By the time morning light sliced into the room, Lu Yuan was already awake.
He didn’t move, choosing first to sense the strand of soul power within his body.
It was a bit thicker and slightly more obedient than before.
He held out his right palm.
The Blue Silver Grass materialized.
Its pale green phantom image was nearly transparent in the morning light, but the speck of light at its core seemed a hair more stable than it had been last night.
It wasn’t an illusion.
He rolled over, sat up, and pulled out a notebook made from an old ledger stored under his bedboard.
The notebook was thin, its paper rough, filled with symbols, lines, and numbers.
Turning to the latest page, he reviewed yesterday’s experimental data: Soul Power Output: “Grade C, Tier 3”; Duration: “about a quarter of a ke”; Auxiliary Material: “Starlight Vine purified liquid, one drop, ten-to-one dilution.” In the result column, an arrow pointed to two small charcoal words: *Faint light*.
Flipping backward revealed dense records of failure: “No response,” “Soul power dissipated,” “Core light dimmed”…
Lu Yuan’s gaze lingered briefly on the successful record, and he began to compare.
The soul power output could neither be too strong nor too weak.
Yesterday’s “Grade C, Tier 3” seemed to be the critical threshold.
The concentration of the Starlight Vine liquid mattered as well; the ten-to-one ratio had been found through trial and error.
Then there was the timing—the moment the soul power fluctuations resonated with the natural soul power in the liquid, his intent had to focus on the core of his martial soul…
He closed the notebook and exhaled softly.
Sounds came from the kitchen.
Lu Yuan stowed his notebook and pushed open the door.
“Mother.” “You’re awake?” Lin Xiu was stirring porridge by the stove.
She looked back at him.
“Your complexion looks a bit better.” Lu Yuan nodded, scooped some water, and washed his face.
Cold water splashed against his skin, invigorating his spirits.
Breakfast’s porridge contained a few more grains of rice today, and the pickled vegetables glistened with a trace of oil.
Lin Xiu filled the bowls to the brim for her husband and son, while hers was only shallowly scooped.
Lu Qinghe ate with his head down, slurping noisily.
He looked a bit livelier, though the vertical furrow between his brows remained.
“Father, are you still going to the woods east of town today?” Lu Yuan asked.
“Mhm.
The cedar’s good, and the employer is pressing hard,” Lu Qinghe swallowed his porridge.
“About Shopkeeper Liu…
I replied just as you told me.
He didn’t say much after hearing it, but his eyes were calculating.” Lu Yuan paused his chopsticks.
“His exact words?” “‘If it’s three bowls a day, then three bowls a day it is.
But if you manage to gather enough forage one day, remember to prioritize me,’ he said.” Lu Qinghe frowned.
“Doesn’t sound like he’s given up.” “It’s fine,” Lu Yuan said calmly.
“Just insist that the forage is hard to collect, three bowls a day at most.
If he doesn’t want it, we can switch to another shop or trade directly with your co-workers.” Lin Xiu looked worried.
“Won’t that offend him?
Shopkeeper Liu in town…” “We won’t,” Lu Yuan interrupted.
“We’re selling goods, not begging for favors.
If he wants it, he plays by our rules.” He turned to his father.
“Father, remember this: no matter how he tries to pry, you know nothing about the recipe, where the forage comes from, or how it’s prepared.
Just say I fiddled around with it aimlessly, and you’re only carrying the bowls to trade for supplies.” Looking at his son’s calm, steady eyes, Lu Qinghe felt a jolt in his heart and nodded.
“Understood.” After breakfast, Lu Qinghe set off for work with his axe on his shoulder, and Lin Xiu took a basket to pick up odd sewing jobs.
Lu Yuan was left alone at home.
First, he went to the backyard to check his experimental plot.
The Soul-Gathering Grass seeds hadn’t germinated yet, though he loosened the soil every day.
Lu Yuan brushed aside the topsoil to inspect them—the seeds showed no visible change, but he had optimized the soil’s moisture and softness.
He had to wait.
Returning inside, he shut the door.
Morning sunlight streamed through the window, casting a square patch of light on the floor.
Lu Yuan sat cross-legged at its edge and summoned the Blue Silver Grass.
The pale green phantom grass unfolded in his palm, its three delicate blades slender and tender.
The light at its core flickered softly.
Lu Yuan didn’t inject soul power right away.
First, he used his mind to meticulously “observe”—the course of the leaf veins, the natural flow of soul power, and the fluctuation cycle of the core light’s brightness.
Half a ke later, he took action.
A tiny thread of soul power separated from his dantian, flowing down his arm to his palm.
He controlled the output intensity to be just a hair weaker than yesterday’s.
The instant it touched the Blue Silver Grass, the leaves quivered lightly.
