Just when Wudi Egun was finally beginning to feel hopeful again—his grin wide enough to blind anyone who saw him—someone called out to him.
"—Junior Brother, Hall Master Tian has asked you to visit him in his chamber," a young disciple in a red robe reported respectfully, bowing slightly.
"I see," Wudi replied, still smiling from ear to ear. Without hesitation, he followed the young man through the quiet stone corridors of the Disciplinary Hall until they stopped before a tall wooden door engraved with ancient characters that glimmered faintly with spiritual light.
From within came a deep, aged voice that carried both power and calm. "Enter."
Wudi pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The room that greeted him was surprisingly simple. A single stone table stood in the center, surrounded by neatly arranged scroll shelves. A white porcelain vase held a few fresh mountain flowers, their faint fragrance mingling with the scent of ink and sandalwood. The air inside felt peaceful, untouched by worldly concerns—like the kind of place an old man would retreat to after a lifetime of struggle.
Sitting on a wooden sedan chair at the far end was Hall Master Tian. His silver robe shimmered softly under the sunlight filtering through the paper windows. His back was straight, his posture serene, yet there was an indescribable vastness to his presence—like an ocean contained within a single body, deep and boundless.
Wudi Egun suddenly understood why novelists always exaggerated the aura of ancient masters. Standing before this man, he could truly feel it—the weight of millennia, the quiet dignity of someone who had seen eras rise and fall.
He swallowed hard. Just breathing the same air as this man made him feel like a grain of dust beneath the heavens.
"Take a seat," Hall Master Tian said with a gentle smile. His voice was calm, yet carried the authority of a thunderclap hidden beneath still waters.
He sealed the jade scroll in his hand with a flick of his finger and placed it on the table before looking back at his disciple.
Wudi Egun bowed deeply and took his seat, not daring to speak. His hands rested stiffly on his knees as if afraid that any wrong movement would offend the old master.
"Wudi Egun," Hall Master Tian began, his tone light but firm, "since you are my disciple, it is my duty as your master to teach you not only techniques, but the way of cultivation itself."
His eyes softened as a faint smile returned to his lips. "You see… in these three thousand years, I have never taken a single disciple. You are the first."
Wudi's heart trembled slightly at those words.
Hall Master Tian leaned back slightly, the motion deliberate and steady. "As your master, I can teach you many things—martial techniques, divine arts, the use of weapons, even ways to amass wealth and influence." He paused, his voice growing deeper. "But among all that, the most valuable thing I can pass down to you… is not a technique, but an understanding."
He folded his hands behind his back, his gaze turning distant, as if peering through the walls into the endless years of memory.
"Cultivation," he said softly, "is like planting a seed. If you pour your heart and patience into nurturing that seed, it will one day grow into a great tree. Its branches will shelter you from the sun and its roots will steady you against the storm."
His tone darkened slightly. "But if you are careless—if you seek shortcuts, if you grow arrogant before your roots are firm—then that same seed will not grow into a tree, but into a wild plant. And when that happens, it will drain away your spirit, your strength, and all the years of effort you've poured into it… until there is nothing left."
Wudi Egun sat frozen, listening intently.
The words were simple, yet they carried an indescribable weight—like they had been forged through countless lifetimes of experience.
Hall Master Tian looked at him again, his sharp eyes softening slightly. "Remember this, Wudi. The strength of a cultivator is not in how high they climb, but in how deep their roots go."
Silence filled the room. Only the faint rustle of mountain wind outside could be heard.
And in that moment, Wudi Egun felt as though those words had been engraved into his very soul.
"You are young and ambitious—I understand," Hall Master Tian said with a gentle smile. "At your age, such restlessness is only natural. But I must tell you this now, before that ambition blinds you."
He leaned forward slightly, his tone calm yet firm. "You must not rush into the Foundation Establishment Realm. Take your time—nourish your body first. Spend a full month preparing before you attempt to build your foundation. Only then will your cultivation base be stable, and your future path firm."
Wudi Egun blinked in surprise. "What do you mean, Master?"
Hall Master Tian folded his hands behind his back, pacing slowly before the window where the sunlight poured through the paper panes. "Before reaching Foundation Establishment, your body must be refined. Strengthen your blood and bones, calm your spirit, and accumulate enough essence. When you finally step into the Foundation Establishment Realm, your foundation will be solid—like a fortress that cannot be shaken."
He turned back toward Wudi. "Afterward, remain in that realm for three full years. Do not advance until you have mastered every fiber of it, until your soul and body move as one."
"Three years?" Wudi's face fell. "But… wouldn't that be too slow compared to others?"
His mind raced with what he knew from the original Wudi Egun's memories. Even an average cultivator only takes two years to pass Foundation Establishment… and geniuses can do it in a few months.
And me? A Paragon Martial Spirit holder… three years?
The thought weighed on him like a stone, smothering his brief enthusiasm.
Hall Master Tian noticed his expression and sighed softly, his eyes carrying a mixture of wisdom and sorrow. "Compared to others, you are indeed different, Wudi."
He spoke slowly, letting each word sink in. "Ordinary cultivators must climb quickly because their foundations are shallow. Their talent fades the faster they rise. But you—your talent burns too brightly. If you rush, that very brilliance will consume itself."
Wudi looked up, confused. "Then… what will happen if I take it slow?"
Hall Master Tian smiled faintly. "If you take your time—if you temper that talent carefully—it will not fade. It will be refined. You will not only preserve it, but elevate it to a higher level. You will grow stronger not by chance, but by understanding."
