In the afternoon, he continued his experiments.
He adjusted the soul power output waveform, trying a gentler seepage rather than resonant excitation.
The result was zero response from the Blue Silver Grass; the soul power vanished like a mud ox sinking into the sea.
He recorded it, marking it as “Ineffective Stimulus Type 1.” He tried increasing the concentration of the liquid to eight-to-one.
As a result, the veins of the Blue Silver Grass distorted slightly, and the core light flickered wildly before dimming—it had suffered an overload shock.
He stopped immediately, marking it as “Overload Stimulus, risk of damage.” The two failures consumed a considerable amount of soul power.
A wave of weakness washed over him, accompanied by a dull ache at his temples.
He ceased operations and sat cross-legged to regulate his breathing.
Experiments were like this: success was incidental, failure the norm.
But with each clear record of failure, eliminating an incorrect variable brought him one step closer to the answer.
At dusk, Lu Qinghe returned from work.
He looked exceptionally exhausted, yet suppressed excitement flickered in his eyes.
After dinner, while Lin Xiu washed the dishes, Lu Qinghe pulled his son into the bedroom and lowered his voice: “During today’s cultivation, the ‘vortex’ spun differently.” Lu Yuan’s mind moved.
“How so?” “It felt heavier,” Lu Qinghe gestured with his hands.
“Before, it felt floaty.
It spun, but it was hollow.
Today it felt like it sank lower, clinging to the bottom of my dantian, spinning with real weight behind it.” He paused, lowering his voice further: “And I got hungry abnormally fast.
The flatbreads I brought for lunch were gone before noon, and I almost ran out of energy working this afternoon.” Lu Yuan listened carefully and analyzed rapidly.
The soul power vortex growing “heavier” and “more solid” likely indicated an improvement in soul power quality and enhanced control.
The heightened hunger suggested his body was actively demanding more energy to sustain the operation and growth of soul power.
A good sign.
The “Basic Activation Method” was continuing to take effect; his father’s body and soul power, dormant for fifteen years, were being reawakened.
“Father, this is a good thing,” Lu Yuan said seriously.
“But remember, if you feel you can’t push through, stop immediately.
Don’t force it.
Eat more every day, don’t skimp.” Lu Qinghe nodded.
“I know.” Looking at his son, he hesitated briefly.
“Yuan’er, your grass…
how is it coming along?” Lu Yuan held out his hand, and the Blue Silver Grass materialized.
In the dim room, the phantom blades shed a faint, soft green glow.
Though weak, it was undeniably emitting light.
Lu Qinghe’s eyes widened.
He stared at it for a long while before murmuring, “It…
it really is glowing.” “Mhm.” Lu Yuan dismissed his martial soul.
“Still need to take it step by step.” Deep into the night.
Lu Yuan lay on his wooden bed, eyes open, staring at the roof beams shrouded in darkness.
Two experimental failures today, one success.
New progress in his father’s cultivation.
The family’s porridge was slightly thicker.
Shopkeeper Liu was still probing.
The child at the east end failed his martial soul awakening, his life practically receiving a death sentence.
Countless pieces of information flowed, collided, and sorted themselves within his brain.
Turning over to face the wall, he spoke silently into the dark: “Phenomenon confirmed.” “Inference: The martial soul possesses a ‘basic response threshold’ and an ‘optimal stimulation range.'” “Next phase target: Stabilize the phenomenon and attempt to endow it with a rudimentary functional orientation.” His voice was feather-light, dissipating into the night.
Closing his eyes, he fell into a deep sleep.
Outside the window, stars were sparse, and a crescent moon hung over the distant mountains.
Maple Leaf Town lay asleep in silence.
Only inside the window of the Lu family’s small house did a faint trace of light—belonging to the Blue Silver Grass—seem to linger.
That light was faint, yet persistently bright.
Like a seed buried beneath frozen soil, silently cracking open a tiny sliver of its hard shell in the unknown darkness.
*Thump, thump, thump.* Three unhurried knocks sounded on the courtyard door.
Lu Qinghe had just returned from work and was scooping water to wash his face when the noise made his hand tremble.
Through a crack in the old wooden door, he caught a glimpse of a corner of a grayish-blue robe.
