The scattering of the Wei family was not an act of desperation, but of calculated resilience.
Wei Jin stood before the great map in the strategy hall—a room that had grown from a simple study into a nerve center rivaling imperial command posts. The map displayed the empire and its neighbors, updated in real-time by spiritual transmissions from the network of wire-stations and observation posts.
He traced lines with his finger, marking potential sanctuaries.
"A single strike could end us," he told the gathered family council. "One atomic detonation over Qinghe City. One coordinated assault by Nascent Soul possessors. The concentration of our strength has become our greatest vulnerability."
Wei Feng frowned, his martial instincts favoring consolidation. "We are stronger together. Our formations rely on multiple Golden Cores to maintain peak efficiency."
"Formations can be broken," Wei Jin countered. "Or bypassed. Or simply overwhelmed by yield measured in megatons. Survival requires redundancy."
He outlined the plan he had refined through dozens of simulations.
Wei Hua would relocate to the fertile Green River Province in the west, establishing an agricultural branch that would serve as the region's primary food security hub. Her deep roots in the earth would make her indispensable to the local governors.
Wei Lan would travel north to the Snow Peak Kingdom—a neutral territory where her formation expertise would be welcomed to secure the mineral mines. She would build a fortress there, a fallback position hidden in the blizzards.
Wei Tianming and Wei Tianhua, the promising grandchildren, would be sent to the Southern Archipelago and the Eastern Trade Cities respectively. They would act as independent merchants and scholars, distancing themselves from the Wei name while maintaining secure communication channels.
Only Wei Feng, Wei Yun, and the youngest generation would remain in Qinghe with Wei Jin, Lin Mei, and Shen Ruyi.
"It feels like running," Wei Feng grumbled.
"It is planting," Lin Mei corrected gently. "Seeds do not grow if they remain in the sack. They must be scattered to find new soil."
The departure was executed over six months. There were no grand farewells, no public announcements. Just quiet relocations, "business expansions," and "educational journeys."
When it was done, the Wei family was no longer a target located at a single set of coordinates. It was a web. A network.
A ghost that could not be killed by a single blow.
—————
The Diplomat of Progress
While his family spread, Wei Jin turned his attention to the world stage.
His reputation as the "Father of the New Era"—a title the mortal press had bestowed upon him, ignoring his cultivation status—gave him leverage that few others possessed. He was the man who had enabled the technologies that now drove the empire's economy and military.
He used that leverage to push for restraint.
He met with Princess Bell, the Emperor's youngest and most progressive daughter. Their connection had begun decades ago when she sought treatment for a congenital spiritual defect, a condition Wei Jin had stabilized. Now, she was a key voice in the imperial court.
"The weapons are too dangerous," Wei Jin told her, walking through the imperial gardens. "The Northern Test proved that. If the Empire uses them again, the neighboring kingdoms will be forced to respond in kind. They will steal the technology, or develop their own. The result is mutually assured destruction."
Princess Bell, sharp-eyed and pragmatic, nodded. "The generals want to use them to end the border disputes. They see a quick victory."
"There are no quick victories with sun-fire," Wei Jin said. "Only quick endings."
He proposed a framework: The Continental Concord. A multi-national committee dedicated to the non-proliferation of atomic weaponry and the prioritization of diplomatic resolution.
It was an ambitious, perhaps naive, goal. But Wei Jin backed it with the full weight of Qinghe's influence. He offered technological incentives—access to improved communication networks, medical advancements, and agricultural yields—to nations that signed the Concord. He mobilized public opinion through the printing presses and wire services, creating a groundswell of mortal support for peace.
The common people, who would die first in an atomic exchange, found a voice. And that voice, amplified by Wei Jin's infrastructure, became loud enough to worry even haughty cultivators.
The Concord was signed three years later.
It was imperfect. It lacked enforcement teeth. But it created a pause. A hesitation. A diplomatic friction that slowed the slide toward apocalypse.
Wei Jin knew it was a delay, not a solution. But delays were what he traded in.
Every year of peace was a year of cultivation.
—————
The Technological Tide
The decade that followed saw the convergence accelerate into a blur.
Mortal innovation, fed by the stable zones that now dotted the empire thanks to the scattered Wei family, leaped forward.
The wire-speaking devices evolved. They shrank. They became wireless, utilizing spiritual frequencies discovered by mortal physicists. "Smart slates"—handheld panes of glass and metal—began to appear in the hands of merchants and nobles. They connected to a network of information that spanned the continent, a "web" of knowledge that allowed instant access to news, markets, and communication.
The Internet had arrived.
Wei Jin watched this development with the fascination of a scholar and the wariness of a strategist.
Information was now flowing faster than thought. Secrets were harder to keep. The managed confusion that had suppressed humanity for millennia was eroding under the sheer volume of shared data. It was becoming impossible to keep mortals in the dark when they could shine a light into every corner of the world with a tap of a finger.
But with the web came new distractions. Entertainment. Virtual spaces where mortals spent hours lost in illusions.
Was this freedom? Or a new, self-imposed cage?
And then, he saw the goggles.
A new invention from a workshop in the capital. Headgear that projected images directly into the wearer's eyes, responding to head movements to create a fully immersive 3D environment. Virtual Reality.
Wei Jin tried a prototype. The graphics were crude—blocky shapes, limited colors—but the principle was sound. It tricked the brain into accepting a fabricated reality.
An idea sparked in his iron mind.
His Simulation Chamber.
It was text-based. Efficient, powerful, but abstract. It required him to interpret the data, to visualize the outcomes.
What if he could apply the principles of VR to his own spiritual simulation?
