Several hours later, Mingzhi woke up.

  The first thing he noticed was the smell.

  It was sharp, acrid, and unpleasant—like scorched meat left too long over open flame. His nose twitched, and he grimaced before even opening his eyes.

  “…I smell like I lost a fight with a barbecue pit,” he muttered hoarsely.

  His throat was dry. His limbs felt heavy, but not broken. Pain lingered everywhere, deep and dull, yet strangely… orderly. Not the chaotic agony of injury, but the solid ache of something that had been torn down and rebuilt.

  At least I’m still alive.

  That realization brought a faint smile to his cracked lips.

  Surviving a tribulation truly was different.

  As Mingzhi slowly sat up, he became aware of subtle changes throughout his body. His breathing felt deeper. His bones carried a quiet weight. His meridians, though still sore, were wider—less brittle than before.

  Even his soul felt different.

  The fullness from devouring the Spirit’s master no longer felt oppressive. The lingering foreign stiffness had faded significantly, replaced by something smoother, more obedient. Assimilation that would have taken weeks—perhaps months—now felt… manageable.

  “…It halved,” Mingzhi said softly.

  “Yes,” the Spirit replied. “The tribulation lightning accelerated the assimilation process. Every part of you—body, soul, spirit, and mind—was tempered.”

  Mingzhi exhaled slowly.

  For a brief moment, satisfaction welled up in his chest.

  Then reality caught up.

  His gaze darkened as memory resurfaced—cracks, erosion, the bridge collapsing into dust, the Earth core peeling apart under Heaven’s judgment.

  The engine.

  “…It seems Heaven doesn’t like my new invention,” Mingzhi said flatly.

  The Spirit corrected him immediately.

  “It’s not that it didn’t like it.”

  Mingzhi snorted. “Oh? Then what—Heaven found it aesthetically displeasing?”

  “It tested it,” the Spirit replied. “And it failed.”

  Silence followed.

  “It wasn’t strong enough,” the Spirit continued calmly. “That’s all.”

  Mingzhi stared at the cave wall, jaw tightening.

  “…That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

  “Look on the bright side,” the Spirit said. “Your idea was excellent.”

  Mingzhi blinked. “Excellent?”

  “Yes,” the Spirit said. “Straight Heaven-defying. If it weren’t, it wouldn’t have been destroyed.”

  Mingzhi laughed—a sharp, humorless sound.

  “That’s reassuring,” he said sarcastically. “I figured out a very good system. Heaven approved it as overqualified. And now I still can’t use it.”

  He spread his hands weakly.

  “Thank you, Spirit. I feel much better now.”

  “You’re welcome,” the Spirit replied without missing a beat.

  Mingzhi’s expression twitched.

  Then he snapped.

  He stood up unsteadily and shouted toward the open clearing beyond the cave.

  “HEAVEN!” his voice echoed, hoarse but furious.

  “Why can’t you just let me use it?!”

  His chest heaved as words spilled out, raw and unfiltered.

  “I paid the price! The carving nearly tore me apart! I worked myself half-dead to overcome this trash body you gave me! I didn’t steal power—I built a system!”

  His fists clenched.

  “So why take it away now?!”

  Silence followed.

  For a heartbeat, Mingzhi almost laughed at himself. What was he expecting—an answer?

  Then—

  A faint rumble echoed from above.

  Not violent. Not threatening.

  Just… present.

  Mingzhi froze.

  The Spirit’s tone changed instantly. “Mingzhi. Look at the core.”

  “The core?” Mingzhi scoffed bitterly. “You mean the remains?”

  “Just come in,” the Spirit said urgently.

  Mingzhi didn’t hesitate. He closed his eyes and withdrew his consciousness into the Eye Space.

  What he saw made him stop cold.

  Where the Earth core had been—where cracked fragments had been peeling away endlessly—there was now a smooth surface.

  Not large.

  Much smaller than before.

  Suspended quietly at the center of the elemental rotation was a transparent, glass-like sphere. It was perfectly round, flawless, its surface clear yet dense, like solidified earth essence purified of all impurities.

  It radiated stability.

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  Not power.

  Stability.

  Mingzhi’s mind went blank.

  “…What is this?” he whispered.

  The Spirit was silent for a moment.

  Then—

  “…This is Heaven’s reaction to your shouting.”

  Mingzhi’s heart skipped. “You’re joking.”

  “I am not,” the Spirit said.

  “That,” it continued, “is a completely reformed Earth beast core.”

  Mingzhi’s breath caught.

  “Empty,” the Spirit added. “Clean. Its size has been adjusted to match your current capacity.”

  Mingzhi stared.