His heart sank.
He opened the door.
Zhao Shi stood outside, round-faced and perpetually smiling.
His grayish-blue robe was neatly starched, and the single-ring badge on his chest gleamed brightly.
“Brother Lu,” Zhao Shi said with a beam, his eyes scanning the courtyard.
“Routine business—just checking on the progress of the town’s Spirit Masters.” Lu Qinghe stepped aside to let him in, his throat dry.
“Deacon Zhao.” Zhao Shi ambled inside as if conducting an inspection.
His gaze fell upon the freshly turned earth in the corner of the yard.
The soil ridges were neat, recently watered, with a few drooping sprouts peeking out.
“Planting something?” He squatted down, picking up a pinch of dirt and rubbing it between his fingers.
“This soil…
lacks fertility.
What did you plant?” “Soul-Gathering Grass,” Lu Qinghe answered truthfully.
“The boy got some seeds and is playing around.” “Soul-Gathering Grass?” Zhao Shi raised an eyebrow.
“That stuff is delicate and hard to keep alive.
Your family has spare coin to mess with that?” There was a hook hidden in his words.
Lu Qinghe’s throat tightened, unsure how to reply.
At the kitchen doorway, Lin Xiu clutched her apron, her face pale.
Zhao Shi stood up, dusted the dirt from his hands, and studied Lu Qinghe closely.
“Your complexion looks good—much livelier than last year.” He leaned half a step closer and lowered his voice, “Have you made progress in your cultivation?” Lu Qinghe’s back stiffened.
He recalled his son’s warning: *Don’t tell anyone.
Not a soul.* “N-No,” he shook his head.
“Same as always.
Still stuck.” “Oh?” Zhao Shi’s smile remained unchanged, but his eyes darkened slightly.
“Yet from what I can see, your soul power fluctuations are far more steady.
Stuck at Rank 19 for over a decade, and suddenly you’re stable…
there must be a reason, right?” His tone grew even gentler, like a dull blade slicing slowly: “Did you get a secret prescription?
Or run into some fortunate encounter?
Tell your old brother.” Sweat broke out on Lu Qinghe’s forehead.
His mind went blank.
Just as the tension reached a standstill, the curtain to the west room was lifted.
Lu Yuan stepped out.
He had just been recording data inside when he heard the commotion and put down his pen.
Standing under the eaves now, his face was devoid of expression.
“Father, the water vat needs refilling,” he said in a flat voice.
Lu Qinghe started, then hurriedly replied, “Ah, right away.” Zhao Shi turned to look at Lu Yuan.
He remembered this boy—Mutated Blue Silver Grass, Innate Soul Power Rank 0.5.
At the time, he had secretly sighed, thinking the Lu family’s child was ruined.
Yet the boy standing before him now stood straight and tall, his eyes bright and clear, lacking even a hint of timidity.
*Something’s wrong.* “Little Yuan, right?” Zhao Shi put on a smile again.
“Grown taller, I see.
What have you been up to at home lately?” “Learning to read, helping with chores.” Lu Yuan gave a succinct reply, taking a few steps forward to position himself right in front of the patch of Soul-Gathering Grass.
“Reading is good,” Zhao Shi nodded, asking as if casually, “Your father’s health seems to have improved a lot.
Do you know why?” Lu Yuan looked up at him.
His gaze was far too quiet—so still that the smile on Zhao Shi’s face strained to stay in place.
“My father works from dawn to dusk every day, and he still skimps on food,” Lu Yuan said slowly.
“If there’s really anything different, maybe it’s because while gathering firewood a while back, he found a few wild ginseng rootlets and boiled them into soup a couple of times.” *Ginseng rootlets?* Zhao Shi sneered internally.
*The effect of those is negligible.* Outwardly he showed nothing, assuming a tone of concern instead.
“Those are good things!
But can ginseng rootlets alone stabilize soul power fluctuations like this?” He turned back to Lu Qinghe, his tone growing heavier, “Brother Lu, if your cultivation makes progress, rules dictate it must be reported.
Concealing progress…
carries penalties.” Lu Qinghe turned pale.
Lu Yuan spoke up, his voice steady: “Deacon Zhao, I have a question.” “Hmm?” “If soul power fluctuations become stable, but the rank hasn’t broken through, does that count as progress?” Zhao Shi was caught off guard.