Fully concentrated, Lu Yuan felt every minute change.
With his other hand, he picked up a small wooden sliver dipped in the ten-to-one diluted Starlight Vine liquid, bringing it close to the leaf tips without touching them.
The faint natural soul power emitted by the liquid produced a subtle resonance with his own soul power.
*Now.* Lu Yuan focused his intent, guiding the resonant wave toward the core light of his martial soul.
The core point brightened abruptly.
It was clearer and more stable than yesterday.
Immediately following, pale green fluorescence bloomed across all three leaf tips simultaneously.
The glow sustained for three breaths before slowly fading.
Lu Yuan retracted his soul power, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead.
Guiding the process this time demanded much more mental effort due to his attempt at precise waveform control.
Yet his eyes shone brightly.
The result was reproducible.
It wasn’t a fluke.
Under specific conditions, the Blue Silver Grass did indeed produce a positive energy response to compound stimuli.
Lu Yuan didn’t immediately attempt a second trial.
He closed his eyes to replay the entire process, memorizing every detail.
Then he took out his notebook and charcoal pencil, quickly writing and sketching.
New data: Soul Power Output: “Grade C, Tier 4”; Resonance Waveform: “Off-peak guidance”; Result: “Fluorescence at leaf tips, all three blades displayed simultaneously, duration approx.
3 breaths.” Comparing this with yesterday’s records, a vague outline formed in his mind.
The martial soul’s response to external stimuli possessed a “threshold.” Below the threshold, it was ineffective; above the upper limit, it risked causing damage.
Within the effective range, different modes of stimulation yielded different response effects.
Yesterday’s “faint light” and today’s “leaf-tip glow” were simply manifestations under different parameters.
So, did an “optimal stimulation range” exist—one that yielded maximum positive response with minimum consumption?
Lu Yuan tapped his index finger lightly against his knee.
A textbook optimization problem.
Multiple variables, complex constraints, and an objective function that wasn’t yet explicitly defined.
But at least the problem had been formulated.
At the top of a fresh page in his notebook, he wrote: “Martial Soul Activation Guidance Experiment — Preliminary Phenomenon Confirmation and Parameter Analysis” Below, he listed the points: “1.
Confirmed Phenomenon: Under specific soul power output paired with diluted Starlight Vine liquid guidance, the Blue Silver Grass martial soul produces a transient energy fluorescence response.
Two manifestations: core point dim glow; leaf tips emitting light.” “2.
Hypothesized Key Variables: Soul power output intensity; output waveform; auxiliary material type and concentration; environmental soul power density; precision of guiding intent focus; operational cycle of the martial soul itself.” “3.
Next Phase Goals: Reliably replicate the leaf-tip glow phenomenon; attempt to extend duration; explore whether accompanying secondary changes exist; systematically construct a ‘stimulus-response’ model to locate the ‘optimal range.'” He paused his pencil there.
Looking at the cold, clinical words on the page, a strange sense of grounding welled up inside him.
The road was long.
A useless martial soul as a foundation, a starting point of half a rank of soul power, destitute family resources…
none of these hard realities had changed.
But at least he held the embryo of a map in his hands.
Though it only mapped out the small patch beneath his feet, the direction was clear and the methodology verifiable.
That was enough.
Lin Xiu returned at noon, bringing a small pouch of coarse salt and two pieces of scrap cloth as payment for her mending work.
Her expression was relieved.
“Auntie Wang at the west end paid generously for the work.” Lu Yuan helped kindle the fire and cook.
Lunch was coarse rice served with stir-fried wild greens—light on oil, but adequately salted.
During the meal, Lin Xiu brought up Old Chen’s family at the east end of town again.
“I heard that child is on a hunger strike,” she sighed.
“Old Chen and his wife are worried sick, going all around town asking for folk remedies or strings to pull just to get his martial soul tested a second time.
But how could such a thing be possible?
If awakening fails once, that’s it for a lifetime.” Lu Qinghe grunted glumly, “Fate.” “A miserable fate,” Lin Xiu shook her head.
“That boy was so bright before, learning characters faster than anyone, full of drive.
Now…” Lu Yuan ate silently without chiming in.
Failing a martial soul awakening was practically equivalent to receiving a death sentence in this world.
Being unable to become a Spirit Master meant being permanently excluded from the system of power, condemned to remain at the absolute bottom forever.
He thought of the Blue Silver Grass in his palm, and of that faint speck of light.
Knowledge was a key.
But a key could unlock more than just one’s own door.
The thought resurfaced, clearer than it had been last night.
But he suppressed it.
It was still too early.
He hadn’t even pried open a crack in his own lock; how could he talk about helping others?
Rashly exposing his knowledge right now would be no different from playing with fire.
First, he had to survive and gain a solid foothold.