## Chapter 10: Cultivation
The pressure was no longer subtle.
It did not roar or crush, yet it lingered everywhere—between breaths, beneath thoughts, inside the spaces where qi should have flowed freely. The world itself felt tight, constrained, as though an unseen hand pressed down upon all living things with indifferent authority.
Li Tianchen stood alone on the rooftop, eyes half-lidded, the night wind brushing against his clothes. His Chaos Divine Root stirred faintly, not in agitation, but in dissatisfaction.
This environment was hostile.
Not openly.
Deliberately.
A suppression that did not kill, but discouraged. One that dulled ambition, slowed progress, and punished excess. It was a cage designed to make cultivators forget they were ever meant to fly.
Li Tianchen exhaled slowly.
"So this is how you intend to limit me," he murmured.
He felt it clearly now. The moment he attempted to circulate qi beyond a certain threshold, resistance multiplied. The Chaos Divine Root devoured what little energy it absorbed, yet the surroundings refused to replenish it naturally.
Casual cultivation would no longer suffice.
If he continued as before, progress would stretch into years—perhaps decades. That was unacceptable.
The suppression demanded seriousness.
Li Tianchen's eyes opened fully.
Then I will cultivate seriously.
The market was already alive when he arrived.
Not the polished districts filled with modern storefronts, but the older commercial veins of the city—places that survived not through branding, but habit. Narrow streets. Layered scents. Vendors who had stood in the same place for decades.
This was where the overlooked things gathered.
Herbs lay spread across worn cloths and wooden trays. Some were fresh, others dried beyond recognition. Most were worthless—ordinary medicinal plants fattened by fertilizer, stripped of any spiritual resonance.
Li Tianchen walked slowly, perception extended but controlled.
He was not searching for miracles.
He was searching for compatibility.
Spiritual herbs on Earth were rare, but not nonexistent. The suppression did not erase them—it merely starved them. What remained survived through stubbornness rather than abundance.
After half an hour, he stopped.
The stall was unremarkable. No decorations. No exaggerated claims. Just bundles of roots and leaves stacked with careless efficiency.
But the qi was there.
Thin.
Resilient.
Clinging to life like a dying ember.
Li Tianchen crouched, fingers brushing lightly over a cluster of herbs. His Chaos Divine Root responded instantly, sending back precise impressions.
Not strong enough for alchemy.
Not refined enough for pills.
But sufficient for a medicinal bath.
He selected several types without hesitation—bitter roots that nourished sinew, dense leaves that strengthened blood circulation, fibrous stems that reinforced bone marrow. None were rare alone.
Together, they formed balance.
The old vendor watched him quietly. "You know what you're buying," he said, voice rough.
Li Tianchen nodded. "Enough."
The price was modest.
Almost suspiciously so.
Li Tianchen paid without bargaining and left, the bundle tucked securely beneath his arm.
Tonight, he would force open the first true gate.
The bathroom was sealed.
Windows shut. Door locked. Every unnecessary object removed.
Li Tianchen filled the tub and set a portable heating array beneath it—not a formation, merely controlled heat. Flames licked the metal base as the water began to steam.
He crushed the herbs one by one.
No tools.
No shortcuts.
His fingers ground roots into pulp, tore leaves into fragments, snapped stems with controlled precision. Each motion followed a rhythm dictated by the Chaos Divine Root.
When the water reached the correct temperature, he released the herbs.
The liquid darkened instantly.
A sharp, bitter scent flooded the room, heavy enough to sting the eyes. Steam rolled upward, carrying faint traces of qi that clung stubbornly to the air.
Li Tianchen undressed without hesitation and stepped in.
The moment his skin touched the water—
Pain.
Not burning.
Not stabbing.
But infiltration.
The medicinal essence invaded his pores, forcing its way into flesh and blood. Muscles spasmed violently. His bones hummed as if struck by a tuning fork.
Li Tianchen sat down slowly, spine straight, jaw clenched.
He began circulation.
