"Ahh… what happened?"
A hoarse groan escaped Lu Tianming's lips as he pushed himself up from the cold, unyielding floor. A dull ache throbbed in his head, fragments of memory slipping through his fingers like mist.
His gaze swept across the room—and when he realized he was back in his own home, a quiet breath left his chest. A strange, almost fragile sense of relief settled over him, as if he had narrowly awakened from a dream that threatened to swallow him whole.
But the stillness outside the window told him something was wrong.
Dusk had already fallen.
Without wasting another thought, he moved on instinct. One by one, he lit the lanterns hanging in the house. Warm light bloomed in the darkness, pushing back the shadows that clung to the corners of the room. He went to wash his face, cold water splashing against his skin, chasing away the last traces of dizziness.
When he returned, his steps unconsciously slowed.
Before him stood the spirit tablet of his mother.
The faint glow of the lantern flickered across the engraved characters, steady and silent—just like her presence in his memories. Lu Tianming lowered himself to his knees, settling onto the futon placed before the table. His movements were slow, deliberate, almost reverent.
He picked up three incense sticks and lit them.
"You must still be watching over me from the heavens, right, Mom?"
His voice was barely above a whisper. A faint smile curved his lips—soft, genuine, and utterly unlike the expression he usually wore.
"Thank you… for guiding me onto the right path."
His eyes lingered on the spirit tablet as he spoke, warmth and gratitude quietly surfacing in his gaze. After offering his thanks, Lu Tianming bowed deeply, his forehead touching the ground in a final, respectful kneel. Only then did he rise and turn away.
Night had fully descended by the time he lay down.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he remained motionless for a long while, staring into the dim light before releasing a slow sigh.
"So… it wasn't just a dream, huh?" he murmured.
"And reincarnation… really does exist."
As he sat there, memories surged forth—those hellish, suffocating experiences he had believed to be nothing more than a nightmare. But now, as he examined them carefully, he discovered something unexpected hidden within the chaos.
A past.
Fragments of another life surfaced in his mind—scattered, incomplete, yet unmistakably real. What shocked him the most was not the unfamiliarity of those memories, but the name attached to them.
Lu Tianming.
That person bore the same name as him… yet did not belong to this world at all. He came from a completely different realm—one where there were no martial souls, no soul power, no extraordinary forces beyond the limits of ordinary humans.
The rest of those memories were blurred images, fleeting scenes impossible to fully grasp.
But what truly left him shaken was something far simpler—and far more terrifying.
A cultivation technique.
It was etched deep into his mind, as if carved into his very soul. Its principles were profound, alien, and utterly beyond the reach of ordinary people—or even the most powerful Soul Masters of this world.
As understanding slowly settled, Lu Tianming's expression grew solemn.
Everything became clear.
What he had experienced was not a nightmare born of exhaustion or fear.
It was reality.
"Still… the reward I gained isn't something just anyone could dream of," he thought, recalling the contents of the cultivation technique. "Nor is it something that can be practiced casually."
The method gifted by that mysterious existence carried an unsettling, almost demonic nature. Its principles were profound yet dangerous—one wrong step could easily lead him down a path of no return. For now, it was not something he dared to touch lightly.
"It's better to cultivate using the method given by Luo Feng," he muttered.
Reaching out, he retrieved a paper scroll from his storage ring. Before coming to bed, he had already made sure to store all his important belongings—the wooden box, the cultivation method, and the small pouch containing fifty silver coins—safely within it.
Only after confirming everything was in place did his tense heart finally ease.
After carefully reading through the instructions and memorizing the method, he returned the scroll to his storage ring and sat down in a relaxed posture.
He slowed his breathing, letting each inhale and exhale become steady and controlled. Only when his mind fully calmed did he begin to follow the steps of the cultivation method.
The instructions were simple, yet profound:
Sit in a relaxed posture.
Stabilize your breath.
Feel the spirit energy within your body.
Once that sensation was established, extend your perception outward—toward the spirit energy permeating the air. When you successfully sensed it, release a trace of soul power from your body, using it as a guide to draw the surrounding spirit energy inward.
As the spirit energy entered his body, carefully guided it through the meridians, directing it toward the lower abdomen—the place where the rest of the soul power was gathered.
The process was akin to casting a net into a vast river and drawing in fish.
Depending on one's control over soul power, a Soul Master could cast a large net or a small one.
That was precisely why this cultivation method was considered only a basic one.
It consumed far too much soul power during the process of gathering and condensing it into the dantian. If Lu Tianming were to rely on this method for his entire life, the highest he could hope to reach would be Rank Thirty—or at most, the Spirit Elder realm. Beyond that threshold, advancement through this method alone was virtually impossible.
Yet, for his current self, it held undeniable value.
Though inefficient, it was excellent for honing control over spirit power—and precise control was one of the fundamental prerequisites for cultivating the technique bestowed by that mysterious existence.
Thus, Lu Tianming began his practice in earnest, strictly following the instructions laid out in the scroll.
On his first attempt, he failed to even sense the spirit power within his own body. Still, he felt no discouragement. Quietly, he steadied his breathing and focused his mind even further.
The second attempt went better—he managed to perceive the faint presence of spirit power within himself, but failed to connect with the spirit energy in the surrounding air.
Again and again he tried.
Through repeated failures and careful adjustments, his perception gradually sharpened. After several attempts, he finally grasped the rhythm of the technique, understanding how to extend his soul power without losing control.
From then on, his cultivation continued smoothly.
Each cycle took no less than three minutes, and no more than five. Time slipped by unnoticed as he immersed himself in the steady flow of spirit energy, drawing it in, guiding it, and refining his control with every repetition.
Before he realized it, a pale golden light crept into the room.
Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating the quiet figure seated on the bed—proof that the long night of cultivation had passed, and dawn had arrived.