The death of her cats made Song Miaozhu more aware than ever of how little time remained.
In this era, cultivators could no longer live for hundreds, let alone thousands of years, as those described in ancient texts had. The only way forward was to move faster, to seize every fleeting chance just to glimpse the summit.
And in the mountains, where no calendar marked the days, time passed like drifting mist. Cold turned to warmth, winter to summer, and the years slipped away unnoticed.
When Song Miaozhu broke through to the Black Spirit Stage, it triggered a global spiritual surge that lasted three full years. On Xiaozhu Mountain, where the surge had originated, it continued for an entire decade.
That golden age was unlike anything the modern world had ever seen.
Spiritual energy flowed in boundless rivers, saturating the soil, the wind, even the silence between breaths. Ancient relics buried deep underground began to stir and evolve into spiritual artifacts. Cultivators descended into the earth again and again, collecting free-floating essence like harvesters reaping golden fields.
But the tide did not last.
The surges grew shorter. The calm between them grew longer.
Eventually, Xiaozhu Mountain's final flare of light faded. A full year passed. The world did not witness a single new spiritual eruption.
Most cultivators weren't alarmed. The lingering spiritual energy still hung heavy in the air, rich enough to support their current training. They believed another surge would come soon—perhaps even stronger than before.
Only Song Miaozhu realized the truth.
The feast was over.
The tide had entered its final phase.
Within her spiritual platform, the black crystal of her cultivation had only just solidified into the ninth layer when she noticed the change.
But she told no one.
The SEIU was already transcribing her entire archive of ancient cultivation manuals. They knew well the cyclical nature of spiritual tides. The only things they lacked were her current cultivation level and the exact moment the global surge had begun.
Ever since reaching the White Spirit Stage, Song Miaozhu had concealed her true strength. And once she sensed the shift—the end of the tide—she stopped sharing cultivation updates altogether.
The later they realized, the better.
Not even the Paper Mist Canopy could completely hide the brilliance of Xiaozhu Mountain's glow. If word spread that the tide had ended, that natural surges would never return, what would cultivators do?
Could they accept a world where breakthroughs no longer came easily, where resources were finite, where cultivation meant hard work again?
And if they couldn't… would they turn their eyes to Xiaozhu Mountain?
A place still brimming with light, still untouched, still full of what they'd lost?
She knew the answer. She had studied too many souls in the underworld not to understand the depth of human greed.
So, the moment the final surge ended, Song Miaozhu began cultivating as aggressively as possible.
She devoured the mountain's remaining ambient energy.
Most of it had already condensed into spiritual water and seeped deep underground, forming new veins of spirit stones. Only a small portion remained in gaseous form, held within the mountain's ecosystem by the revolving Ninefold Paper Spirit Net.
To the outside world, it would have been enough to sustain a township of cultivators for several years.
To Song Miaozhu, it barely brought her to the peak of the ninth layer of Black Spirit Stage.
Before she could attempt a breakthrough, the well ran dry.
With no spiritual energy left to draw, she had to fall back on her own reserves.
Top-grade spirit stones, painstakingly gathered by Yan Feng's sharp business sense, now powered her relics and infused her paper creations. Her research became focused: new methods, more efficient spiritual infusions, breakthroughs that demanded no help from the heavens.
She rationed the energy carefully.
No longer could her spiritual creatures feast daily on ambient qi. Their nourishment had to be cut back, just enough to keep them sharp.
Only a few were exempt.
Zhangli, Yue Lin, Guan Hong, Yi Heng, and Yan Feng.
The core five.
For them, she spared no cost. They continued drawing spiritual energy without restriction. Their value was too high, their support too vital.
If even she, seated atop the richest spiritual site in the world, had begun rationing… what did that mean for the rest?
One day, Yan Feng approached, a rare solemnity in her eyes.
"Miss, I suggest we pause all spiritual essence sales for now," she said. "Once you ascend, we can reopen."
She hesitated before continuing. "Zhao Huoyan's already asking questions. He's been fishing for information about whether Xiaozhu Mountain is still producing surges. They're beginning to suspect."
She paused again. "Also… our little paper servants embedded in SEIU branches haven't recovered a single relic in over a month."
"Some internal branches are even suggesting they close the ghost-run relic warehouses. They say there's no point storing artifacts that will never awaken."
"Miss… spiritual energy levels are now lower than they were during the first recovery period."
Her voice dropped.
"Online, people are starting to talk about the 'End of Dharma Era.' Most cultivators can't even maintain their basic training. They can't summon spiritual creatures, much less feed relics or collect essence."
Song Miaozhu listened.
Then gave a single nod.
"Shut it down. From now on, focus on the underworld. We'll earn hell coins instead."
It was a clean decision.
If spiritual energy vanished, the market for spiritual items would collapse. If she kept selling while others could no longer produce, she would stand out. Questions would arise.
Suspicion would follow.
Essences, artifacts, relics—they all needed spiritual energy. Without it, they were nothing.
And if people realized she still had power…
Xiaozhu Mountain would become a target.
Its defenses were strong. The Bamboo Horse Boundary Pillar, the Heart-Muddling Paper Grass, the Sky-Watching Paper Cranes—they could repel most intruders.
But not all.
Not everyone.
If the world turned greedy enough, no guardian spirit could stop the tide.