The office of the President of the Qinghe Engineering School was not a place of quiet contemplation, but a nerve center of a revolution.
Located at the apex of the central spire—a structure of reinforced steel and spirit-glass that pierced the smog-less sky of Qinghe City—the room offered a panoramic view of the future Wei Jin had spent nearly two centuries building. But unlike the grandiose, gold-leafed chambers of the ancient sect masters, this space was utilitarian, cluttered with the detritus of innovation.
Wei Jin stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, his hands clasped behind his back. He wore a simple suit of gray fabric, a blend of mortal silk and synthetic polymers woven with microscopic heat-dispersion runes. It was the uniform of the new era: functional, durable, and deceptively mundane.
Below him, the campus of the Qinghe Engineering School sprawled over three hundred acres. It was a chaotic harmony of architecture. Traditional pagoda roofs sat atop brutalist concrete laboratories. Spirit-gathering formations hummed softly alongside buzzing electrical substations. Students in color-coded jumpsuits—blue for theoretical physics, red for applied ballistics, green for spiritual biology—swarmed the walkways like ants in a colony, carrying data slates and prototype tools.
Fifteen years had passed since Wei Jin had severed his spirit, cutting the thread of control to step into the realm of the divine. Fifteen years since he had looked into the abyss of the ancient past and seen the Silencers staring back.
In those fifteen years, the world had learned to be quiet.
Wei Jin's gaze drifted to the massive cooling towers of the particle accelerator complex on the eastern edge of the campus. In the past, such a facility would have leaked spiritual radiation visible from orbit. Now, it was shielded by layers of "Void-Damping" formations—arrays designed not to stop attacks, but to swallow emissions. The energy generated within was recycled, compressed, and hidden.
"President Wei," a synthesized voice chimed from the desk behind him.
Wei Jin turned. His desk was a slab of polished obsidian, devoid of paper. Instead, a holographic interface hovered above its surface, projecting streams of data in cool blue light.
"Report, Zero," Wei Jin said.
The artificial soul, now integrated into the school's mainframe, pulsed. "Atmospheric spiritual density is holding at 1.2 standard units. The 'Blackout' protocols are operating at 98% efficiency. We are effectively invisible to long-range spectral scanning."
"Good," Wei Jin murmured. "And the energy output from the Mk. VII Spirit-Steam prototypes?"
"Within acceptable stealth parameters. The new heat-sink alloys developed by the Alchemy Department are absorbing 99.4% of the waste thermal radiation."
Wei Jin nodded, satisfied. This was the doctrine of the new age: Power without Presence.
The mortals and immortals had finally understood the nature of the threat. The Silencers hunted high-energy civilizations. They targeted the loud, the bright, the uncontrolled. To survive, humanity had to become a ghost. They had to build their strength in the dark, refining their technology and cultivation until they were ready to strike once, and decisively.
The door to his office slid open with a soft hydraulic hiss. A young woman entered, carrying a tray with a steaming pot of tea. She wore the insignia of the Administrative Department, but her aura revealed a solid Foundation Establishment cultivation.
"President, your call with the Northern Fortress is scheduled in five minutes," she said, placing the tray on the obsidian desk. "And… your wife is on line one."
Wei Jin's expression softened. "Connect line one first. Cancel the Fortress call; reschedule for the afternoon."
The assistant bowed and tapped her slate. The holographic projection on Wei Jin's desk shifted, resolving into the image of Lin Mei.
She looked radiant. At nearly two hundred years old, having recently broken through to the Nascent Soul realm, she possessed an ageless vitality. Her hair was pulled back in a severe, practical bun, but her eyes held the warmth that had anchored Wei Jin for nearly two centuries. She was currently at the Wei Family's ancestral compound, overseeing the integration of the new defensive grid.
"Husband," she said, her voice crisp and clear over the encrypted spiritual frequency. "You look tired. Are the students giving you trouble?"
"Innovation is messy," Wei Jin replied, sitting down and pouring himself a cup of tea. The liquid was amber, smelling of star-anise and earth. "The Department of Array Logic is trying to map the chaos theory of weather patterns to spiritual turbulence. They blew up a simulation server this morning."
Lin Mei laughed, a sound that eased the tension in Wei Jin's shoulders. "Better a server than a city block. How are the preparations for the Forum?"
"Tedious. The capital is a nest of vipers, even when we are all facing extinction." Wei Jin took a sip of tea. "The World Coordination Forum next month… it is necessary, but exhausting. Getting the traditional sects to agree on standardized energy emission protocols is like herding cats. Cats that can breathe fire."
