Now that Mingzhi knew his system hadn’t been destroyed—but reforged—relief finally settled into his bones.

  For the first time since the tribution, he allowed himself to breathe without tension tightening his chest. The heavens hadn’t erased his path. They had tested it, broken it, and left him with the raw materials to rebuild something better.

  Stronger.

  That alone was worth the pain.

  With his immediate survival no longer in question, Mingzhi’s thoughts turned methodical once more.

  “Alright,” he murmured, eyes half-closed. “Next steps.”

  The priorities were clear.

  First—repair the bridge.

  Second—stamp the Earth core.

  Only after that could he truly begin using the engine he had risked his life to build.

  Mingzhi settled into a cross-legged position and focused inward. His consciousness slipped smoothly into the Eye Space, where the five elemental positions still rotated in quiet bance. At the center of the Earth position floated the reformed core—small, transparent, stable.

  Waiting.

  The carved channel leading toward it was still incomplete. It existed now more as a scar than a structure—etched into reality, but cking form.

  “Let’s fix that,” Mingzhi said softly.

  He began.

  This time, there was no violent carving, no reckless forcing. Mingzhi worked slowly, using the remaining Earth Qi drawn gently through the channel, guided by the residual Earth w left behind by the tribution lightning.

  The difference was immediate.

  Where the first bridge had been sharp, strained, and unstable, this one formed naturally—yer by yer, compacting and reinforcing itself as it grew. The channel widened slightly, its walls smoothing out, no longer threatening to crack under pressure.

  Hours passed unnoticed.

  Sweat beaded along Mingzhi’s temples, but his breathing remained steady. Pain was present—dull and persistent—but manageable. This was construction, not destruction.

  Finally, he stopped.

  Mingzhi examined the result carefully.

  The bridge was thicker than before. Not dramatically so—but enough. More importantly, it felt anchored. Stable. It no longer trembled under the mere presence of the core.

  He tested it.

  A controlled thread of Earth Qi flowed through the bridge, entered his meridians, circuted once, then returned smoothly.

  No backsh.

  No instability.

  No warning signs.

  Mingzhi exhaled slowly.

  “…Good,” he said, genuinely satisfied.

  “Yes,” the Spirit agreed. “This bridge can withstand normal usage. You no longer need to fear sudden colpse.”

  Mingzhi nodded. “Then it’s time.”

  He turned his focus to the Earth core itself.

  “Spirit,” he asked, “how do I do the stamping?”

  “Circute your Qi through the core,” the Spirit replied. “But do not fill it. Not yet.”

  Mingzhi frowned slightly. “Just the shell?”

  “Yes,” the Spirit confirmed. “Let your Qi touch the surface only. Imprint ownership, not saturation. Use the secret technique.”

  Mingzhi understood.

  Stamping wasn’t absorption—it was recognition. A decration that the core belonged to him, bound by his will.

  He began.

  Earth Qi flowed outward through the bridge, brushing against the core’s surface. Mingzhi invoked the secret technique, guiding his intent into the Qi itself. The transparent sphere responded faintly, its surface rippling as if acknowledging his presence.

  Slowly, carefully, Mingzhi completed the circution.

  When he withdrew his Qi, the core pulsed once—soft and obedient.

  Mingzhi opened his eyes.

  “…I’m done,” he said. Then hesitated. “But it feels… incomplete.”

  The Spirit did not contradict him.

  “Of course,” it said. “Each element has five refinement stages. Twenty percent each.”

  Mingzhi’s brow furrowed.

  “So this was only the first twenty percent?”

  “Yes. You’ve completed the initial imprint. To reach full purity, you must fill the core to twenty percent, then repeat the process four more times.”

  Mingzhi leaned back slightly, processing.

  “Meaning I can’t advance yet,” he said.

  “No,” the Spirit confirmed. “Your foundation isn’t complete.”

  Mingzhi was silent for a moment.

  Then another thought struck him.

  “…Wait,” he said slowly. “If my meridians adjust naturally once I reach one hundred percent purity, they’ll be able to bear that level of Qi.”

  “Yes.”

  “But right now,” Mingzhi continued, eyes narrowing, “my meridians are still tuned to lower purity.”

  “Yes.”

  A chill crept up his spine.

  “…If I run one hundred percent purity Earth Qi through twenty percent-adjusted meridians,” he said carefully, “can they survive the tempering?”

  The Spirit answered immediately.

  “No chance.”

  Mingzhi froze.

  “…What?”

  “They would tear,” the Spirit said ftly. “Violently.”

  Mingzhi stared.

  “Then why didn’t you say that earlier?!” he snapped.

  “You didn’t ask,” the Spirit replied calmly.

  Mingzhi closed his eyes.

  “…Of course,” he muttered.

