The jade flute in his palm grew faintly warm.
Leaning against the cold stone wall, Jiang Muchen closed his eyes as golden runes spiraled through his consciousness like a spinning galaxy. The opening verse of Resonance of All Spirits — Insight of Needs was etched into his very bones:
"All things lack; all beings seek.
See their lack, and you find the gate.
Know their need, and you hold the key."
It wasn't groveling.
It wasn't wagging one's tail like some mangy, lovesick dog.
It was seeing—truly seeing the empty bowl in someone's hands, the hollow space inside their chest.
He opened his eyes.
The stone chamber was as dark as ever, but everything had shifted. The grooves on the walls now showed traces of dissipated spiritual energy. The uneven layers of dust revealed the direction of airflow. Even the posture of the jade-colored skeleton hinted at a grievously wounded cultivator who had once healed here using the mountain's earth veins.
So this… was insight.
Jiang Muchen drew a slow breath and pressed the jade flute to his chest. The instant it touched skin, a cool current pierced straight into his mind, scattering his stray thoughts like hot water thrown onto fresh snow.
A treasure indeed—far more extraordinary than Old Bai Gui's ragged soul had claimed. "Clears the mind, dispels delusion"—only now did he understand how perfectly this flute complemented the Resonance of All Spirits.
Time to leave.
Following the airflow patterns he had sensed, Jiang Muchen found a tight crack in the northwest corner of the chamber. He squeezed through it, crawling through suffocating darkness for half a stick of incense before emerging behind the collapsed back wall of an abandoned beast pen on the rear mountain.
Dawn was just beginning to color the sky in pale gray.
Dusting off his threadbare servant's robes, he bowed his head. The same rags as yesterday… yet something inside him had upended completely. Lin Yueyao's cold "Disgusting" still echoed in his ears—still painful, but no longer suffocating.
Because finally, he understood.
For three whole years, he'd been licking… in the wrong direction.
Did Lin Yueyao lack low-grade cultivation pills? Hardly. She was a true disciple of Jade Sword Peak—built her foundation early, backed by sect allocations, family offerings, and suitors lining up to send gifts. She lacked everything except resources.
So what did she really lack?
Walking toward the servant quarters, he replayed every word, every glance she'd ever given him.
—
"Don't let me see you again."
"You call this devotion? This is groveling."
"It's disgusting."
—
Under the surface was something sharper than the words themselves: irritation. Disgust. And most of all… the shame of a high-status cultivator being chased by a lowly servant.
She didn't need his offerings.
She needed him to vanish—or at least exist in a way that didn't drag down her status.
A low, bitter laugh slipped from Jiang Muchen's throat.
All his so-called devotion, all the little gifts he'd scraped together over three years—every single one had reminded her that "a mere servant has eyes for you." The more he licked, the filthier she felt.
True service isn't giving what I want to give.
It's giving what they truly need—even if what they need… is for me to walk away.
The realization hit him like a bucket of icy water.
—
By the time he reached the ten-man dormitory, dawn had fully broken. Snores filled the cramped room; no one had even noticed his absence—servants were weeds, interchangeable.
Sitting cross-legged on his thin pallet, Jiang Muchen closed his eyes and tried the entry technique of the Resonance of All Spirits. His spiritual sense drifted out like a fine net, touching no one's mind directly, only brushing the faint emotional imprints left in the air.
From the bunk on his left, Old Zhao muttered in his sleep, "Spirit stones… still short three…"
Near the chamber pot, Li Mazi cursed while relieving himself, "That fat bastard cut my body-tempering pills again…"
On the lower bunk by the window, a new recruit tossed restlessly, fingers forming sword seals under his blanket—his anxiety sharp enough to taste: "Three days and I still can't get 'Wing-Broken Cloud' right…"
These were the needs of mortals.
Crude. Petty. Bare.
A faint gold flashed in Jiang Muchen's eyes as he opened them. Old Bai Gui's words rose like smoke in his memory:
"What is the cultivation world but another marketplace?"
