!”

“And we don’t have qi,” a third added flatly. “So how can we do it?”

Murmurs rippled through the room, the mortals half arguing among themselves, their voices rising as each clung to what they thought they knew. Chen Ren raised his hand, palm outward. His calm presence pressed down on the noise until the voices faded.

“What you are describing,” he said evenly, “isn’t how fire is formed

.

Coal, wood, qi—they are only the fuel. Fire itself…” he turned, chalk in hand, and wrote a single word on the board:

Air.

“…is not a thing. It is a reaction

.

”

Confused looks spread across the room, but the quiet held. Even Whiskey tilted his head, as though the lunari too was pondering.

Chen Ren tapped the word on the board. “All of you know that we breathe air to live, yes?”

Dozens of heads bobbed in agreement.

“But air is not just one thing,” Chen Ren continued. “It is many things, mixed together. We call them gases. You’ve all heard of poisonous mists from plants or swamps? Those are gases too. Just like that, many gases make up the air around us. Even qi flows within it, but qi alone does not make fire.”

He paused, letting them lean in a little.

“One gas among them is special. Without it, flames cannot live. With it, even the smallest spark can roar into fire. There is a name for it where I come from, but here you may call it…” his chalk scratched across the board again, “…the Spirit of Heaven.”

A murmur ran through the class, the title giving weight to the idea.

“Wood or coal is simply the food, the fuel. But without the Spirit of Heaven, fire will die in an instant. Even when cultivators burn qi into flame, they are not creating fire from nothing. Their qi is the fuel—the Spirit of Heaven around them is what lets it ignite. Understand this: the Spirit of Heaven is not only the root of flame, it is a major part of all our lives.”

For mortals raised on tales of cultivators conjuring miracles, the idea that there was a hidden law beneath it all was shocking.

Even Yalan, perched on the table, flicked her ears toward him, her eyes bright with interest.

Like that, Chen Ren wove his words around the flame. He explained how sparks and fuel were not enough on their own, how different things had to come together for fire to live. How flames could be smothered, not just by water or earth, but by stripping away the Spirit of Heaven from the air itself—a task difficult even for cultivators.

The disciples followed his words with wide eyes. Some nodded eagerly, some furrowed their brows in confusion, but none looked away. They leaned forward as though the unseen laws he spoke of were treasures being laid out before them.

Yet the one most absorbed was not a mortal at all.

From the side, Yalan’s eyes gleamed brighter with every word.

“

If flames are not born from qi, then when I conjure them, am I only bending the Spirit of Heaven around me?”

“If flames die without this gas, then what of flames in sealed places, why do they choke?”

Her questions came one after another, each one sharper than the last. She had wielded fire for centuries, her body steeped in it, her very existence wrapped around it. Yet here, at last, was a framework, words to cage what instinct alone had taught her.

Chen Ren answered her every thought, careful and patient. He wanted nothing more than for her mastery to sharpen, for her flames to grow fiercer and more controlled. If she understood her own dao better through his words, then the lesson was worth more than any jade or gold.

Only Whiskey seemed unmoved. The lunari yawned so loudly a few mortals turned their heads, then promptly curled into a ball on the chair and began snoring halfway through the lesson. Chen Ren spared him a glance, lips twitching.

Figures. That one only cares for wine and food.

At last, after an hour, he picked up the chalk once more. Upon the board, he sketched the simple formula of fire—Fuel + Spirit of Heaven + Spark = Flame.

“Write this down,” he said. “Today’s lesson was short, only the basics. But there is much more in this branch of study. You may call it chemistry

.

It is like alchemy, but stripped of mysticism—precise, structured, and usable even by mortals. If I have time, I will teach more. If not, Miss Xiulan will continue in my place.”

The scratching of brushes filled the room as disciples hurried to copy the words. When he set down the chalk, he lifted his hand. “That’s all for today. You may leave.”

At once, the students rose as one and bowed deeply, their voices unified. “Thank you, Sect Leader Chen.”

One by one, they filed out of the classroom, their whispers trailing like ripples on water.

When the last of the disciples slipped out and the doors shut, silence fell across the room. Yalan stretched, the faint glow of her eyes catching the lamplight. She stepped closer, her tail brushing lazily against the edge of the desk.

“That was… informative,” she said at last. “I knew the world you came from had strange tricks and baubles worth selling, but I did not know it held such knowledge as well.”

Chen Ren leaned back against the desk, a tired smile tugging at his lips. “We didn’t have qi. So we had no choice but to study. We used science, tore apart the mysteries of the world piece by piece, trying to understand how everything worked. You’d be surprised how much there is still to learn, even without a shred of spiritual energy.”

Yalan’s ears flicked at that, thoughtful. Her gaze lingered on the chalk-streaked board, the formula for fire still scrawled across it. But before Chen Ren could continue, the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Both turned.

It was Zi Wen. He looked between Chen Ren and Yalan and came to a halt a few paces away. His hands clasped and he bowed slightly.

“Sect Leader Chen Ren,” he said, lifting his eyes.”

“What is it?”

“I believe I’ve found the location you were searching for.”

***

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