The Mid Stage of Core Formation was not a destination, but a new plane of existence. Energy flowed through Li Yao not as a borrowed force, but as his native state. A cut would heal in seconds, a broken bone in minutes. His spiritual sense could now passively map a radius of several hundred meters, catching the whispers of disciples' conversations, the flutter of leaves, the slow grind of stone. He was more than a man; he was a self-sustaining ecosystem of power.
But this new strength came with a new sensitivity. The whispers of the Orthodoxy Faction, once distant murmurs, were now clear, sharp daggers of intent. He could feel the weight of Elder Hong's gaze from across the sect, a dry, probing pressure that sought the cracks in his orthodox facade. He could sense Kang's bitter resentment festering like a wound. The sect was no longer a place of learning; it was a forest of watching eyes.
His progress in the Energy Path had hit a natural plateau. Solidifying the Mid Stage was a matter of patient accumulation, a process that could take decades without a massive influx of resources. His focus needed to shift. The next great realm on the Eternal Ascension Path was the Soul Tempering Realm, and its first stirrings were already upon him.
The essence of Soul Tempering was to refine the soul to resonate with the body and core, allowing perception beyond the physical. The Early Sub-Realm was marked by the soul becoming sensitive to energy fluctuations. He was already there, thanks to the Void-Whispering Orchid. But now, the soul itself needed to be exercised, to be strengthened.
The problem was methodology. The Soaring Cloud Sect's orthodox soul-tempering techniques were, like its energy arts, blunt instruments. They involved meditating under spiritual waterfalls or subjecting oneself to psychic assaults—brute-force methods that risked shattering a weak soul rather than refining it.
The System, as always, provided a more elegant, and far more dangerous, path.
"Soul Tempering Protocol Initiated. Recommended Method: [Echo-Walk Meditation]. Host will project a wisp of soul essence into a resonant spiritual material, using the feedback to gently 'scour' and strengthen the soul's structure. Warning: Soul-shock from excessive spiritual feedback is a high risk. Material must be carefully chosen."
He needed a resonator. Something with a pure, stable, yet potent spiritual signature. The perfect material, according to the System's database, was "Soul-Root Ginseng," a rare herb that grew in places where the veil between the physical and spiritual world was thin. It was a treasure used in high-level soul-healing and refinement.
Acquiring it through normal sect channels was impossible. It was a peak Core Formation-level resource, hoarded by elders for their own use or for crafting Nascent Soul breakthrough pills. His contribution points were a pittance in comparison.
He was back to the grey market, to the world of shadows and transactions. But this time, he had a new asset: his enhanced perception.
He began to frequent the "Unspoken Bazaar," a shifting, unofficial market that operated in the liminal spaces of the sect—abandoned storerooms, forgotten courtyards, the dead hours of the night. Disciples and even some lesser outer elders traded in contraband resources, stolen techniques, and forbidden knowledge.
Li Yao, with his soul's nascent sensitivity, could now sense the quality of spiritual materials with a single glance. He could feel the lingering resentment on a stolen spirit weapon, the faint demonic taint on an illegally harvested beast core, the pure, vibrant life force of a well-preserved herb.
He started small, using the last of his personal Spirit Stones to buy low-grade materials with hidden potential. He would find a "Withered Sun-Grass" that others dismissed, but his soul could feel a dormant sliver of potent solar energy within. Using his alchemical skills, he'd purify it, concentrate it, and sell it at a marginal profit.
It was slow, tedious work. But with each transaction, his reputation in the shadows grew. He was the "Quiet Appraiser," the disciple with the uncanny eye who never spoke more than necessary. He built a network of contacts not through friendship, but through consistent, fair dealing.
After weeks of this, he finally heard a whisper. An outer elder, disgraced and drowning in debt, was looking to quietly sell a personal treasure: a century-old Soul-Root Ginseng.
The meeting was set in a dilapidated observatory on the sect's outermost peak. The elder, a shifty-eyed man named Gao, clutched a jade box to his chest.
"You have the stones?" he hissed.
Li Yao tossed a pouch on the dusty floor. It contained every Spirit Stone he had accumulated from his grey-market dealings, a small fortune for a disciple, but likely still less than the ginseng's true value.
Elder Gao snatched the pouch, counted it quickly, and sneered. "This is only half of what it's worth!"
"It's what I have," Li Yao said, his voice calm. "And I am the only buyer who won't ask where you got it. The Orthodoxy Faction would be very interested in an elder selling sect treasures on the black market."
Gao's face paled. He was trapped. With a sound of disgust, he shoved the jade box into Li Yao's hands and fled into the night.
Li Yao opened the box. Inside, resting on a bed of Spirit-Silk, was the ginseng. It was shaped vaguely like a human form, its surface covered in fine, silvery lines that pulsed with a soft, inner light. His soul sang in its presence. This was it.
That night, in the absolute secrecy of his warded courtyard, he began the [Echo-Walk Meditation]. He held the Soul-Root Ginseng in his hand and, following the System's precise instructions, carefully detached a single, hair-thin wisp of his own soul essence.
The sensation was indescribable. It was like tearing off a piece of his own consciousness. The world wavered, his sense of self grew fuzzy at the edges.
He guided the soul-wisp into the ginseng.
The moment it made contact, his entire being was flooded with a torrent of pure, spiritual data. It was the "echo" of the ginseng's century of life, its slow absorption of heaven and earth's essence. He felt the chill of mountain snows, the warmth of the spring sun, the gentle caress of the wind.
But within this beautiful, overwhelming flow were also sharp, discordant notes—the "noise" of the spiritual world. Lingering psychic impressions from long-dead beasts, the faint screams of a lightning strike that had nearly destroyed it, the greedy intent of the elder who had harvested it.
This was the tempering. His soul-wisp, immersed in this river of pure and impure spirit, had to maintain its coherence. It had to absorb the nourishing energy while deflecting the damaging dissonance.
It was a battle of identity on a microscopic scale. He felt his soul being scoured, like a dirty pot being rubbed with sand. It was agonizing. Memories he had buried—the terror of the spatial rift, the cold calculation of letting Ling die, the weight of Wang Jin's leash—surfaced with painful clarity, tested by the ginseng's pure spirit.
He held on, his will the anvil upon which his soul was being hammered.
Hours later, he recalled the soul-wisp. It snapped back into him, and the torrent ceased.
He collapsed, panting, his body drenched in a cold sweat. He felt raw, exposed, but also… cleaner. Sharper. The world had a new layer of depth. He could now not just see energy, but feel its history, its intent. The lingering wards in his room felt like old, tired sentinels. The distant aura of the sect's main peak felt ancient and arrogant.
"Soul Tempering Progress: 5%. Soul sensitivity significantly enhanced. Initial resistance to low-level psychic attacks established. Ability: Minor Soul-Sight unlocked. Can perceive the emotional and intentional residue on objects and people."
He looked at the Soul-Root Ginseng. It had dimmed slightly, one of its silvery lines now faint. It had many uses left. This would be his path forward.
He had taken the first, perilous step into the Soul Tempering Realm. His power was no longer just physical or energetic; it was becoming spiritual. He could now sense the webs of ambition and dogma that entangled the sect not as concepts, but as tangible, spiritual forces.
The Orthodoxy Faction, Elder Guo, Kang, Wang Jin—they were no longer just people. They were constellations of desire, fear, and power, and he was now learning to read their patterns in the ether. The game had changed. He was no longer just a player on the board. He was beginning to see the board itself.