"Three months, and I've only gone up by one and a half levels… That's still too slow."
In the underground cellar of Old Jack's house, Chen Ming slowly opened his eyes after finishing his cultivation. As he sensed the progress of the Spirit Power flowing within his body, a trace of dissatisfaction lingered in his gaze.
During the first month, through constant trial and error, Chen Ming had managed to construct what he called Basic Internal Art 1.0. It was built upon the foundation of traditional meditation techniques, but structured around the concept of meridians from internal energy cultivation. Compared to standard meditation, it improved efficiency by roughly thirty percent.
After that, his days became almost mechanical. Aside from eating, sleeping, and basic physical training, he spent all his time immersed in meditation—cultivating and continuously refining his method. Over the next two months, subtle adjustments to the finer details pushed his cultivation speed up by another ten percent.
By his estimates, his current rate of progress was already approaching that of a Spirit Master born with full innate Spirit Power who relied solely on traditional meditation.
To better understand himself, Chen Ming had even tried to quantify his own "computational capacity." Before awakening his Martial Soul, he considered himself a baseline of 1. By comparison, an average well-educated person might reach around 0.8, while an ordinary farmer in this world would likely only be at 0.5—or even lower.
After awakening his Martial Soul, however, his capacity had doubled to 2. With three months of adapting to his Martial Soul and Spirit Power—combined with deliberate mental training—his current capacity had risen to approximately 2.5.
Of that, about thirty percent was effectively "locked" into bodily instinct. If he tampered with it too carelessly, it could cause various physical issues. Even so, his usable capacity of around 1.75 still far surpassed that of an ordinary person.
Conservatively speaking, given another year, he was confident he could upgrade Basic Internal Art 1.0 to version 1.1. At that point, his cultivation speed would surpass even that of most naturally gifted, full-innate Spirit Masters.
And yet… Chen Ming was far from satisfied.
Because this technique, for all its improvements, had no real special properties. It merely made cultivation slightly faster and refined his Spirit Power a bit more—that was all.
Forget things like endless regeneration, attribute enhancement, immunity to toxins, or rapid healing. It didn't even grant something as basic as prolonged breath control.
At best, this internal art could be described as neutral and balanced—free of attributes, compatible with any Martial Soul, and unlikely to cause rejection. But to put it bluntly, it didn't even particularly complement his own earth attribute. There was no synergistic effect whatsoever, no sense of one plus one becoming greater than two.
Worse still, due to the severe lack of reference material—and the fact that he couldn't recklessly experiment on his own body—his progress had slowed significantly after the initial breakthrough in designing the meridian pathways.
To improve further, he would have to work on those "fixed" portions of his computational capacity—adjusting his body's instinctive responses and internal operations to deepen his cultivation. But the difficulty of such a task, not to mention the time required, was staggering.
Give him ten years, maybe eight at the least, and Chen Ming was confident he could refine this internal art to an extremely high level even working in isolation. But that… was simply too slow.
Unfortunately, given how flawed the cultivation system of this world was, he had very few useful models to draw from.
And so, just before he was set to depart for Nuoding City, the restlessness he had suppressed for three months finally boiled over.
After repeatedly convincing himself that his reasoning sounded plausible enough, Chen Ming made his move one evening at dusk. He stepped forward and blocked the path of Tang San, who was in the middle of running along the mountain.
"Xiao San, long time no see," Chen Ming greeted him with a casual wave.
"…It has been. So, what do you want from me?"
Tang San looked at him, a flicker of surprise crossing his eyes before it vanished beneath a cold, guarded expression. His tone carried a clear sense of distance—along with unmistakable wariness at Chen Ming's sudden appearance.
The two of them knew each other, but they were far from close.
Chen Ming had once considered building a relationship with Tang San, hoping to obtain the Mysterious Heaven Skill from him. But after a few interactions, he had quickly grasped Tang San's personality.
Suspicious. Proud. Cold. And deeply self-centered. When he acted, he often liked to place himself on some kind of moral high ground, using it as justification for whatever he chose to do.
If Chen Ming invested enough time, gaining Tang San's favor—becoming a subordinate or at best a superficial "brother"—wouldn't be difficult. But that was the limit. Forming a deeper bond, a genuine brotherhood, was impossible.
Tang San never truly accepted anyone.
Unless that person was Xiao Wu.
As for obtaining the Mysterious Heaven Skill or other secret arts of the Tang Sect? The chances were practically zero. In fact, there was a very real possibility that he might "accidentally" be poisoned during a meal, or struck dead by some inexplicably well-aimed stone while walking down the road.
Because of that, Chen Ming had deliberately kept his distance from Tang San.
After all, he had no desire to end up with a death sentence labeled "deserved to die."
But now things were different.
Having awakened his Martial Soul—and, more importantly, having created Basic Internal Art 1.0 through his own knowledge—Chen Ming's confidence had grown. With that came a bit more boldness. He was ready to test Tang San's true capabilities, to gather as much data on him as possible, and see whether he could reverse-engineer something useful for himself.
"Xiao San, in a few days we'll be heading to Nuoding City's junior Spirit Master academy," Chen Ming began, his tone earnest and sincere. "To be honest, coming from a rural background, I'm worried we might get bullied."
He paused briefly before continuing, as if carefully choosing his words.
