After meeting with shin tian.
Fu Yang sat down on the wooden bench, picking at the food provided to travelers and the poor and started eating.
It was a long-standing tradition in Nian Village, one meant to preserve appearances of mercy and kindness. He observed the people around him: farmers, laborers, and slaves. None were cultivators of tier one or higher. Those chosen few were treated differently, regarded as the guardians of the village, elevated above ordinary men.
Burp. "I'm full… now I just need to find a place to rest and save my energy," Fu Yang muttered.
He rose quickly, slipping into the shadows of the village streets. He moved with careful speed, knowing Shin Tian would be searching for him. A minute later, as expected, Shin Tian arrived at the bench, looking around.
"Mmm… did he leave?" Shin Tian asked, his black eyes scanning the area. The villagers nodded silently. Without another word, Shin Tian departed, searching elsewhere for the boy.
Nearby, an old man eating a small meal sneered at the unfolding scene. "Ugh… what a disgusting pig," he muttered to himself. "These are the so-called righteous ones everyone admires. But in truth… they are the hidden demons we should fear the most."
Fu Yang, aware of the search, hurried toward the village market. He passed stall after stall, scanning for anything useful, anything he could barter with, anything he could use to survive. But the market offered little of value, and what did exist was far beyond the reach of his pocket.
Tch. "Not even a low-tier spiritual grass… nothing to bargain with," he thought, frustration coiling beneath his calm exterior.
He sank to a corner of the market and began to beg. His voice trembled, eyes wide with feigned desperation, lips quivering.
"Please… sir… anything will help. I beg of you, show me mercy," he said.
"Uaaa… mmm… mmmmm… ma'am, please… look at me. I am just a helpless child. Think of me as your own son, if you can."
Every plea, every shiver of desperation, was calculated. And it worked. Some villagers, moved by the sight, handed over trinkets, fruits, low-tier spiritual grasses.
"Thank you, sir, for this spiritual grass. With it, I can cure my little sister's illness," Fu Yang whispered, his voice trembling with false emotion.
He begged and cried until the sun began its slow descent, painting the sky in violent reds and deep oranges, as if a divine hand had brushed it across the heavens. Only then did he rise, carrying what little he had gained, and return to his dormitory.
Sitting down, he counted his spoils meticulously:
Three low-tier spiritual grasses
One boar skin, tattered and of little use
A handful of fruits
Some spiritual sand
He frowned at the last item. "Spiritual sand… I can't sell this. I'll have to keep it. When I begin cultivating, it will be useful."
Haaa… He exhaled slowly. "Now that I think about it… the caravan — the one that dragged my whole into hell — will arrive in half a month."
The memory of that strange realm, of the cyclone, the chained souls, and the endless visions of his past, remained with him in painful clarity. Every moment, every detail, seared into his mind. That knowledge — of timing, of events to come — was the only true advantage he possessed in this life.
After consuming the fruits and using two of the spiritual grasses to heal his minor wounds, he sat cross-legged on his bed and began to regulate his breathing.
To cultivate, one must first clear the mind, purge the body of impurities, and prepare the spirit. In his previous life, Fu Yang had no manual, no guidance. He had been forced to forge his own technique, drawing from the training methods of his world where he came from, testing them brutally on anyone he could manipulate.
The results had been clear.
For adults already partially cultivated, his method worked — and provided a core before the spritual vein opening stage which was the last stage of physical cultivation.
The core would fill with white spiritual dust like always but intertwined with traces of dark dust.
Power surged uncontrollably, and one wrong thought, one disturbance, could obliterate the cultivator from within. Countless lives were lost. In the end, he abandoned that approach.
For children untouched by cultivation, however, the method was different. A child's core could be controlled easily, allowing him to manipulate it with precision. This made them extraordinarily dangerous.
Dangerous enough that Fu Yang could not allow any child who learned his method to survive. He had personally killed each one who reached that level.
Haaa… he leaned back, closing his eyes. The future was already etched in his mind. Nine years to grow strong enough. Nine years to survive. Nine years to be ready.
And now, armed with the knowledge of both his past and the coming days, Fu Yang had a path, however narrow, to power, to revenge, and to survival.
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Author's Note: The cultivation levels, spiritual resources, and detailed mechanics will be explained as the story unfolds. Patience, dear reader — Fu Yang's journey has only begun.