The next morning, Noah tested the system’s new information.
He began with a simple routine.
Thirty minutes of meditation.
A measured telekinetic exercise.
Another thirty minutes of meditation.
He recorded the sensations, the time required to stabilize his psychic energy, and the amount of concentration necessary to maintain a fixed flow.
He repeated the routine in the afternoon.
Then again at night.
The measurements were imperfect.
Psychic energy was not a substance he could weigh on a kitchen scale, and his perception of it depended partly on concentration.
Nevertheless, repeated observations were better than guessing.
After several days, the pattern became clearer.
His cultivation was progressing faster than it had before Ethan’s practice became established.
The improvement was not enormous.
It was simply consistent enough that Noah could no longer dismiss it as an ordinary fluctuation.
He opened the system.
[Connected Cultivators: 15]
[Recognized Cultivators: 1]
[Collective Cultivation Contribution: Active]
The connected number had risen, but only Ethan had a detailed template.
Noah asked the system a direct question.
“If someone has the same cultivation talent as me, what is their contribution?”
A brief pause followed.
[A cultivator with talent equal to the creator’s talent contributes approximately 1.00× the creator’s baseline cultivation rate while actively cultivating under a compatible method.]
Noah read the message twice.
“Approximately one times.”
He opened his own status panel.
His personal cultivation speed was listed as 1.00×.
If a cultivator with equal talent contributed another 1.00×, the combined rate would theoretically become 2.00×, assuming both contributions remained active and compatible.
That was an enormous difference over a long period.
But Ethan was B+, while Noah was S. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
Ethan’s contribution would be lower.
The system did not disclose the exact conversion between talent grades.
Noah could not safely assume that B+ meant half an S, or that every grade followed a simple numerical scale.
He wrote the information down.
Working rule: A cultivator whose talent matches Noah’s contributes approximately one additional baseline rate.
Lower or higher talent produces a different contribution.
The exact calculation remains hidden.
Then he considered the implications.
A person who practiced for ten minutes and stopped might contribute very little.
Someone who cultivated consistently for years might become much more valuable.
A naturally gifted person could contribute more than a less talented practitioner, even if both followed the same instructions.
And every new cultivator could alter the collective rate.
The network’s growth was not merely a matter of numbers.
It was a matter of quality.
Noah leaned back in his chair.
“Then the method needs to be safe enough for beginners and effective enough for talented people.”
He returned to the Quiet Practice Archive.
The original method was intentionally simple.
It taught users to regulate breathing, maintain attention, and observe internal sensations without forcing an experience.
Noah added a second document.
Quiet Mind Method: Intermediate Practice
It included longer meditation intervals, better control exercises, and a strict warning against attempting advanced techniques before achieving stable concentration.
He also included a reminder that people should stop if they experienced persistent headaches, dizziness, or distress.
The method was not a substitute for medical treatment, and unusual sensations did not automatically prove that someone had awakened psychic abilities.
He did not promise supernatural powers.
He did not call himself a master.
He did not ask for donations.
The document simply explained how to practise more effectively.
That evening, Mara knocked on his bedroom door.
“You’ve been staring at that screen for hours.”
Noah minimised the website editor.
“I’m working on a project.”
“School project?”
Mara looked at him suspiciously.
“You’re either hiding something or developing the world’s most boring website.”
“Both possibilities are open.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Dinner in ten minutes.
Mum says if you skip it again, she’s bringing the food up herself.”
“I’ll be there.”
Mara paused at the door.
“You know, for someone who supposedly has no powers, you’re becoming very difficult to read.”
Noah kept his expression neutral.
“Maybe you’re simply bad at reading people.”
“Maybe.”
She left.
Noah waited until her footsteps faded.
Then he opened his system again.
The number had changed.
[Connected Cultivators: 17]
He looked at the figure for several seconds.
Two new practitioners.
Two more people beginning a process they did not fully understand.
Noah hoped the method would help them.
He also hoped none of them would become reckless.
The last thing he wanted was for his work to turn ordinary people into amateur supernatural investigators who tried to lift cars, challenge vampires, or test their abilities in public.
He added one final sentence to the website.
Progress is not a race.
Build control before attempting anything difficult.
Then he saved the document.
The system could reward hard work.
It could measure cultivation.
But Noah would be responsible for deciding how his work affected other people.