"I've always wanted to test what combat between Martial Souls and Spirit Masters is really like, but there's no suitable opponent in the village. After thinking it over for a long time, I figured… since you were born with full innate Spirit Power, you must be exceptional."
"So how about it? Why don't we spar a little—get familiar with real Spirit Master combat?"
His words were genuine on the surface, but to Tang San, they struck a very different chord.
Hmph… does this guy think I'm some easy target?
A cold glint flickered through Tang San's eyes. Almost instinctively, he interpreted Chen Ming's intentions as condescension—someone who, after awakening a powerful Earth Dragon Martial Soul, now looked down on his Blue Silver Grass. This so-called "sparring match" felt more like a thinly veiled excuse to pick a fight.
And yet… on second thought, Chen Ming's reasoning wasn't entirely without merit.
Getting a feel for real combat before entering the academy could indeed serve as valuable preparation. After all, a disciple of the Tang Sect never fought unprepared. Having a practice target to test himself against wasn't a bad thing.
"Fine. If that's the case, let's have a match."
Tang San agreed casually. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned his Martial Soul—a strand of Blue Silver Grass appearing in his palm. His arm snapped forward, and the grass lashed out like a whip.
Though the fragile Blue Silver Grass shattered the moment it struck Chen Ming, the force behind it still left a faint line of blood across his skin.
Chen Ming cursed inwardly at Tang San's lack of restraint, but didn't hesitate to respond. He immediately summoned his own Martial Soul. His body expanded, muscles swelling as he underwent a partial transformation. Jagged, armor-like scales spread across his skin, turning him into a half-man, half-beast warrior that resembled a heavily armored general.
Tang San had always been confident in his Tang Sect techniques, believing himself second to none. But seeing Chen Ming's imposing, heavily armored form—and then glancing down at his own already shattered Blue Silver Grass—an undeniable irritation crept into his heart.
"Roar—!"
With a low, beast-like bellow, Chen Ming charged forward. He didn't use his claws; instead, he swung his forearm like a massive hammer, smashing toward Tang San.
The heavy Earth Dragon form limited Chen Ming's agility and fine control, but it did nothing to diminish his explosive forward momentum. Against most tool-type Martial Soul users, such a charge would be impossible to evade.
But Tang San was no ordinary opponent.
A faint trace of purple flashed across his eyes. His footwork shifted into something strange and elusive, his body swaying at an unnatural angle as he slipped cleanly past the attack. In the same motion, both his hands glowed faintly as they struck toward Chen Ming's chest.
Thud—
The moment Tang San's Mysterious Jade Hands made contact, his expression changed.
It felt as though he had struck solid rock. The recoil alone made his hands ache sharply, leaving them tingling and numb. Not only had he failed to deal any real damage, he had hurt himself in the process.
Chen Ming, on the other hand, didn't bother with any fancy adjustments. He simply dropped his shoulder and charged forward again, slamming straight into Tang San.
A sharp glint flashed through Tang San's eyes. His Mysterious Heaven Skill circulated like a rising tide as he activated Controlling Crane, Capturing Dragon. Grabbing onto Chen Ming's shoulder, he twisted and shifted, redirecting the force and disrupting Chen Ming's footing, sending him stumbling back several steps.
And so, the two Spirit Masters—neither of whom had yet obtained their first Spirit Ring—clashed atop the small hill.
Tang San unleashed technique after technique, yet none could penetrate the thick, scale-like armor covering Chen Ming's body. He was forced to aim for joints and the face instead.
After taking a couple of hits, Chen Ming quickly adjusted, guarding those vulnerable points. From then on, he fought like a raging bull, relying on his massive frame to crash forward again and again—only to be repeatedly evaded by Tang San's elusive footwork.
To Tang San, it felt as though he was striking a solid boulder. His refined techniques found no proper outlet, forcing him into an awkward rhythm—darting around like a restless insect, attacking whenever he could find the slightest opening.
As for Chen Ming, although he appeared to be on the receiving end—reduced to a clumsy target under Tang San's speed—he felt no frustration at all.
Because his goal had never been to win.
From the very beginning, this sparring match had been about gathering data—observing, recording, and analyzing Tang San's abilities in order to reverse-engineer them.
After more than ten minutes of this back-and-forth, Tang San finally lost patience. Clicking his tongue in annoyance, he retreated swiftly using his footwork.
"Forget it. I'm done. Fighting someone with defense like yours is just boring."
Without waiting for Chen Ming's response, he turned and left.
Watching his departing figure, Chen Ming simply shrugged. He dismissed his Martial Soul, the scales receding as his body returned to normal, and made his way back to his room.
Lying down on his bed, he closed his eyes as if falling asleep.
But beneath that calm exterior, his mind was anything but at rest.
Silently, he activated his AI-like thinking, allocating the majority of his computational capacity to analyzing the sparring match from earlier.
Techniques like the Mysterious Heaven Skill and Purple Demon Eye—core internal arts—were far too complex to decipher in a single encounter. But Mysterious Jade Hands and that strange footwork technique were, comparatively, much easier to break down and understand.
Unbeknownst to Tang San, Chen Ming replayed the entire battle in his mind with astonishing precision, dissecting every movement, every detail—beginning the slow process of unraveling his opponent's secret techniques, piece by piece.