  “…Ready for stamping.”

  His thoughts exploded.

  “What?!” Mingzhi shouted. “So Heaven just—fixed the power difference for me?!”

  “It appears so,” the Spirit said carefully. “Or rather—Heaven judged the original Earth core as the greater violator.”

  Mingzhi swallowed hard.

  “It was far beyond your level,” the Spirit continued. “Once its imprint was erased by tribulation lightning, it was deemed dead. What remains is pure structure.”

  Mingzhi’s lips trembled.

  “So I don’t have to remove the beast’s imprint myself?” he asked slowly.

  “No,” the Spirit confirmed. “There is nothing left to remove.”

  Mingzhi laughed weakly.

  “That’s… good,” he said. “But without the bridge—”

  “Look closer,” the Spirit interrupted.

  Mingzhi focused.

  At first glance, the bridge was gone. The violent structure he had carved—the unstable framework—had indeed collapsed.

  But deeper—

  The channel remained.

  Faint.

  Narrow.

  Yet unmistakably present.

  Earth Qi still flowed through it, slow and steady. More than that—something else lingered within the channel.

  Weight.

  Law.

  “The carved pathway didn’t disappear,” the Spirit said. “Only the weak structure built upon it was destroyed.”

  Mingzhi’s eyes widened.

  “…And the lightning?”

  “The last tribulation lightning,” the Spirit said, “did the most important work.”

  Mingzhi listened intently.

  “It shattered the unstable parts,” the Spirit continued. “But it left behind Earth law.”

  Mingzhi’s breath slowed.

  “The channel already had two anchors,” the Spirit said. “Your body—and the core.”

  Mingzhi nodded slowly.

  “Based on those endpoints,” the Spirit went on, “the bridge can reform. Naturally. Using the remaining Qi and law.”

  His pulse quickened.

  “Stronger than before,” the Spirit finished.

  Mingzhi’s hands clenched.

  “…So the engine wasn’t destroyed,” he said softly. “It was reforged.”

  “Yes.”

  For the first time since waking up, genuine relief washed over him.

  “How long?” Mingzhi asked quickly. “How long until it finishes?”

  The Spirit hesitated.

  “A few days, perhaps. It’s difficult to say.”

  Mingzhi frowned. “That long?”

  “But,” the Spirit added, “you should be able to speed it up.”

  Mingzhi looked up sharply. “How?”

  “The same way you formed it before,” the Spirit replied.

  Mingzhi’s eyes lit up.

  Pain flickered across his expression.

  Then resolve.

  “…Figures,” he muttered.

  He exhaled slowly and looked outward, toward the clearing and the sky beyond.

  Heaven had tested him.

  Taken its price.

  And left behind something… usable.

  Mingzhi smiled faintly.

  “This time,” he said quietly, “I’ll make it strong enough.”

  The thunder above was silent.

  For now.

  Mingzhi remained seated, consciousness still half-submerged in the Eye Space, eyes fixed on the newly reformed Earth core.

  The transparent sphere rotated slowly, its surface flawless, stable, completely devoid of the violent presence that had once pressed down on him like a mountain.

  “…What about the core?” Mingzhi finally asked. “How did that even happen?”

  The Spirit considered for a moment.

  “Most likely,” it said slowly, “it was the result of several factors acting together.”

  Mingzhi listened carefully.

  “The Earth core was already damaged,” the Spirit continued. “Heavily. Its outer layers were cracked, unstable, and partially emptied long before you touched it.”

  Mingzhi nodded. That much he knew.

  “When the first two lightning strikes descended,” the Spirit said, “they did not immediately target the core itself.”

  “They went through the bridge first,” Mingzhi said.

  “Yes,” the Spirit confirmed. “But their intensity was limited. Those two strikes were not fully aligned with the core’s attribute.”

  Mingzhi frowned slightly. “So what did they do?”

  “They destroyed the damaged outer layers,” the Spirit replied. “The parts that could no longer bear pressure. The already fractured shell acted as the first buffer.”

  Mingzhi’s eyes narrowed.

  “And the inner Qi?”

  “That’s the key,” the Spirit said. “The core’s inner Qi was still intact. Dense. Coherent. It resisted complete collapse.”

  Mingzhi pictured it—the shell breaking, energy venting outward, while something deeper remained untouched.

  “When the third lightning descended,” the Spirit continued, “it was different.”

  Mingzhi felt a phantom pressure in his chest just remembering it.

  “It was Earth-attributed,” the Spirit said. “Aligned directly with the core.”

  Mingzhi exhaled slowly.

  “That lightning entered fully,” the Spirit went on. “But by then, the damaged outer layers had already been weakened and fragmented by the first two strikes.”

