The necklace hovered in the freezing night air, its faint white light casting long, dancing shadows against the jagged rocks of the cleared field. The silence of the Green River Village was absolute, save for the ragged, hitching breathing of Xie Mingzhi.

  He wiped the blood from his nose with his sleeve, wincing as the movement pulled at his bruised ribs. The pain was sharp, grounding him in reality, but his eyes were fixed on the floating object—the ancient, wooden block that had shed its rust like a snake sheds its skin.

  "You called me your 'new' Master," Mingzhi whispered, his voice hoarse. "Why 'new'?"

  The Spirit’s voice echoed in his mind. It wasn't robotic, but it was hollow—like a servant who had been trained to speak only when spoken to, and to never offer an opinion. There was a hesitancy there, a tremor of uncertainty that felt almost human.

  "The blood sacrifice..." the Spirit murmured, its mental voice tinged with a weary confusion. "You awakened me. My memory is... blurry. Like ink spilled on a page. I only remember the end. I remember my last Master dying."

  Mingzhi shifted on the rock, ignoring the throb in his dislocated shoulder. "What are you? A ghost trapped in wood? A demon?"

  The necklace rotated slowly, the white light pulsing in time with its voice.

  "My Master was a Great Sovereign of the Upper Realms. He stood at the peak of the world, staring at the heavens, but he reached a bottleneck he could not break. His cultivation stagnated. In his desperation, he spent a thousand years gathering every cultivation technique, every array diagram, and every alchemy formula in existence."

  The voice trembled slightly, a flicker of trauma surfacing from the depths of its misty memory.

  "He forged them into a supreme artifact: The Compendium of Ten Thousand Techniques. The sheer density of wisdom gave birth to a consciousness. Me. I am the Spirit of that book."

  Mingzhi stared, his analytical mind struggling to grasp the scale. A spirit born from knowledge itself. A library that learned to think.

  "But the Heavens were jealous," the Spirit continued, its tone dropping to a whisper that sounded like turning pages in a dead room. "And his enemies were angry and greedy. They hunted him. He managed to escape, to this lower realm, but his wounds were too severe. Before his death, he sealed my essence into this wooden vessel to hide me. The book... the physical pages... he burned them to ashes."

  Mingzhi looked down at his own hand. It was stained with dirt and dried blood—blood that had spilled when he refused to let Wang Hu crush the rusty metal.

  "So..." Mingzhi murmured, piecing the logic together. "When I fought for the necklace... when I got hurt and bled on it... that was the catalyst?"

  The Spirit went silent. The necklace stopped rotating, hanging perfectly still in the air.

  "You... fought for me?"

  The question was tentative, filled with a strange, childlike wonder.

  "My previous Master used me. I was a reference tool. A catalog to be opened and closed. But you... you bled to protect the vessel?"

  "It felt important," Mingzhi admitted, looking at the scar on his palm. "I don't know why. I just couldn't let them stomp on it. It felt like... like you were the only thing I had left."

  The white light of the necklace turned warmer, shifting from a cold pale hue to a soft, amber glow.

  "I see," the Spirit whispered. "You defended the vessel. You provided the lifeblood. Then I am yours. State your intent,” the Spirit said. “I will determine whether it is within my capacity.”

  Mingzhi frowned. He stood up slowly, dusting off his trousers. "I am not your Master. I'm just a farmer's son with a trash body. My name is Xie Mingzhi. Call me Mingzhi."

  The Spirit hesitated. “The established order dictates—”

  "No protocols," Mingzhi said firmly. "Look at me. I'm beaten, broke, and useless. We are both broken things thrown in a ditch. I will not command you. If we walk forward, we do it together.”

  There was a long pause. The Spirit seemed to be processing this new variable, rewriting its internal knowledge.

  “Very well,” the Spirit said at last. “Mingzhi.”

  Mingzhi let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He looked at the floating wood with a renewed intensity. The fear was gone, replaced by the sharp, analytical hunger of his mind.

  "So, tell me. What can you actually do?"

  "I possess the memories of the Compendium," the Spirit replied, its voice growing steadier, more confident. "I know cultivation techniques, I hold the blueprints for arrays that can hide mountains, and alchemy recipes that can regrow limbs. However... I have no physical body. I am a soul construct. I cannot lift a stone or fight a battle."

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  "But," it added, a note of pride creeping in, "I can use Divine Sense. Currently, my range is limited to one hundred meters. As your cultivation improves, my range will recover."

  "Divine Sense..."

  “An extension of awareness,” Mingzhi said slowly. “You can perceive what I cannot."

  He paced a small circle, his limp less pronounced as his mind started to work. "Okay. Partners help each other. Can you help me with my cultivation problem?"

  "Yes."

  The answer was immediate.

  "Then explain it to me," Mingzhi said, gesturing to his chest. "My parents bought the Earth Root Scripture. It’s a legitimate manual. I gathered the Qi. I felt it entering. But it wouldn't stay. Why?"

  The Spirit floated closer, scanning him with a beam of amber light. It felt like a warm breeze passing through his skin, inspecting his very marrow.

  “Your Constitution is Balanced,” the Spirit said. “Perfectly so. Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, Earth—each at twenty percent.”

  “That’s what the doctor called trash,” Mingzhi muttered.

  “In this world,” the Spirit agreed calmly, “it is inefficient.”

  It paused, as if arranging information.

  “Most cultivators are deep vessels,” it continued. “One element dominates. Qi settles easily because the structure is singular. You are divided.”

  Mingzhi visualized it immediately. “Five cups,” he said. “All shallow.”