"They will agree," Lin Mei said confidently. "They have seen the data from the Ark. Fear is a potent motivator."
"Fear fades," Wei Jin countered. "Complacency returns. It has been twenty years since the mushroom cloud. People forget the heat of the fire."
"Not when you remind them." Lin Mei's image leaned forward. "Speaking of reminders… have you spoken to Feng?"
Wei Feng. Their eldest son. The martial master who had once been a boy swinging a wooden sword in the courtyard. Now, he was older, a Late-Stage Golden Core cultivator, and a Colonel in the newly formed United Earth Defense Force.
"I haven't," Wei Jin admitted. "Is he still at the lunar training grounds?"
"He returned yesterday," Lin Mei said. "He's been promoted. He is now in charge of the 'Titan' project. The integration of high-level cultivators with the mechanized armor suits."
Wei Jin nodded slowly. The Titan Project was one of the school's most ambitious initiatives. It sought to replicate the combat capabilities of the ancient 'Giant' artifact, but scaled down for human pilots.
"He worries me," Lin Mei said softly. "He pushes himself too hard. He believes the defense of the world rests solely on his shoulders. He inherited that from his father."
"It is a heavy burden," Wei Jin said. "But he is strong. His 'Martial Spiral' pattern is suited for endurance."
"And Long?" Lin Mei asked, a hint of amusement entering her voice. "Have you tracked our wandering star?"
Wei Jin smiled. Wei Long. The child born of two Nascent Souls (Wei Jin and Shen Ruyi), the prodigy who had terrified them with his potential. Now twenty years old, he was a chaotic element in Wei Jin's carefully ordered world.
"I received a report this morning," Wei Jin said, tapping the desk to bring up a secondary display. A map of the Southern Continent appeared, with a blinking blue dot moving erratically across the jungle regions. "He is in the Sapphire Coast. Last week… he upgraded his Golden Core to five patterns."
Lin Mei's eyes widened. "Five? At twenty? That… that shouldn't be possible. Even you didn't have five patterns at that age. You didn't even have a Golden Core."
"He is built differently," Wei Jin said, a mix of pride and unease in his voice. "He was born of two Nascent Souls. His starting point is higher than my endpoint was at his age. And he has Ruyi's ancient instincts."
"And he is traveling with that girl from the Spirit-Sword Sect?"
"Yes. The Sword Saint's granddaughter. They are… 'investigating local anomalies,' according to his message. Which I assume means they are hunting monsters and causing trouble."
"Let him run," Lin Mei advised. "He needs to see the world before he is forced to save it."
"I know." Wei Jin swiped the map away. "But five patterns… if he continues at this rate, he will reach Nascent Soul before he is thirty. The stability of his soul will be tested."
"He has your blood," Lin Mei said firmly. "He will hold."
They spoke for a few more minutes, discussing household matters, the price of spirit stones, and the health of the great-grandchildren. It was mundane, domestic conversation, but to Wei Jin, it was the most important briefing of the day. It reminded him of what he was fighting for.
"I will see you next week, before I leave for the capital," Wei Jin said.
"I will be waiting. Don't work too late, Architect."
The connection severed. Wei Jin sat in the silence of his office, the tea cooling in his cup.
He stood up and walked back to the window.
Below, in the Department of Heavy Industry, giant bay doors were sliding open. A transport crawler, six stories tall and moving on treads wide enough to crush a house, was rolling out. On its flatbed lay a massive, humanoid arm—articulated fingers of tungsten-carbide, servos powered by condensed spirit fluid.
It was a part for a Titan class mecha.
Wei Jin's grandchildren—Wei Tianming's offspring—were running that division. They were blending modern metallurgy with ancient rune-crafting to create alloys that could withstand plasma bombardment.
Business was booming. The business of survival.
Wei Jin turned away from the window and walked to the far wall of his office. It was covered in a bookshelf filled with physical books—a rarity in this digital age. He pulled a specific volume, The History of the Void, and the bookshelf slid aside silently, revealing a hidden elevator.
He stepped inside.
The elevator descended, bypassing the basement labs, bypassing the geothermal taps, going deep into the bedrock beneath the city.
It opened into a cavern carved from solid granite, illuminated by the soft, sourceless glow of high-level containment formations.
This was his personal sanctuary. The place where he practiced the arts that the world was not yet ready to see.