People here traded not grain but resources, techniques, connections, futures. Everyone sold what they had and clawed for what they lacked.
But now, he could see the empty shelves in their hearts.
—
At morning assembly, Overseer Wang—fat belly leading his stride—stood on the stone platform and barked out chores.
"Li Mazi, sweep the East Peak beast pens! Zhao Ironhead, firewood from the rear mountain! Jiang Muchen—yes, you—wipe down the plaza outside the Scripture Pavilion!"
A ripple of shock went through the crowd.
The Scripture Pavilion plaza? The easiest chore available—usually reserved for Wang's favorites.
Dozens of jealous, suspicious, annoyed gazes jabbed at him.
Jiang Muchen bowed. "Yes, Overseer."
But inside, he remained calm.
Goodwill… mixed with pressure.
Goodwill, because perhaps Jiang Muchen surviving Lin Yueyao's public humiliation had reminded the overseer that this servant might still be worth squeezing for a little value.
Pressure, because Wang had clearly noticed his disappearance last night.
Carrying his bucket and rag, Jiang Muchen turned—and spotted someone on the far edge of the crowd.
Lu Hanshan.
The woodcutter's son who always worked alone, always hacking wood in some forgotten corner. Same patched clothing, same rust-eaten chopping blade… but when Jiang Muchen activated his insight, the truth emerged.
Lu Hanshan's spiritual energy was crawling compared to yesterday—slowed by nearly thirty percent.
Pain knotted his brows.
The skin between his thumb and index finger showed micro-tears—old wounds ripped open over and over again.
And beneath all that…
A caged-beast frustration, slamming itself bloody against its limits.
Interesting.
Bucket in hand, Jiang Muchen headed for the Scripture Pavilion.
—
The pavilion stood halfway up the main peak, its sweeping eaves gleaming under the rising sun. The white-jade plaza outside needed three cleanings a day to preserve the sect's immaculate dignity. Kneeling on the cold tiles, Jiang Muchen scrubbed methodically while his spiritual sense drifted outward.
He "overheard" many things.
On the first floor, a disciple complained, "Fifty contribution points for the Basic Qi-Guiding Technique? I've scrubbed the gates for three months and only saved thirty…"
On the second floor, a girl frowned over a sword manual: "Senior Sister said the power point of 'Falling Stars on the Plain' is here… so why does it feel wrong when I try it…"
From the third floor floated faint whispers:
"Elder Huoyun's refining a batch of Scarlet Sun Pills soon—missing Flame-Heart Grass."
"Flame-Heart Grass? Only grows deep in the Flaming Abyss secret realm. You'd have to be insane…"
Jiang Muchen's eyes narrowed.
Elder Huoyun.
The outline mentioned that Jiang Muchen would win the old man's favor mid-volume through "value anchoring."
So the thread appeared this early.
He was still thinking when a dull thunk, thunk echoed from the plaza's edge.
Lu Hanshan again.
Assigned today to clear dead branches from the ancient trees. He hacked with brute force—the rusted blade biting barely half an inch each time before getting stuck. Each wrenching pull tore his hand a little more.
Servants nearby chuckled.
"Bull brute."
"With that strength, he should learn a real technique."
"Learn what? He's dirt-poor."
Lu Hanshan ignored them, though the red in his eyes darkened.
Jiang Muchen shifted closer, wiping tiles as if by chance.
And then he saw the full picture.
Lu Hanshan possessed earth-and-metal dual spiritual roots—raw, forceful power. Yet he was stuck practicing the crude Basic Breathing Method, his spiritual force crashing wildly through his meridians.
His chopping blade held a faint trace of metal intent from years of splitting hardwood—a lucky accident. But without guidance, that metal qi rebounded and tore his own hand each time he swung.
What did he lack?
A technique aligned with earth-and-metal force.
A method to channel that sliver of metal intent.
And deeper still—he lacked recognition, proof that a poor woodcutter could carve a path with his own blade.
