As Lin Chen walked through the sect grounds, he finally let out a long breath of relief. For a moment, he had feared rejection—but it seemed that nine years of grueling labor had paid off.
The cultivation world was ruthless. The elder on the platform hadn't even tried to hide his disdain, and Lin Chen had felt every ounce of it.
Most cultivators carried the arrogance of immortality from the moment they first stepped onto the path.
Long life, inhuman strength, and the ability to perform feats ordinary humans could only dream of—it all inflated their egos. Yet, despite all that, they shared one inescapable truth: even they could die.
That's why he would never forget—and why he would always stay humble. Lin Chen looked down at the two outer disciple robes he had received. They were surprisingly good.
"New clothes… finally I can say goodbye to this worn and torn mess," he muttered, giving them a little shake. At least his wardrobe now matched the fact that he wasn't a beggar anymore.
Now, one of his immediate goals was clear: to get a decent cultivation technique. And for that, he needed the Technique Hall.
The Outer Sect Technique Hall loomed ahead like a relic from a bygone era—three stories of weathered stone, paint peeling in every corner, shaped in the form of a pagoda. It looked impressive… until you realized it was mostly a museum of mediocrity.
Inside, the air was quiet, almost sacredly still. Books and scrolls were neatly stacked in rows of worn wooden shelves, organized by type: cultivation techniques, sword arts, body tempering methods, breathing styles, even obscure movement forms.
But the cultivation techniques section—the real treasure for any disciple—was completely deserted.
Of course it was.
No self-respecting cultivator would touch manuals titled "Qi Weaving Method", "Gentle Flow Breathing", or "Moss Root Absorption Art" unless they had a death wish for mediocrity. Outdated, incomplete, ignored… left to gather dust like forgotten homework.
To others, this place was a graveyard of failures.
To him, it was a goldmine of raw data waiting to be mined.
He stepped in front of the dusty cultivation technique shelves and muttered under his breath
"Aiva… scan all these books—fast."
A beat.
[Command Accepted]
Almost immediately, his body stiffened as Aiva took control. His hands moved with unnatural precision, flipping scrolls, opening books, scanning pages at a speed that made the eye struggle to follow. One page blurred into the next.
He barely had time to breathe—let alone read—but Aiva devoured each manual like a kid raiding a candy store.
The artificial intelligence, embedded deep in his mind, processed everything with the ferocity of a spiritual beast on a Qi binge.
Where a normal cultivator might labor over one manual for days, Aiva finished it in seconds—reverse-engineering meridian routes, analyzing flow diagrams, and even noting absurd mistakes in energy circulation that would have made a sect elder weep.
Lin Chen, disconnected from his own body, couldn't help but chuckle.
Like that, three hours slipped by in silence.
By the time Aiva finished the task, it was past noon. Something monumental had occurred—Aiva had read, analyzed, and stored 263 cultivation manuals.
Lin Chen gave a mental thumbs-up. He could be absolutely certain that in those three hours, if it had been him, he wouldn't have even finished two books without breaking his neck from boredom or confusion.
Aiva had absorbed everything—from the "Lesser Root Gathering Method" and "Breath of Spring Rain" to the utterly obscure (and slightly ridiculous) "Toad Qi Expansion Art" and "Threadbare Spirit Nurturing Path." Every scrap of information had been digitized, catalogued, and filed neatly inside Lin Chen's mind.
A soft internal chime echoed, like a polite librarian tapping him on the shoulder
[Task Completed – 263 Cultivation Manuals Analyzed]
[Time Required for Full Analysis: 2 hours]
Then, control returned.
Lin Chen blinked as sensations flooded back into his limbs. His neck felt a little stiff—probably from holding an awkward posture while all that "reading" had happened. His stomach rumbled faintly, and he realized that his body had been running nonstop for the past three hours.
"Yawn… I should get to my room and take a quick nap," he muttered, stretching. The afternoon sun filtered through the windows, carrying a faint cool breeze that made him feel even sleepier.
