The most secure defense was the Mirage Paper Realm.
Using the Secret Art of Paper Crafting, it created a false illusion that completely overlaid the real Xiaozhu Mountain. Anyone who stepped onto the mountain would enter a fabricated world of paper and illusion, while the real Xiaozhu Mountain would be entirely hidden from view.
Only then could she truly rest easy.
Unfortunately, the Mirage Paper Realm was the highest-level secret technique within the craft. It demanded an exceptional level of cultivation and skill.
Song Miaozhu had attempted it several times, but she always fell just a little short. Her cultivation was still lacking, and so was her craftsmanship. Perhaps only after breaking through her bottleneck would she finally have the ability to create it.
For now, all she could do was have her paper dolls gather materials in advance. Then, she immersed herself in the inherited memories of artisan spirits, hoping to draw inspiration and refine her skills, steadily pushing herself toward a breakthrough before attempting the Mirage Paper Realm again.
Her cultivation remained steady, more focused than ever. But the world at the foot of the mountain had fallen into complete chaos.
The tide of spiritual recovery had swept across the globe for decades.
While the foundations of modern society had not been entirely overturned, the infusion of cultivation had reshaped civilization into something entirely new.
In this era of cultivation, the path of spiritual practice became inseparable from traditional craftsmanship. To foster more cultivators, governments around the world incorporated traditional crafts into national development strategies.
Scenes like this were now commonplace: toddlers barely old enough to grip a carving knife becoming disciples of master artisans, school curriculums where embroidery and woodcarving classes vastly outnumbered math or science, and university entrance exams requiring students to not only solve equations but also craft spirit-infused works on the spot.
The job market transformed accordingly.
At recruitment fairs, the first thing hiring managers checked were cultivation levels and signature spirit creations.
An embroidery piece brimming with spiritual light could outshine the prestige of any elite university degree.
Parents no longer boasted about their children getting into top schools, but rather about the powerful spiritual artifacts they had cultivated.
This cultivation-driven revolution rippled through every industry.
In fashion, machine-made garments were relegated to street stalls, while hand-sewn qipaos by spirit-stitched seamstresses could fetch astronomical prices.
In transportation, spirit beasts and infused mounts replaced fuel-based cars, becoming new symbols of status.
The most drastic transformation took place in the food industry.
Cultivators, through the circulation of spiritual energy, no longer needed sleep or food to sustain themselves.
Ordinary restaurants stood empty and gradually shut down. Only spirit kitchens that served spirit-infused dishes still bustled with life.
People grew accustomed to using spiritual creatures as pets and running their lives on spiritual power. When the spiritual surges stopped, they first lost the ability to nurture new creatures. Then their remaining energy ran out. The creatures, no longer powered, simply froze in place. Industries that relied on these entities ground to a halt.
The first to collapse was the medical system. Doctors could no longer use spirit creatures to extract disease or heal rapidly.
Next came the logistics network, as spirit-powered mounts that once traversed thousands of miles each day fell still.
Eventually, even the basics—clothing, food, shelter, and transportation—became difficult to maintain.
The spiritual clothes in wardrobes dimmed. Without their glow, they were no different from regular mass-produced garments. City traffic ground to a halt.
More alarming was how the human body began to rebel.
People who had long depended on spiritual energy to survive suddenly had to eat and sleep again. But supermarket shelves had already been stripped bare by panicked shoppers.
Out on the streets, starving people sat in silence, staring blankly at abandoned spirit-drawn carriages.
Online, panic spread under the rising hashtag: #DharmaEndingEra.
The vibrant, colorful world built by spiritual resurgence had begun to crumble into chaos.
And through it all, high above, Xiaozhu Mountain still shimmered beneath a veil of white mist—just like an oasis in the desert.
"Why is there still mist over Xiaozhu Mountain? That's clearly spirit-generated fog, right?"
"Master Song is still the number one cultivator in the world. Her cultivation is probably far beyond what we can imagine. Maybe she stored enough spiritual energy to hold out a little longer."
"But with no more spiritual surges, she's still burning through her reserves. Even the top cultivator has to run dry someday."
"Sigh... I'm only at Red Spirit Ninth Layer, and even I'm struggling without spiritual energy. I can't imagine how Master Song is holding on."
"Master? What master? Once the spiritual energy's gone, so is her cultivation. The world will regress to what it was decades ago, before the spiritual resurgence. When that happens, no matter how powerful she was, she's just an ordinary person again."
"Exactly. All these handcraft traditions only flourished because of spiritual energy. Without it, they'll fade. Industrialization is the true path forward—steady, reliable, and not tied to unpredictable fluctuations."
"I still prefer diving deep into a single craft, living without worry, rather than working myself to the bone in some corporate office again like people did decades ago."
"Same. But it's been years since the last surge. A few years back, The SEIU still had cultivators able to wield spiritual creatures. These days, most spirit artifacts can barely flicker. They don't move anymore."
"The mist over Xiaozhu Mountain is still there! Master Song still has power. The cultivation era isn't over yet!"
"But the mist is only white now. There's no trace of the colorful spiritual light it once had, like a true spirit mountain..."
…
The fading glow of Xiaozhu Mountain, coupled with the persistent white mist, managed to suppress the unrest bubbling among cultivators.
Back when everyone had spiritual power, no one dared to trespass on Xiaozhu Mountain. Now that they had none, they stood even less of a chance. The mountain's white mist had once turned away even the world's strongest cultivators.
Perhaps Song Miaozhu was just a little stronger, and that was how she had held on. After all, wasn't the fading light above the mountain proof that she, too, was running out?
And so, people waited. Waited for the day the mist would fade. Waited for the day the number one cultivator lost her glow, fell from the pedestal, and returned to the mortal world.
They remembered—she had once just been a fresh university graduate.
But Xiaozhu Mountain's white mist did not fade. It did not even thin. It remained steady and undisturbed.
"What is she clinging to? Everyone's out of power. The real strength now lies with governments and their advanced tech. Cultivation factions have long gone underground. Society's more stable now than it's ever been. There's no point wasting what little spiritual power remains to guard a mountain."
"She's just burning through it faster this way."
"Still, those people working up there at Xiaozhu Mountain—loyal as ever. Spiritual energy's dried up, but they keep serving her, day after day. And they're all so talented too."
"Wait... I think I just saw a spark of spiritual light!"
"No way!"
"I saw it too! Over there!"
"Oh my god—there's a new surge!"