Since achieving Spirit Severing fifteen years ago, Wei Jin had been exploring the boundaries of his new realm. The panel, now upgraded to Version 4.0, provided him with tools that defied logic.
[CULTIVATION SYSTEM v4.0 - SPIRIT SEVERING REALM][STATE: DIVINE RESONANCE][Domain: Freedom][Ability: Reality Editing (Vitality)]
Wei Jin stepped onto a circular platform in the center of the cavern. The air here was thick, viscous with the density of his own leaked spiritual pressure.
He wasn't just practicing cultivation. He was practicing editing.
He raised his hand. A withered bonsai tree sat on a pedestal ten meters away. It was a Spirit Pine, ancient and twisted, but it had suffered from root rot and neglect. Its needles were brown, its branches brittle. To any botanist or cultivator, it was dead.
"Live," Wei Jin whispered.
He didn't pour Wood qi into it. He didn't use a healing technique. He reached into the informational substrate of the universe—the code that defined "vitality"—and he rewrote the tree's state.
State: Decaying -> State: Thriving.
The air shimmered. There was no flash of green light, no burst of growth. The tree simply… changed. The brown needles flushed a deep, vibrant emerald. The brittle bark regained its elasticity. New buds erupted along the branches, unfolding into fresh growth in seconds.
It wasn't accelerated growth. It was a restoration of potential. He had edited the reality of the tree to align with its ideal form.
Wei Jin exhaled, feeling a drain on his Soul Force. Reality Editing was potent, but limited. He could not transmute matter—he couldn't turn iron into gold or water into wine. His domain was Freedom, and Freedom was intrinsically linked to Life. He could liberate the potential within living things, freeing them from injury, age, or genetic limitation.
"Efficient," he noted. "The resistance from the World Will is minimal when aligning with life."
He walked over to the tree and touched a needle. It was firm, filled with sap.
He looked at the other pedestals in the room. Some held petri dishes with bacterial cultures. Others held small animals—mice and rabbits—that had been subjected to various toxins or injuries.
He moved to a cage containing a white rabbit. It was suffering from a potent nerve toxin, a variant of the Shadow Panther venom he had studied decades ago. It lay on its side, twitching, its breathing shallow.
Wei Jin focused. Toxin: Neutralize. Nerves: Repair.
The rabbit stopped twitching. It blinked, sat up, and began grooming its ears as if nothing had happened.
This was the power that made him the "Devil Doctor." Not just the ability to cure, but the ability to rewrite the biological narrative.
But he wasn't alone in the cavern.
He sat down on the platform, crossing his legs. He closed his eyes and activated the Simulation Chamber.
The cavern vanished, replaced by the digital white void.
He summoned his clones.
The hundred independent consciousnesses appeared. They were distinct now, fully realized individuals. Some wore the robes of scholars, others the armor of warriors. Some were young, reflecting his early years; others were old, embodying his wisdom.
They were not all present. About thirty of them were absent, pursuing their own agendas in the deep corners of his soul landscape—exploring philosophy, art, or simply resting. Wei Jin had granted them freedom, and they exercised it.
But seventy remained. Seventy brilliant minds dedicated to the cause.
"Report," Wei Jin said.
One clone, dressed in a lab coat stained with virtual ink, stepped forward. "Clone 12 here. The integration of the Titan's neural interface is 85% complete. We are having trouble syncing the pilot's spiritual frequency with the mecha's Spirit-Core. The lag is 0.04 seconds. In high-speed combat, that's fatal."
"Solution?" Wei Jin asked.
"We need a buffer," another clone, this one wearing formation master robes, interjected. "A sub-routine that anticipates the pilot's intent. Like the predictive text on the mortal smart-slates, but for murder."
"Implement it," Wei Jin ordered. "Use the Reasoning Cycle's architecture as a base."
"Clone 55 reporting," said a figure in diplomat's silk. "The Western Federation is nervous about the Forum. They think we are hoarding the anti-radiation technology. They might try to stall the treaty."
"Offer them a limited license," Wei Jin decided. "Give them the Tier 2 shielding tech. Enough to keep them safe, not enough to let them build their own reactors."
"Clone 70 here," said a figure whose eyes swirled with star-charts. "The Watchers have been quiet. Too quiet. My analysis of atmospheric spiritual currents suggests they have moved their observation posts higher. Into orbit."
"They are watching the sky," Wei Jin murmured. "Looking for the Silencers."
He looked at his clones. They were a hive mind of genius, a parliament of himself.