  Mingzhi’s eyes lit up faintly.

  “They acted as a vent,” he said.

  “Yes,” the Spirit replied. “And as a shield.”

  Mingzhi nodded slowly. “Like a volcanic eruption.”

  The Spirit agreed. “Exactly. Pressure builds beneath the crust. Cracks form. When release comes, the weakest points break first, allowing excess energy to escape rather than tearing everything apart.”

  Mingzhi leaned back slightly.

  “So the deep cracks weren’t just damage,” he murmured. “They were pathways.”

  “For release,” the Spirit said. “Without them, the third lightning would have shattered the core completely.”

  Mingzhi let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

  “But that still doesn’t explain the final result,” he said. “Why didn’t the core just… collapse?”

  “That’s where the real transformation occurred,” the Spirit replied.

  Mingzhi focused harder.

  “When the Earth lightning reached the core’s center,” the Spirit said, “the inner Qi responded.”

  “How?”

  “By reforming,” the Spirit answered. “From the inside out.”

  Mingzhi’s heartbeat quickened.

  “Under extreme pressure,” the Spirit continued, “and guided by the Earth law carried by the tribulation lightning.”

  Mingzhi’s mind raced.

  “Just like the bridge,” he whispered.

  “Yes,” the Spirit confirmed. “The same principle.”

  Mingzhi swallowed.

  “The lightning didn’t just destroy,” the Spirit said. “It imposed law. Structure. Constraint.”

  The image was clear now.

  The useless, unstable outer layers—peeled away.

  What remained—condensed, purified, reshaped.

  “A tempered core,” Mingzhi said quietly.

  “Precisely,” the Spirit replied. “Sized to what you can bear. Empty. Stable. Ready.”

  Mingzhi opened his eyes.

  “…I see.”

  He sat there for a long moment, letting the explanation settle.

  Then another thought surfaced.

  “Then why were there two different kinds of lightning?” Mingzhi asked. “Neutral first, then Earth?”

  The Spirit hesitated.

  “This part is… speculation,” it admitted. “But it is the most reasonable explanation.”

  Mingzhi waited.

  “Tribulation lightning,” the Spirit said, “can only strike one target.”

  Mingzhi frowned. “But it felt like—”

  “Because your situation was abnormal,” the Spirit interrupted.

  Mingzhi stiffened.

  “Your engine,” the Spirit continued, “has two components.”

  Mingzhi’s eyes widened slightly.

  “…Me,” he said.

  “And the core,” the Spirit confirmed.

  Silence followed.

  “The core was the primary violator,” the Spirit said. “It existed far above your level and was forcibly integrated.”

  Mingzhi nodded.

  “But you,” the Spirit went on, “were not irrelevant.”

  Mingzhi blinked.

  “Your body,” the Spirit said, “is balanced. Unnaturally so.”

  Mingzhi frowned. “Balanced?”

  “Your constitution does not lean strongly toward any element,” the Spirit explained. “Nor does it repel them. It accepts all of them… equally.”

  Mingzhi remembered the first two lightning strikes.

  “They felt… neutral,” he said slowly.

  “Yes,” the Spirit replied. “Those strikes were calibrated based on you.”

  Mingzhi’s breath caught.

  “They were tempering lightning,” the Spirit said. “For the cultivator.”

  “And the last one?” Mingzhi asked.

  “The last,” the Spirit said grimly, “was for the core.”

  Mingzhi stared into the Eye Space.

  “So Heaven… split the difference.”

  “It assessed,” the Spirit corrected. “Then it acted.”

  Mingzhi laughed softly, shaking his head.

  “…Heaven really takes a lot into consideration,” he said. “That’s surprisingly kind.”

  Before the Spirit could respond—

  Mingzhi stood and shouted again, voice echoing across the clearing.

  “HEAVEN! I WAS WRONG!”

  The forest remained still.

  “YOU AIN’T HALF AS BAD AS I THOUGHT!”

  No thunder answered this time.

  The Spirit did not speak aloud.

  But within Mingzhi’s consciousness, a thought surfaced—dry, resigned, and unmistakably unimpressed.

  Heaven’s job is usually much easier, the Spirit thought.

  Only freaks like you give it this kind of headache.

  It paused.

  And that was only residual lightning.

  Mingzhi, still smiling faintly, stretched his arms carefully.

  The Spirit continued silently.

  When you are the primary target…

  Will you still call Heaven kind?

  The Eye Space rotated quietly.

  The reformed Earth core pulsed, stable and waiting.

  And somewhere far above—

  Heaven remembered Mingzhi.