What if he could use his immense Soul Force not just to calculate probabilities, but to render them? To build a simulation so real, so detailed, that he could walk through it? Fight in it? Feel the heat of the atomic fire or the cold of a traitor's blade?
[Reasoning Cycle: Analyzing Feasibility…][Correlation Found: Mortal VR Technology + Soul Force Projection + Illusion Formations][Projected Soul Force Consumption: High][Projected Utility: Extreme]
Wei Jin smiled.
The mortals had built a toy. He would build a training ground for gods.
—————
The Peak of the Mid-Stage
[Azure Soul Refining Method - Mid-Level Progress: 99%]
Ten years after his breakthrough to Mid-Level Nascent Soul, Wei Jin stood at the peak of the stage.
His progress had been relentless. The automated cultivation, combined with Shen Ruyi's continued guidance and the resources of a continent-spanning business empire, had pushed him forward at a speed that defied logic.
He was one hundred seventy years old. A Peak Mid-Level Nascent Soul ancestor.
His spiritual pressure was a heavy, oceanic presence that he kept tightly leashed. His perceptions covered the entire city of Qinghe and bled into the surrounding province. He could hear the whispers of the wind, the flow of underground rivers, the digital hum of the new internet network.
Shen Ruyi watched him from the garden, sipping tea. She had aged not a day, her beauty preserved by her own deep cultivation.
"You are hitting the ceiling," she noted. "The barrier to Late Stage is… formidable. It requires not just accumulation, but a fundamental expansion of the soul's capacity to hold reality."
"I know," Wei Jin said. He floated a few inches above the grass, his feet not touching the earth. "My soul feels… full. Like a cup that cannot hold another drop."
"You need to stretch the cup."
"Or change the nature of the water."
He descended, landing softly. "I'm going to attempt the VR integration. If I can create a fully immersive simulation space within my own soul, the act of sustaining that reality might force the expansion I need."
Ruyi raised an eyebrow. "Using a technique to force a breakthrough? Dangerous. If the simulation collapses, the backlash could shatter your mind."
"My mind is iron," Wei Jin reminded her. "And I have you to pull me out if I drown."
She sighed, setting down her cup. "Fine. But if you turn into a vegetable, I'm taking the family fortune and moving to a tropical island."
"Fair."
—————
The Virtual World
Wei Jin spent six months preparing.
He studied the mortal VR technology, dismantling the headsets, analyzing the code, understanding how they tricked the senses. He combined this with high-level illusion formations and the principles of his own mental cultivation.
He wrote the parameters into the system.
[SYSTEM UPDATE: VISUALIZATION MODULE][INTEGRATING VR PROTOCOLS][WARNING: SOUL STRESS IMMINENT]
He sat in his chamber, surrounded by stabilizing arrays. He closed his eyes.
Activate Visual Simulation.
The world did not fade to white text this time.
It exploded into color.
Wei Jin stood on a grassy plain. The wind brushed his face—he could feel it. The sun beat down on his skin—he felt the warmth. He looked at his hands; they were solid, real. He stamped his foot; the ground shook.
It wasn't perfect. The textures were slightly smooth, the light a bit too uniform. But it was a world. His world.
"Incredible," he breathed.
He willed a sword into his hand. Cold steel. Heavy.
He willed an opponent into existence.
Simulate: Wen Changpu. Peak Golden Core strength.
The figure of his old bully materialized ten yards away, sneering, exactly as Wei Jin remembered him.
"Fight me," Wei Jin ordered.
Wen Changpu roared and charged, wreathed in flames. Wei Jin felt the heat. He sidestepped, slashing with the sword. The impact jarred his arm. Blood sprayed—warm, wet.
He ended the simulation. The figure dissolved into light.
Wei Jin stood panting in the virtual field. The drain on his Soul Force was immense—he had burned 5% in less than a minute. But the realism… it was absolute.
This changed everything.
He could practice techniques without destroying his home. He could test poisons on simulated cultivation bodies to see exact physiological reactions. He could fight battles against the Thousand Beast Sect's cyborg tigers, or the Imperial Guard, or the possessors, and learn their moves before the first blow was struck in reality.
He could live a thousand lives in the span of a meditation session.
And Ruyi was right. The strain of holding this world together was stretching his soul. He could feel the boundaries of his Nascent Soul creaking, expanding, adapting to the load.
This was the path to the Late Stage.
—————
The Unexpected Message
Wei Jin exited the simulation, his head pounding but his spirit soaring.
He checked his smart slate—a custom model, secured with spiritual encryption.
There was a message waiting. Encrypted heavily. From an unknown sender.
He decrypted it using his Iron Mind.
To the Architect of the Stable Zones,
We see what you are doing. The Concord. The Diaspora. The Technology.
You are playing a dangerous game. The suppression was a seal on a cage of monsters. By picking the lock, you risk letting them out.
But we are curious. The ancient cycle has grown stale. Perhaps a little chaos is… refreshing.
We will not intervene. Yet.
Signed,The Watchers
Wei Jin stared at the screen.
The Watchers. The force behind the suppression? Or another faction entirely? "We will not intervene. Yet."
It was a threat. And a reprieve.
They were watching him. They knew who he was. They knew what he had done.
But they were letting him continue.
Why?
"Curiosity," he murmured. "They are bored."
Ancient, immortal beings, managing a stagnant world for forty thousand years. Perhaps Wei Jin's chaotic experiment was the most interesting thing they had seen in millennia.
He set the slate down.
If they were watching, he would give them a show.
And while they watched, he would sharpen his blade.
[Azure Soul Refining Method - Mid-Level Progress: 99.5%]
Almost there.
—————
End of Chapter Four, Book Four