"Focus the remaining capacity on the Spirit Severing technique refinement," he commanded. "I need to reduce the Soul Force cost of Reality Editing. If war comes, I can't be exhausted after healing a platoon."
"Understood, Prime."
The clones dispersed, dissolving into streams of data that fed back into the system.
Wei Jin exited the simulation.
The cavern returned. The revitalized pine tree stood on its pedestal, a silent testament to his power.
He checked the time on his smart-slate. It was almost evening.
He had a dinner meeting with the Dean of the Department of Spirit-Biology. They were making breakthroughs in grafting spirit roots onto mortals—a controversial, dangerous, but potentially species-saving technology.
Wei Jin stood up and smoothed his suit.
He decided to walk to the dinner meeting. It was important to be seen. It was important to feel the pulse of the place he had built.
He exited the central tower and stepped into the quad.
The air was filled with the hum of drones. Small, disc-shaped couriers buzzed overhead, carrying parcels between buildings. They were propelled by miniature wind-arrays, silent and efficient.
He walked past the Hall of Applied Ballistics. Through the open bay doors, he saw students working on a Railgun Cannon. The barrel was thirty feet long, etched with acceleration runes.
"Stabilize the magnetic flux!" an instructor shouted. "If the spirit-conduit overheats, you'll vaporize the breech!"
A student, wearing protective goggles that displayed real-time mana readings, adjusted a dial on a control console. The hum of the weapon changed pitch, settling into a harmonious thrum.
"Good," Wei Jin noted. They were learning to blend the physical kick of electromagnetism with the piercing power of qi.
He crossed the Bridge of Synthesis, a glass walkway connecting the engineering labs to the alchemy gardens.
Below him, in the gardens, plants grew in accelerated time bubbles. Temporal Moss, a variant developed by Wei Hua, was being harvested. It matured in hours instead of years, providing a catalyst for rapid-healing sprays used by the border guards.
He saw a group of students huddled around a Spirit-Terminal. It was a table-sized computer with a crystal interface. They were running a simulation of a city defense grid.
"No, no," one student argued, pointing at the holographic display. "If you route the ley-line power through the sewage system, you create a feedback loop. You need to use the streetlights as capacitors."
"That's unorthodox," another replied.
"It's efficient," the first insisted.
Wei Jin smiled. This was the fruit of the stable zone. Unorthodox. Efficient. Free.
He reached the Faculty Club, a building of red brick and ivy that looked deceptively old-fashioned. Inside, however, the waiters were automatons—brass and ceramic constructs that moved with clockwork grace.
Dean Zhang of Spirit-Biology was waiting at a corner table. He was a frail-looking man with wild hair, a former rogue cultivator who had been recruited for his genius in grafting.
"President," Zhang said, standing up. "You're late."
"I was admiring the railgun," Wei Jin said, sitting down.
"Barbarians," Zhang sniffed. "Throwing rocks at high speeds. Biology is the true frontier."
He placed a petri dish on the table. Inside, a small glob of flesh pulsed.
"It works?" Wei Jin asked, his voice low.
"It works," Zhang whispered. "We took a sample of mortal tissue. We introduced a retrovirus carrying the genetic marker for a Wood Affinity. The cells didn't reject it. They integrated it. They started metabolizing ambient qi."
Wei Jin stared at the blob.
Artificial Spirit Roots.
If they could perfect this, every mortal in the empire could cultivate. The distinction between mortal and immortal would vanish. The entire human race would ascend.
"The energy signature?" Wei Jin asked. "If seven billion humans start cultivating…"
"We'll light up the galaxy like a supernova," Zhang admitted. "The Silencers would be here in a century."
"Then we can't deploy it," Wei Jin said heavily. "Not yet. Not until the Planetary Stealth array is active."
Zhang slumped. "It's a cure for mortality, Wei Jin. And we have to keep it in a jar."
"We keep it safe," Wei Jin corrected. "For the day we turn the lights off."
He tapped the table. "Scale up the research. But keep it in the black budget. Level 10 clearance. If the Traditionalist Sects find out we're trying to make peasants into gods, they'll launch a crusade."
"Understood."
They ordered dinner. The menu was printed on electronic paper that scrolled through options.
Wei Jin looked out the window at the twilight. The city of Qinghe glowed. It was a city of miracles, held hostage by the stars.
But every day, the walls of the fortress got a little thicker. Every day, the minds of the people got a little sharper.
The Silent War was being fought in petri dishes and circuit boards.
And Wei Jin was winning.
—————
End of Chapter One, Book Five