To save spirit stones, Song Miaozhu halted the maintenance of all spirit-bound items, keeping only five Lingxi paper servants with her—Zhang Li, Yue Lin, Guan Hong, Yi Heng, Yan Feng.
They were more than just companions. They helped her nourish relics, draw out spirit essence, and study the craftsmanship within. What they learned, she learned as well.
They also prepared materials for her paper crafting during the quiet shifts between dusk and dawn, stayed beside her through rainy nights, and accompanied her on trips to Fengdu City when she needed a break.
The Bewitching Grass on Xiaozhu Mountain stopped swaying. The hobbyhorse boundary stone was unearthed. The paper mist curtain fell still. Even the Ninefold Paper Spirit Cage fell silent.
Only the Lingxi Paper Pavilion and the spirit residence atop the old locust tree still held traces of spiritual flow, like two lanterns refusing to go out in the dark.
All remaining spirit stones were reserved for nurturing spirit essence, developing new crafting techniques, and advancing her cultivation.
Back when spirit stones flowed in and out, their value hadn't hit home. Now that the inflow had ceased, Song Miaozhu realized how quickly they disappeared.
The once towering piles of spirit stones in her storage house dwindled before her eyes, like the last patches of spring snow melting away.
Each time she opened the storeroom, she saw the outlines of the piles thinner than before, as if some invisible beast was gnawing at them day and night.
In contrast, the colorful spirit crystals she needed to advance formed at a snail's pace.
Each gleaming, translucent crystal took an enormous number of top-grade spirit stones to forge within her spiritual platform.
Fortunately, she still had enough relics to harvest spirit essence from. Her cultivation was still progressing steadily. Ancient bronze vessels, faded paintings, and tattered scrolls—all whispered their essence under her Pointed Spirit technique.
Now the only question was whether her reserves would last.
Yan Feng brought out the spirit stones for her tray by tray, quietly calculating the rate of consumption against the speed of her advancement, reassuring her again and again: they would be enough.
Even so, Song Miaozhu drastically cut back on using spirit stones for crafting. Unless she was experimenting with something new, she relied entirely on Yin energy to create Yin Paper Clothes and other items, not spiritual energy.
These Yin-crafted items could be sold in the underworld. Yin energy required no spirit stones, only hell coins and the lifespan power they contained.
She still practiced. She still honed her skills. But everything was done with conservation in mind.
Even with all these measures, her supply visibly thinned day by day.
Around twenty years after the final spirit surge, the last spirit stone in the treasury was used. It flowed into her spiritual platform and condensed her 800,213th colorful crystal.
From the moment of spiritual recovery to this long drought, all the top-grade stones she had earned and traded using hell coins were gone.
The warehouse shelves stood bare now, emitting only a faint scent of sandalwood.
She remembered the number precisely. Every time she condensed a new crystal, Yue Lin would draw a mark on the tapestry hanging in the paper studio.
Only 787 crystals remained. Until then, the Colorful Ascension Stage could not be completed.
That number hung above her like a blade, never letting her rest easy.
Fortunately, there was still one final hope: the spirit stone vein she had cultivated beneath Xiaozhu Mountain, nurtured for decades by the sealed Ninefold Paper Spirit Cage.
The crystals buried deep within the mountain were her long-stashed wealth. Now, they had become her final lifeline.
Washed by decades of ambient qi, the spirit stones had matured beautifully. Each one now matched top-grade purity.
Even more impressive, they came out in a kaleidoscope of colors, just like the crystals she needed.
When the spirit surges ended, she had already sent little paper servants and spirit soldiers to mine them. The stones were stored in sealed yin-wood boxes within the Ghost Shop warehouse.
With this last reserve, Song Miaozhu finally forged the remaining 787 colorful spirit crystals.
When the final one took shape, a clear chime rang from her spiritual platform, and the six prior stairways—red, blue, green, yellow, white, and black—shifted. Each turned into the same radiant hues as the final stage.
In that moment, Song Miaozhu felt her perspective rise sharply. Her consciousness now stood eye to eye with the rainbow-colored gate hanging in the sky.
Its runes were no longer hazy. Every flowing mark gleamed with mystery. One step forward, and she could pass through it.
Yet when the time came, she realized the path was more complicated.
The spiritual platform existed only in the void behind her brow. As her consciousness rose with the stairways, her body remained rooted in reality.
She tried to move—just one step—but it was like walking through a dream. Her mind was clear, but her body refused to budge.
The path was there. But how to take it?
She frowned and tapped her fingers against the desk, quietly searching for a breakthrough.
As the thought took shape, a wave of heat surged through her body. Spiritual energy poured from her spiritual platform, rushing into her meridians like a flood.
Every muscle, every inch of flesh, felt alight with fire, yet curiously cooled by an internal breeze.
Her robes billowed. Her hair lifted gently. A soft rainbow aura shimmered around her form.
"Miss, look!" Yue Lin suddenly pointed upward, her voice brimming with awe.
Song Miaozhu turned from her thoughts and looked to the sky.
Somehow, the clouds had bloomed with color. Thousands of rays scattered across the heavens. The sky itself had become a canvas of dyed silk.
At its center, suspended above the world, was the same rainbow gate she had seen within her spiritual platform. It shimmered with radiant patterns, as though inviting her in.
The moment she laid eyes on it, she felt an irresistible pull. Her body grew lighter, her feet slowly lifted from the floor.
She hovered, her sleeves drifting, as if drawn by invisible threads.
Then she noticed something else.
Every spiritual item she had ever crafted—stored in the Ghost Shop's warehouse—along with the spirit residence atop the old locust tree, the Thousand-Illusion Paper Tower, the Four-Symbol Paper Horses, and her five Lingxi paper servants, were all being drawn by the same unseen force.
It wrapped around them like fine silk, connecting them directly to her.
The energy was the same radiant spectrum as the gate above, yet subtly different—purer, more alive, and utterly under her control.