  "Precisely. When you tried to gather Earth Qi using the manual, you filled your twenty percent capacity instantly. But because you kept pulling, the pressure built up. Since your Earth vessel couldn't hold it, the Qi overflowed into the other four vessels—Water, Fire, Metal, Wood."

  "This caused a rejection reaction," the Spirit explained. "Earth clashes with Water. Wood drains Earth. The conflict destabilized the energy before it could condense into a Seed. It didn't just leak; it evaporated."

  "So it's impossible?" Mingzhi asked, his voice tight.

  "No. Not impossible. Just inefficient. It takes you five times longer to gather the same amount of Qi because your affinity is low. And because you cannot hold the pressure, you cannot refine it to a high degree naturally."

  Mingzhi stared at the ground. "Can we change the twenty percent? Can we upgrade the cups?"

  "No," the Spirit said. "Constitution is innate. It is the shape of your soul. It cannot be altered."

  "Then I have to work with what I have," Mingzhi said, his eyes narrowing in thought. He was used to solving impossible problems. When the river was low, he dug deeper channels. When the soil was rocky, he built raised beds. There was always a way.

  "If I can't hold it because the cup is small, I need to fill it faster. Or I need to freeze the water before it spills. Can we gather Qi faster? Can we condense it faster?"

  "Gathering speed depends on two factors," the Spirit explained, sounding like a patient tutor. "First, the quality of the technique. The Earth Root Scripture you used is... garbage. It is the lowest level of technique. It creates a weak suction, like sipping through a straw."

  "Second, the density of the ambient Qi. The air here is thin. If you were in a place with denser Qi, your twenty percent intake would yield more energy."

  Mingzhi nodded. "So my conditions were bad. Bad technique, bad location."

  "Correct. Under optimal conditions, even with your body, you should be able to form a Low-Quality Seed."

  "Seed quality?" Mingzhi asked. "What does that mean? Does it matter?"

  "It matters immensely. A Seed is the foundation. A Low-Quality Seed is loose, like a ball of dust. It has a small size and it crumbles under pressure. A High-Quality Seed is big and dense, like a diamond. The denser the seed, the stronger the tree that grows from it. A strong tree creates wider meridians, allowing for more power."

  Mingzhi looked at the distant Wang Manor, glowing on the ridge. He remembered the punch. "Wang Hu... his Qi felt heavy. It felt like a rock hitting me. He must have a denser seed."

  "Likely, but it also depends on constitution" the Spirit agreed.

  "Is there any way to condense it better?" Mingzhi asked, looking back at the necklace. "If my body can't apply the pressure naturally because the walls are too low, is there an external force that can help? Like... using a mold to shape clay?"

  The Spirit bobbed in the air. "A mold..."

  "Divine Sense," the Spirit said suddenly.

  Mingzhi blinked. "What?"

  "Divine Sense is the power of the mind. It can manipulate energy without physical touch. Since you cannot yet project your own Divine Sense to shape the Qi inside you... I can use mine."

  The Spirit drifted closer.

  "I can act as the mold, Mingzhi. While you gather the Qi, I can use my Divine Sense to wrap around your Dantian. I can apply the pressure your body lacks. I can force the Qi to bind together before it has a chance to dissipate."

  Mingzhi’s mouth fell open slightly.

  It was an advantage so unfair it bordered on blasphemy. While others used their bodies to squeeze the energy, struggling against their own limits, he would have an ancient spirit holding it in place for him. He wouldn't need talent. He just needed the Spirit to hold the cup steady while he poured.

  "So... you can help me?" Mingzhi whispered. "You can make it work?"

  "Yes," the Spirit said. "I can help you plant the Seed. We can bypass your limitations."

  A wave of relief crashed over Mingzhi, so powerful it almost knocked him down. The shame, the fear of his parents' disappointment, the hopelessness—it all cracked under the weight of that one word: Yes.

  "Please," Mingzhi said, his voice trembling with emotion. "Do it. Next time you have an idea like that... tell me immediately."

  He reached out and gently touched the floating wood. It felt warm now, alive.

  “You saved me,” Mingzhi said quietly. “I won’t forget that.”

  The necklace vibrated. Inside the Spirit’s consciousness, something strange happened. For thousands of years, it had been accessed, read, and ignored. It had been called "useful" or "powerful," or "dangerous," but never like this. Never "lifesaver." It had never been thanked.

  A feeling of warmth—not Qi, but emotion—bloomed in the Spirit’s core. It felt... good. It felt like being alive.

  “Then we proceed,” the Spirit said. “Failure will no longer be… trivial.”

  "Then let's—"

  Snap.

  The sound of a dry twig breaking echoed from the treeline.

  Mingzhi froze. The warmth in his chest vanished, replaced by a spike of adrenaline.

  It wasn't the wind. The wind didn't have weight. Someone was there.

  The Spirit reacted instantly, sensing Mingzhi’s spike in fear. The amber light vanished. The necklace dropped into Mingzhi’s palm like a dead stone, looking once again like a piece of rusty junk.

  Footsteps approached from the path leading to the village. Not the heavy stomping of the Wang brothers, but quick, light steps. Deliberate steps.

  Mingzhi scrambled backward, just holding the necklace tightly in his grasp. He grabbed his hoe, holding it like a weapon, his heart hammering against his bruised ribs.

  Did they come back? he thought wildly. Did Wang Hu decide a beating wasn't enough? Or is it an Elder? Did they see the light?

  A figure emerged from the shadows of the trees, stopping at the edge of the clearing. The moonlight was blocked by the clouds, rendering the newcomer nothing but a silhouette against the darkness.

  Mingzhi squinted, trying to make out the face, but the shadow stood still, watching him.

  “…No,” Mingzhi breathed.