The Chaos Divine Art surged to life.
Unlike ordinary cultivation manuals, it did not follow rigid pathways. It did not respect sequence or hierarchy. It seized everything—body, qi, intent—and dragged them into a single, unified motion.
The medicinal essence was shredded.
Refined.
Reassembled.
Then driven deeper.
Li Tianchen's veins bulged beneath his skin. His heart thundered, pumping blood now laced with condensed vitality. The Chaos Divine Root devoured impurities, discarding waste with brutal efficiency.
Cracks formed.
Not external.
Internal.
Limits shattered.
His muscles compacted, density increasing beyond mortal norms. Sinews tightened and thickened. Bones absorbed energy until they felt heavier, sturdier, forged rather than grown.
Pain escalated.
Sweat poured from his body, mixing with the darkened water. His breathing slowed deliberately, each inhale measured, each exhale controlled.
This was not refinement.
This was reconstruction.
Time lost meaning.
When the final herb dissolved completely, the water had turned nearly black. The medicinal essence was gone—consumed entirely.
Li Tianchen opened his eyes.
They burned with restrained light.
He stood.
The water rippled violently as he stepped out, skin flushed, veins faintly visible beneath a subtle glow. His body radiated heat, the air around him warping slightly.
He clenched his fist.
The sound that followed was not flesh tightening.
It was air collapsing.
Peak of Body Tempering.
Li Tianchen exhaled slowly.
He could push further.
He felt it clearly—another step, and the eighth layer would yield. The Chaos Divine Root urged him forward, eager, impatient.
But he stopped.
Foundation came before speed.
A brittle tower fell faster than a solid wall rose.
He suppressed the impulse.
Stability settled in.
He moved to the open space of the room, bare feet touching the floor.
Now came refinement of movement.
The Chaos Divine Sword unfolded within his mind.
No physical blade manifested. None was needed.
He stepped forward.
A simple motion.
Yet as his arm extended, invisible sharpness followed. Air parted cleanly, pressure slicing outward in a thin arc that left a faint groove in the wooden floor.
Not qi projection.
Intent manifestation.
Each subsequent movement flowed seamlessly into the next. Slashes, thrusts, reversals—every form arose naturally, guided not by memorization, but by understanding.
The Chaos Divine Sword was not a technique.
It was a concept.
Sword intent, sword body, sword will—all fused.
When he stopped, the room felt colder.
Sharper.
As if something had passed through and left its mark.
Li Tianchen shifted stance.
Chaos Divine Steps.
His feet moved.
Then vanished.
Not truly disappearing, but accelerating beyond what the eye could track. His body flickered from one point to another, leaving faint afterimages that dissolved almost instantly.
There was no wasted motion.
No imbalance.
Each step was a decision made and completed simultaneously.
He halted, breath steady.
No exhaustion.
No instability.
The Chaos Divine Art did not tax him the way lesser techniques did. It grew with him, scaled with him, adapted instantly to his limits and then pressed gently against them.
This was why he did not need low-level techniques.
Mortal cultivation manuals were graded for a reason.
Yellow techniques laid foundations.
Profound refined them.
Earth-level introduced complexity.
Heaven-level pushed against mortal ceilings.
In the Immortal World, spiritual techniques transcended flesh. Dao-level aligned with principles. Immortal and True Immortal techniques reshaped existence itself. Law-level techniques commanded reality directly.
All of them shared one flaw.
They were static.
They demanded compatibility.
The Chaos Divine Art demanded only commitment.
It was unfathomable because it was unfinished by design.
It evolved.
And it had already surpassed law.
Li Tianchen stood quietly, letting his body settle into its new state.
He could feel it now.
The threshold.
Qi Refining, First Layer.
The gate hovered just ahead.
But he did not cross it yet.
Not tonight.
He sat down, cross-legged, and closed his eyes.
Foundation first.
Always.
Outside, the city slept.
Inside, something ancient took another deliberate step forward.
And the suppression—
Pressed back harder in response.