He frowned.
“Stability is the foundation, but without a breakthrough, it doesn’t count as substantive progress.” “I see,” Lu Yuan nodded.
“Then my father’s soul power is slightly more stable, but his rank remains at Rank 19.
According to the rules, that shouldn’t require a special report, right?” Zhao Shi choked on his words.
He stared at Lu Yuan.
The boy spoke with far too much clarity and logic.
Suppressing the odd feeling in his heart, he laughed, “While that’s true, when something unusual happens, we must inquire about the cause.
What if he strays onto the wrong path and damages his foundation?” “Thank you for your concern, Deacon,” Lu Yuan said sincerely.
“My father was just tired from work, got better rest, and ate a bit extra.
If there really is a reason…” He paused, his gaze crystalline.
“Perhaps it has something to do with the ‘natural soul power settling cycle’?
I read on torn pages of an old book that when a Spirit Master stays stuck at a bottleneck for a long time, soul power settles and purifies within the meridians.
If the body and mind relax with slightly better nourishment, the activity of that settled soul power gets stimulated, making fluctuations more stable.
Of course, that’s just nonsense written in a book, and I don’t really understand it.” The explanation was airtight, flawless.
The smile on Zhao Shi’s face froze.
He had vaguely heard of such a theory, but he couldn’t explain it clearly at all.
He let out two dry laughs.
“Heh, reading is a good thing.
But miscellaneous books aren’t necessarily reliable.” “Yes,” Lu Yuan replied, saying no more.
Silence fell over the courtyard.
The sun baked the ground hot.
Zhao Shi stood there for a moment, realizing he wouldn’t get anything more out of them.
He cast a deep look at Lu Yuan, who kept his eyes lowered, far too quiet.
“Alright then,” Zhao Shi patted Lu Qinghe’s shoulder.
“Since there’s no breakthrough, we’ll keep you recorded at Rank 19.
Cultivate well.” “Ah, thank you, Deacon.” Zhao Shi turned and walked out.
At the door, he looked back once more, his gaze sweeping over the Soul-Gathering Grass sprouts, the courtyard, and finally settling on Lu Yuan.
“Little Yuan,” he spoke suddenly.
“Your martial soul is Blue Silver Grass, right?” “Yes.” “Though Blue Silver Grass is weak, it is still a martial soul.
Sense it more often; perhaps there might be changes,” Zhao Shi said gently.
“If there’s anything you don’t understand, you can come to the Spirit Hall to ask me.” “Alright.” The door closed.
The footsteps faded into the distance.
Lu Qinghe exhaled a long breath, his back soaked with sweat.
Lin Xiu ran out, her face pale: “Is everything alright?” “It’s fine,” Lu Qinghe shook his head, looking toward his son.
Lu Yuan stood in place without moving.
Only when the footsteps outside completely vanished did he lift his eyes.
“Father,” he said, “if Deacon Zhao comes again, push all his questions to me.” Lu Qinghe felt a heavy weight in his chest.
“But he…” “He is a deacon in charge of registration, with the authority to investigate anomalies,” Lu Yuan said in a flat voice.
“He noticed the changes in our household.
Coming today was a probe.” “What do we do then?” “Carry on as usual,” Lu Yuan turned and walked inside.
“Only, we must be even more careful from now on.” He lifted the curtain and entered the room.
Sitting down, he tapped his index finger gently on his knee.
Zhao Shi…
a One-Ring Spirit Master, the lowest-ranking deacon of the Spirit Hall, yet he was an antenna of the town’s system of authority.
They had fended him off today, but suspicion had been planted.
Lu Yuan opened his notebook, wrote down the date on a new page, and added a few small words beside it: “External Attention Level: Low -> Medium.
Requires observation.” The tip of his pencil hovered, then added another line: “Countermeasure: Maintain the ‘torn pages of an old book’ explanation; control the speed of improvement.” Finishing, he closed the notebook and looked out the window.
The courtyard wall was low, offering a view of the town’s dusty gray rooftops in the distance.
The world was vast.
Maple Leaf Town was small.
But even the smallest pond had undercurrents.