Nightfall blanketed Lac Huong Town. The first rains of the season tapped gently on moss-covered roof tiles, as if calling back memories long buried. A breeze stirred the bamboo wind chime on the eaves, its faint clinks like the sighs of someone who had lived two lifetimes.
In a small wooden house beside the Tram River, Lang Tieu—once a core disciple of the Cloud Spirit Dao Palace—sat cross-legged on the earthen floor. Before him was a basin of rainwater, with a single red almond leaf drifting within. A faint stream of energy rose from the crown of his head, swirling, then vanishing into the air.
"The leaf drifts with water,water flows with the mind.A scattered mind breaks the breath.A calm heart gathers the Qi."
This was the first stage of the "Sixfold Path of Spiritual Dao"—an ancient cultivation system from the Immortal Realm, structured into six realms:
Qi Condensation – Absorb spirit energy, settle the mind.
Foundation Establishment – Channel energy into meridians, temper the body.
Core Formation – Gather Qi into a golden core, awaken spiritual sense.
Nascent Soul – Refine the core into a soul, project consciousness.
Spirit Ascension – Attune to heaven and earth, command natural forces.
Tribulation Crossing – Face divine judgment; survive to become immortal.
Lang Tieu once reached late Nascent Soul stage—a half-step from true ascension. But after defying the corrupt Tower Sect, he was betrayed by a fellow disciple, cast into the Void Abyss, and transmigrated into this world—into the broken body of a madman called Minh.
Now, in a land with no spirit energy, his cultivation was nearly meaningless. But he refused to yield.
"No spirit Qi? Then I shall condense Qi from human belief.No spiritual veins? Then I'll open a path through the hearts of men."
Suddenly—Three slow knocks at the door.Heavy. Cold.
"Who goes there—man or ghost?" he asked, eyes still closed.
A woman's voice answered, laced with sarcasm:
"Human. But once… a ghost in your heart."
His eyes opened. Energy rippled. The rainwater in the basin trembled like a blade slicing through its surface.
Luc Yen—the woman who once braved frost and fire for him, who once smiled, wept, died, and returned—all because of him. In a past life, she fell into Demonic Dao… driven mad by betrayal.
Now she stood beneath the rain, soaked to the bone, an umbrella in one hand, an old burn mark still visible on the other. She placed a paper-wrapped bundle on the porch.
"Chicken porridge. Eat it or don't."
She turned away.
"I haven't even restored Foundation Establishment," he said softly.
"I never asked you to cultivate again," she replied. "Just… live."
Then she vanished into the night.
From that night onward, Lang Tieu lived two lives:
By day, he was "Mad Minh," the village fool who fixed roofs, patched tires, and whispered nonsense to chickens.
By night, he sat under moonlight, drawing Spirit Gathering Talismans in ash ink, reciting the "Origin Condensation Scripture"—the lowest-tier technique in his old Daoist arts, but a starting point nonetheless.
Gradually, he discovered a strange truth: faith of the people could be transformed into "Belief Power"—faint, but pure. It could substitute for low-grade spirit Qi.
A child called him "Master Spirit."
An old woman asked him for a kitchen blessing.
A youth begged him for a talisman to pass an exam.
Each time they believed, his Qi grew stronger.
"In the Immortal Realm, I cultivated to transcend heaven.In this world, I cultivate… to be remembered by someone."