His voice deepened, echoing faintly in the silent room. "When I was young, I too was proud and impatient. I wanted to grasp everything at once—to reach the heavens faster than anyone else. But my roots were shallow, and I exhausted the strength of my foundation. By the time I realized my folly, it was too late."
A shadow of regret passed through his old eyes. "That is why, even after three thousand years, I remain here. I do not want you to repeat the same mistake."
He looked directly into Wudi's eyes now—eyes filled with youthful determination, ambition, and defiance. For a moment, the old master saw his younger self reflected there.
But his perspective had long changed.
Ah… the eyes of youth, he thought. Eyes that have only seen the sky from the bottom of a well.
"Go now," Hall Master Tian said at last, waving his hand lightly. "Do as I've told you."
A bamboo scroll floated from the shelf toward him, unfurling mid-air before landing softly in his palm. Without another glance, he opened it and began to read.
Wudi Egun stood silently for a moment, dazed by the weight of the conversation. Then, bowing deeply, he said softly, "Yes, Master."
He turned and walked out, his thoughts heavy yet strangely clear.
When Wudi Egun left the hall, he headed straight toward the Medicine Chamber—a vast, incense-filled hall built of green jade stone and sandalwood beams. The air was thick with the fragrance of spiritual herbs. Rows of bronze shelves lined the chamber, stacked neatly with countless medicinal plants and sealed boxes.
Dozens of disciples were already there, browsing through the herbs with focused expressions. Their robes swayed gently as they walked between the rows, whispering to one another about what they needed.
Although there were high-grade medicinal plants on display—rare ones that glowed faintly with spiritual light—most disciples didn't even glance at them. Only a select few took such treasures, and even then, only if they truly needed them for breakthroughs or life-saving cultivation.
Each item came at a price. In the Wudi Family, medicines weren't bought with ordinary currency, but with Merit—a sacred credit earned by completing Hall or Family Missions. Every task, from subduing beasts to tending to the sect's lands, granted Merit that could later be exchanged for resources.
Wudi wandered quietly among them until he reached the counter. Behind it sat an old man with thin, snow-white hair and sharp eyes that shimmered faintly with wisdom. The man's presence was calm, but it carried a faint medicinal fragrance—thick, ancient, and oddly soothing.
When Wudi looked closer, he froze.
This old man… he was at the Martial Spirit Awakening Ceremony.
The memory came rushing back to him: five silver-robed elders standing before the stele—this man was one of them.
And then, fragments of the original Wudi Egun's memory began to resurface. Though he'd never spoken to the man personally, everyone in the clan knew his name.
Wudi Jian.
Known across the family—and even beyond—as Medicine Master Jian, a 5th Grade Medicine Master. Though his cultivation realm was modest, his mastery over alchemy and spiritual herbs was extraordinary. A 5th Grade Medicine Master was a treasure of any great sect, revered across the entire Martial Spirit World.
"Elder Jian," Wudi greeted respectfully, bowing. "I've come for medicine—"
Before he could finish, the old man lifted his head, his wise eyes glinting for a moment. Without a word, he reached beneath the counter and retrieved a small silver box about the size of a man's palm.
He handed it to Wudi with surprising care.
"This was left here by your master," Elder Jian said, his tone calm and direct. "He instructed me to give it to you when you arrived. Take it and use it well."
Wudi blinked in surprise. "My master… already prepared this for me?"
Elder Jian nodded faintly. "There's an instruction manual inside. Read it carefully and follow everything exactly as written. Do not skip a single line."
Then, without another word, he turned his attention back to the other disciples, patiently teaching them about the properties of certain herbs.
Clutching the silver box, Wudi bowed once more and left the chamber, his heart pounding with curiosity.
By the time he reached his small courtyard, the sun was already sinking low. His parents were nowhere to be seen—probably off exploring the city again.
He didn't care. He locked his door, jumped onto the bed, and placed the silver box before him.
Up close, it shimmered faintly, as though a layer of moonlight coated its surface. When he opened the lid—
—his eyes widened in disbelief.
The box, though no larger than his palm, contained a spatial dimension as vast as an entire room. Inside floated countless medicinal herbs, each separated neatly within glowing dimensional cubes, like floating compartments of glass.
He quickly counted—thirty in total.
Curious, he found a simple scroll tucked inside the first cube. When he unrolled it, golden letters bloomed from the paper, releasing a faint divine radiance.
It was his master's handwriting.
> [Disciple, I know your temperament is rash and impatient.]
[So I have used a secret method to divide the medicines you will need for thirty days into thirty dimensional cubes.]
[Unless you complete the first set of medicine exactly as instructed, the next cube will not open.]
[I have also included the cultivation method for the Jade Bone Cultivation Art.]
[This technique may appear simple, but it tempers your bones into jade—making your body stronger and purer.]
[When completed, your physical strength will rise greatly.]
[That is all.]
Wudi's eyes darted over the neat, elegant strokes. The instructions were written with divine precision—every word carried a faint echo of spiritual energy.
The explanation seemed simple enough, but his instincts told him otherwise.
His master had described the Jade Bone Cultivation Art so casually—yet from all the webnovels Wudi had ever read, anything involving bone refinement was never simple.
It was always painful.
Terribly painful.
He swallowed hard, clutching the scroll.
"...So this is where the fun begins," he muttered grimly.