  He rubbed his face tiredly. “So I’ve got higher-quality Qi that I still can’t fully use.”

  “Yes.”

  Mingzhi sighed deeply. “Then what now?”

  “There are two options,” the Spirit said.

  Mingzhi listened.

  “First,” the Spirit continued, “you can circute the Earth Qi gradually. Fill the core to twenty percent, then slowly use that Qi to temper your meridians over time.”

  Mingzhi grimaced. “How long?”

  “…Weeks,” the Spirit said. “Possibly longer.”

  Mingzhi winced. “That’s… slow.”

  “Yes,” the Spirit agreed.

  “And the second?”

  The Spirit paused.

  “You can force the adjustment.”

  Mingzhi’s eyes sharpened.

  “How?”

  “By running the core directly through your meridians,” the Spirit said. “One by one, going through each one slowly, letting the core do the forced tempering.”

  Mingzhi stiffened.

  “That would cause—”

  “Tearing pain,” the Spirit finished. “Micro-fractures. Repeated internal damage.”

  Mingzhi was silent.

  “And recovery time,” the Spirit added. “Significant recovery time. You would not be able to do all five steps continouosly. After each session, your meridians would need days—possibly a week—to heal and stabilize.”

  Mingzhi frowned. “Long-term damage?”

  “If you lose control,” the Spirit said. “Yes. Scar tissue. Reduced flow efficiency. Permanent narrowing.”

  Mingzhi inhaled slowly.

  “So it’s faster,” he said, “but risky.”

  “Yes.”

  “And painful.”

  “Yes.”

  “And I’d have to stop and recover between sessions.”

  “Yes.”

  Mingzhi let out a quiet breath.

  “…If pain were an element,” he said dryly, “I’d already be ascending.”

  The Spirit didn’t disagree.

  “No doubt.”

  Mingzhi stared at the Earth core, rotating patiently in the Eye Space.

  Time… or suffering.

  Safety… or speed.

  His jaw tightened.

  “…Never mind,” Mingzhi said at st. “Let’s do it.”

  The Spirit did not object.

  It only said quietly, “Then we proceed carefully.”

  Mingzhi nodded.

  Recovery time or not—

  He would endure it.

  Because slow death by limitation had never been his path.

  Mingzhi did not rush.

  After stabilizing the bridge, he focused entirely on the Earth core. He guided Qi into it carefully, neither too fast nor too slow, watching its reaction with extreme precision. The transparent sphere absorbed the energy silently, its surface growing heavier, more defined.

  When it reached twenty percent—

  He stopped.

  The core felt different now. Not violent, not unstable—just dense. Like a stone forged from compressed mountains rather than earth.

  “…Twenty percent,” Mingzhi muttered. “Any more would be suicide.”

  “Yes,” the Spirit confirmed. “This is the limit your current body can interact with directly.”

  Mingzhi exhaled and adjusted his posture, sitting upright. He closed his eyes, calmed his breathing, and focused inward.

  Then he moved the core.

  The Earth core left its resting position and entered his meridian system.

  Pain exploded instantly.

  It was not Qi flowing through pathways—it was a solid existence being dragged through channels that were never meant to carry such weight. The moment the core touched the first meridian, Mingzhi’s entire body convulsed.

  It felt as if his insides were being split open from within.

  The meridian walls strained, stretched, and tore microscopically under the pressure. The Earth core advanced slowly, grinding forward with merciless steadiness, guided along the circution route Mingzhi had prepared.

  Crack—Compress—Stabilize.

  That was the rhythm.

  Every meridian it passed through was forced to adapt. Where the core brushed against them, Earth w pressed down directly, tempering their structure not through energy infusion, but through contact and endurance.

  Mingzhi bit down hard, refusing to scream.

  Blood slid from the corner of his mouth. His muscles locked, trembling violently as the pain escated beyond anything he had experienced before—not sharp, not fleeting, but deep and grinding, like being crushed between tectonic ptes.

  Hours passed.

  The core completed its path through every meridian only once.

  By the time it returned to its resting position, Mingzhi’s vision had gone dark at the edges. The moment he released control, his body colpsed forward, breath coming in ragged gasps.

  “…Once,” he whispered hoarsely. “That’s all I can do.”

  “Yes, that’s all you need,” the Spirit replied. “Anything more would have torn your meridians apart completely.”

  Mingzhi y still for a long time, soaked in sweat and blood, unable to move even a finger.

  Eventually, consciousness steadied.

  Then came recovery.

  For the next three days, Mingzhi did nothing but recuperate, cultivate, and assimite. He circuted Qi gently, carefully nourishing the meridians that had been forcibly tempered. The pain receded gradually, repced by a deep soreness that sank into bone and soul alike.

  Time passed quietly.

  He counted the days.

  Six.