Carrying his bucket, Jiang Muchen passed him "by accident."
Lu Hanshan slammed the blade down. It stuck. Pain surged across his face as he failed to pull it free.
"Senior Brother," Jiang Muchen said quietly.
Lu Hanshan snapped his head around, like a wounded beast.
Unfazed, Jiang Muchen pointed at his hand.
"When you strike, your energy follows the Lung Meridian of the Hand-Taiyin. It scatters at the elbow. You waste half your power."
Lu Hanshan went still.
"Earth is steady. Metal is sharp," Jiang Muchen continued. "With dual earth-and-metal roots, you should sink your qi to your dantian, guide it down the Kidney Meridian of the Foot-Shaoyin, up through the Gate of Life, along the spine. When it reaches Jianjing—" he tapped his shoulder, "—twist your waist and hips, borrow the earth's strength, and release."
He drew flowing lines across the wet tile with his rag.
"It's like chopping wood. You don't push with your arm—you rise from the ground. Power climbs, the waist coils like a dragon—"
He twisted his torso lightly.
"—and strength flows out naturally."
Lu Hanshan stared at the patterns on the floor, breath ragged.
Servants scoffed.
"Showing off, Jiang Muchen?"
"A floor-scrubber teaching others to cultivate?"
"Absurd."
Jiang Muchen ignored them.
"Try it, Senior Brother," he said softly. "It costs you nothing."
He walked on, then paused after a few steps.
"Your blade has a trace of natural metal qi. Good. But metal wounds—temper it with earth qi or it'll keep ripping your hand. When you cultivate, gather qi in your dantian, imagine the earth supporting all things, then let a thread wrap around the blade…"
He didn't finish.
Lu Hanshan was already closing his eyes, gripping his blade with trembling hands.
Jiang Muchen went back to scrubbing, knowing the seed had been planted.
Seven parts truth—Resonance of All Spirits had shown him the man's flaws precisely.
Three parts performance—he wrapped simple force principles in greater words and crowned the man with a title: "earth-and-metal dual root."
Children of poverty lacked everything—resources, opportunities… and most of all, being seen.
A single sentence—"You have dual roots"—was worth more than ten bottles of pills.
Half a stick of incense later—
A low, suppressed roar tore across the plaza!
Jiang Muchen turned.
Lu Hanshan's eyes were blood-red; a faint yellow aura surged around him—earth-aligned power fully awakened. He twisted his waist, stomped, and the force shot from ground to spine to shoulder to arm.
The rusted blade hummed.
A burst of light.
CRACK!
The thick hardwood split cleanly in two—the cut surface smooth as polished jade.
Silence.
Servants gaped; even Lu Hanshan stared at his blade in shock. Heat pulsed in his old wounds, but the tearing pain was gone.
He turned, searching for Jiang Muchen.
But Jiang Muchen was already walking away, his silhouette dissolving into the morning mist.
Only Lu Hanshan could feel it—that something in his chest… broke open, letting light pour in.
And high above, behind a third-floor window of the Scripture Pavilion, an old man with a red face and wild beard murmured, "Oh? Interesting…"
He stroked his beard, gaze flicking from the cleanly split trunk to Jiang Muchen's fading figure.
"The flow of force… it matches the entry method of the Indestructible Vajra Body. But incomplete. Very incomplete."
He plucked a beast-skin tome off the shelf—five ancient characters written on the cover:
Indestructible Vajra Body
"A relic from the Golden-Armor Temple ruins… collecting dust anyway."
He tapped the pages thoughtfully.
"If that boy truly recognized Lu Hanshan's potential for body-cultivation… perhaps…"
He didn't finish, amusement glinting in his eyes.
Outside, the morning bell rang.
Kneeling on the vast jade plaza, Jiang Muchen scrubbed the final tile until it shone. The water in his bucket reflected the rising sun—and the golden runes swirling behind his eyes.
The jade flute against his chest warmed again, as if resonating with him.
From today onward, everything would change.
Charity earns contempt.
Insight wins the heart.