Chapter 8
In a state of reflection, contemplating the methods of advancing cultivation in the future, a brief admonition was suddenly woven, sincerely informing that his line of thought was not entirely accurate, yet could not be blamed either.
It was possible that Ling Xu felt confused.
Since birth, he had never once had a high opportunity to step into the path of cultivation, even though his father and mother had always reminded him.
It was, more or less, a form of teaching.
With the information given, the precision Ling Xu could manage was not merely to sketch a rough outline but to illuminate the intuition of thought.
Advancement of rank was not solely etched upon focusing on killing and seizing objects alone.
Even though Ling Xu had only just begun, attempts at breakthroughs had to be meticulous, for grasping the essence was not as easy as flipping a palm.
For the realm of Celestial Constellations itself, there were methods—specific ways of increasing the number of stars that could never grow simply because of empty illusions.
Taking Ling Xu as an example, and considering that he had only recently declared himself the Enlightened Outcast, it required the fertilizer of resolve to consolidate one hundred fragments of stars, which would later be forged into a whole constellation.
Clearly, it was not the same—each realm had its own requirements, levels of conditions that differed greatly in every position.
The lower the rank, the fewer the needs, only a quarter of one's strength was required to proceed with consolidation.
It was different for the highest positions.
The higher one ascended, the more the requirements would inevitably increase, demanding totality as was the nature of the heavens.
For now, however, Ling Xu was still relatively fortunate.
Especially knowing that his newly attained position had only just begun at the starting line, Ling Xu only needed diligent effort in gathering one hundred star fragments to be refined further into a second companion star.
He also noted that the method of attainment—killing and plundering—was outdated, not entirely accelerating consolidation nor aligning with the foundation of his path.
It was not bound to the spilling of blood, for female healers could also obtain fragments according to how many lives they treated.
Equality was not an empty word.
Considering the dominant number of female cultivators in this world, one preventive measure was that healers would be granted 10% of the total crystal fragments required.
Saving a single life could grant an Enlightened Outcast like Ling Xu around five to ten crystal fragments.
Then, what if Ling Xu took on the duty, the mandate of easing countless wounds suffered during both major and minor conflicts?
Perhaps millions, even billions of fragments could be processed, accumulating an undeniable wealth alongside every professionally applied bandage.
Slightly pleased by the news revealed in his mind, Ling Xu's briefly burning spirit gradually softened, descending into the continuation of his cultivation stage.
It was known that the world did understand how to humanize women, ensuring they would not so easily be cast aside under the dominance of men.
Yet still, even though the heavens had kindly shown leniency, the hatred of Human Authority continued to spread, wielding power with arbitrariness, leaving inevitable consequences.
The acquisition of fragments by healers was one such example.
From time to time, the payment of compensation steadily declined, slowly cutting down the destined gains until only 2–6% remained at best.
Such results, in this era, were considered remarkable, able to add one to four fragments into a pocket.
And still, these gains were cut further, reduced whenever great wars summoned more herbal scholars to the front.
Thus, it was not surprising—one could hardly wonder at Ling Xu's anger toward such injustice.
"It should already be close enough, and besides…"
"What is that?"
While tugged back and forth between priorities, Ling Xu's position high in the skies spread across the horizon once again brought forth the map, momentarily resurfacing as a seed of solace beyond measure.
Not too weary, his arrival was nearly ready to be realized.
Forward he pressed, advancing with full pace, occasionally slowing.
Yet just as he enjoyed gliding through the bright clouds, a faint yet sharp perception arose, warning every sense to halt without intent of descending, searching in every direction until the strange fluctuation of aura nearly submerged his thoughts.
Not so close, yet not too far either.
More curious still was the circulation of air, as though reminding his deepest self not to act rashly for uncertain reasons.
The level was not too much higher, yet still surpassed Ling Xu's own possession.
On one side, wonder stirred—was it truly a cultivator, glimpsed through his sharp sight?
It seemed visible, yet the being's identity bore no guardianship.
It could be assumed, yet his senses told him it was impossible, nullifying what seemed real as mere unreality.
The shimmering radiance engraved upon the topic was utterly foreign, ambiguous to be resolved by Ling Xu's reason.
To know the truth in detail, halting his movement was the first step of observation, carefully gazing upon the bizarre colors that clashed within a strange bluish fluctuation that was surely not part of the natural sky.
Slightly lower in the air, but enduring amidst the sparkling glow.
And since luck was not to be overly relied upon, he trusted his intuition—there must be an undeniable treasure ahead. With that, he decided to advance, spreading his movement once again as his will declared.
Far away from Ling Xu's viewpoint, beyond his standing ground, the scene shifted. The world, with all its beauty, was nothing more than pages of a book, where twenty figures in spotless white robes, untainted by sin, gathered into a formation.
Not too close, yet not so far as to be unidentifiable. Judging by their insignias, by the neatness of their garments that matched the sharpness of their brows, it was certain—they were humans.
More precisely, envoys of the Judges of Humanity, cultivators who were arbiters and decision-makers of every fatal wrongdoing, including murder.
Whether Exiled Gods, Banished Cultivators, or common humans, all were equally deserving of help.
Through the threads of their robes, the depth of their wrath was evident, each bearing layered surges of emotion, their gazes locked forward.
Streams of blue currents spread forth, matching the level of the Lower Heavens.
Although only one individual was truly verified, the one bearing the sea-blue aura, he alone could resist their superior numbers—worthy enough not to be underestimated, even if his displayed strength waned.
As the heir of authority, the bearer of one of the greatest responsibilities rivaling even Judges or the highest human dignitaries, his oval face slowly emerged, revealing frailty as trails of red marked the severity of his injuries.
It was pitiful, but the writhing of his internal organs could not have stemmed from youthful mischief.
None other than the calm, quiet fluctuations of blue aura belonged to the man named Huan Zheng.
To be continued…