  He opened his eyes on the sixth day and exhaled slowly.

  “I’ve used up almost all my buffer,” Mingzhi said. “I only worked seven days in advance at the sg pits.”

  “Yes,” the Spirit replied. “You need time to return.”

  Mingzhi nodded.

  Before leaving, he checked himself carefully.

  The changes were obvious now.

  His cultivation level had not advanced significantly—no realm breakthrough, no sudden leap. But the difference in quality was undeniable. His Qi circuted more smoothly. His body felt heavier, more grounded. Each breath carried quiet strength rather than strain.

  More importantly—

  His meridians were almost fully healed.

  “…That’s faster than expected,” Mingzhi murmured.

  “The tribution lightning pyed a major role,” the Spirit replied. “Your foundation was heavily damaged, but it was also forcibly tempered. Regeneration under those conditions is significantly accelerated.”

  Mingzhi clenched his fist and felt strength answer immediately, without dey or resistance.

  “So Heaven really didn’t just try to kill me,” he said quietly.

  “No,” the Spirit agreed. “It refined you.”

  Mingzhi closed his eyes briefly, sensing inward.

  The Earth core rested steadily, stamped and obedient, no longer oppressive. The bridge—still reforming—pulsed faintly, its structure slow but stable. Everything felt… aligned.

  He also sensed the Eye Space.

  It was still there.

  Intact.

  Unchanged—at least on the surface.

  Mingzhi frowned slightly. “I don’t feel anything different.”

  “You wouldn’t,” the Spirit replied. “Some changes occur too slowly to perceive directly.”

  Mingzhi accepted the answer without pressing further.

  He stood, stretched carefully, and tested his bance. Despite lingering soreness, his body responded smoothly. No instability. No backsh.

  “…Alright,” he said. “Time to go back.”

  He gathered his things, cast one st gnce at the cave, and turned toward the path leading away.

  The chaos of Heaven’s judgment felt distant now, a memory overid by quiet satisfaction.

  Behind his eye, the Eye Space rotated silently.

  Nothing appeared different.

  Yet deep within it, a slow transformation had already begun.

  By the time Mingzhi returned home, dusk had already settled over the vilge.

  Warm ntern light spilled from the windows, soft and familiar. The moment he stepped through the courtyard gate, he slowed—something felt different.

  His parents noticed him first.

  “Mingzhi?” his mother called in surprise.

  He stopped short.

  They looked… younger.

  Not dramatically so, not enough to erase the years entirely—but the change was unmistakable. His father’s posture was straighter, the lines at the corners of his eyes softer. His mother’s complexion carried a faint luster, her skin smoother, her expression lighter, as if a constant burden had quietly lifted.

  For a moment, Mingzhi simply stared.

  “…You both look great,” he said honestly.

  His parents exchanged gnces and ughed.

  “It’s the water you left behind,” his father said. “Your grandfather drank it, and we too.”

  “And it worked,” his mother added warmly. “We feel lighter. Healthier.”

  So it wasn’t just because Grandpa was cured, Mingzhi realized.

  That thought brought a quiet satisfaction.

  He didn’t linger long before moving inside.

  His grandfather was resting near the window, wrapped in a light bnket. When he heard Mingzhi’s footsteps, he turned—and smiled.

  That alone would have been enough.

  The old man was sitting upright.

  Not supported. Not trembling.

  “Grandpa,” Mingzhi said softly.

  “Thanks to you curing me, I can walk a little now,” his grandfather said proudly, tapping the floor with his foot. “Slowly, but I can stand on my own. The coughing’s gone too.”

  Mingzhi knelt beside him and checked his pulse discreetly.

  Steady. Improving. No hidden instability.

  “Day by day,” Mingzhi said with a smile. “That’s perfect.”

  Later, over a simple meal, his parents finally asked the question they had been holding back.

  “We heard thunder,” his mother said carefully. “A lot of it. Was that… reted to what you were doing?”

  Mingzhi paused for half a breath.

  “…Yeah,” he said. “The thunder was part of it.”

  They stiffened slightly.

  “But everything’s settled now,” Mingzhi continued calmly. “The problem’s solved. Completely.”

  Relief washed over their faces.

  “That’s good,” his father said quietly. “That’s all we needed to hear.”

  Mingzhi stayed only one night.

  Before dawn, he saddled a horse and left without ceremony. By the time darkness fell again, he had reached the sect grounds.

  He entered quietly.

  Unnoticed.

  No announcements. No disturbances.

  He returned to his small residence, closed the door behind him, and finally sat down.

  The silence felt different now.

  “…Everything at home is settled,” Mingzhi said softly.

  He opened his eyes, gaze sharpening.

  “Now,” he murmured, “the true cultivation begins.”

  Yet Mingzhi knew the true trials had only begun.