***
He arrived in his new room.
It wasn't luxurious by any means—just a small square space with wooden walls, a modest table, a chair, and a proper bed—but compared to the shack he'd been living in before, it felt like a royal suite.
Lin Chen dropped his cloth bag on a chair, flopped onto the bed, and let out a deep sigh of satisfaction.
"Aahhh… this is soft… Finally, I can sleep on a bed instead of the rock-hard floor like some wild beast," he muttered, grinning as he kicked his legs like a kid discovering luxury for the first time.
"I'm going to take a quick nap. Wake me up in two hours, Aiva," he added, rubbing his eyes. His stomach grumbled faintly, but sleep was winning.
After two hours, a sudden alarm blared in his mind, jolting Lin Chen awake. He stood upright on the bed, his hair tousled.
"Argh! I'm late for work!" he shouted instinctively—then froze. The memory hit him. Wait… I'm not on Earth anymore.
He groaned, flopping back onto the bed for a moment.
"Aiva," he muttered, rubbing his temples, "in the future, please avoid that ringtone. Seriously, it's torture."
[Understood]
[And the analysis is completed]
[A new Cultivation Technique is formed]
[Do you want to name it?]
Lin Chen tapped his fingers against his chin, staring at the air like some ancient sage contemplating the mysteries of the universe.
Well… that was the image he wanted to project. In reality, he was terrible at naming things. Everything he touched seemed to get the most boring or literal name possible.
Even Aiva—his AI companion—was named after a sci-fi character he liked back on Earth.
He exhaled slowly and muttered, "Hmmm… naming, huh? Why does this feel harder than actually cultivating?"
After a moment of exaggerated pondering, he shrugged. "Fine. Just… call it 'Cultivation Manual Version 1.'"
[Noted. Saved as: Cultivation Manual Version 1]
[Do you wish to practice it?]
"No, put it on hold for now. I need to check what I received first," Lin Chen said, swinging his legs off the bed. He lifted the cloth bag from the chair and carefully opened it.
Two neatly folded robes lay on top, set aside. There was another small cloth pouch that caught his attention. It seemed heavy—around five kilograms.
He opened it and found it filled with Spirit Rice. Unlike normal rice, this could be eaten raw, tasted faintly sweet, and—even better—helped with cultivation by providing a subtle infusion of energy while nourishing the body.
Beneath it, he found ten low-grade Spirit Stones. In this world, Spirit Stones weren't just currency—they were a vital resource.
A cultivator could absorb their energy, channeling it to strengthen their meridians and accelerate training.
"Well, it's time to eat," Lin Chen muttered, scooping up a handful of the rice and gulping it down. The sweet taste was surprisingly satisfying.
Just a handful and his stomach felt pleasantly full.
"Alright, now that my stomach's taken care of… Aiva, you can start practicing the new cultivation," he said, settling back on the bed.
[Command received ]
Aiva had taken control.
His body straightened on its own as he sat cross-legged on the bed, slipping into a meditative posture. His fingers aligned into a precise mudra, and his breathing subtly changed.
It wasn't the simple rhythmic inhale-exhale of a beginner, but a seamless, complex breathing cycle that guided Qi through the newly optimized meridians routes laid out by the custom manual.
After all, this wasn't just a single method—it was the essence of 263 low-tier manuals, merged and restructured by a calculating machine-mind that had no concept of bias, ego, or sect pride.
It had plucked the best bits and discarded the trash like a chef creating a gourmet dish from leftovers.
Within seconds, the Essence Qi in the room began to stir.
Then it surged.
No dramatic golden vortex or deafening wind, but a steady, dense flow, like morning fog slowly drawn into a deep well.
Compared to the sluggish absorption rate of the shabby handyman technique he had practiced before, this was at least a hundred times faster.
But—there was a catch.
*****
A/N: Enjoying the story? Hit 'Add to Library' to follow Lin Chen's journey — your support means a lot!
*****