CHAPTER 10

  Four days later,

  Yang Feng’s room in the Outer Sect.

  Yang Feng leaned back against an old wooden chair.

  His left shoulder was wrapped in white bandages, herbal paste dried into dark patches.

  The window was slightly open. Mountain wind drifted in, carrying the scent of spirit herbs and the distant toll of the Ninefold Qi Refining Tower.

  On the wooden table before him lay his sword, newly reforged with a fresh blade.

  But the old hilt still bore a thin crack that had not yet been filed smooth.

  His dantian felt strangely empty. Spiritual power circulated slowly, like water sinking low in a deep well.

  He did not look outside.

  He only gazed at his own hands, as if confirming they still belonged to him.

  Yang Feng pushed the door open.

  The wooden door gave a faint creak before closing behind him.

  Morning mist still clung lightly to the Outer Sect. Mountain wind swept across the stone corridors, carrying the damp chill of moss and the distant chime of the Ninefold Tower.

  He did not stop.

  His steps were steady. Not fast. Not slow.

  His destination was clear — the Mission Hall.

  There were still many things he did not understand.

  When he awoke in Linghe Village, dusk had already fallen.

  The last light of day slanted across the thatched roofs, washing the small wooden house in pale gold.

  He opened his eyes.

  He saw the low ceiling.

  He heard voices outside in the yard.

  He heard wind slipping through cracks in the door.

  His shoulder wound had already been dressed. The scent of crude herbs lingered, rough but clean.

  Beside the bed sat a child, knees drawn close, holding a bowl of medicine gone cold.

  When she saw him awaken, she startled, then hurried to her feet.

  “Im… Immortal sir… you’re awake?”

  Her voice trembled.

  He remembered looking at her for a long time.

  Her name was Lin Xiao Sam.

  The daughter of a carpenter in the village.

  Her parents had died under the hands of the bandits not long before.

  She was the only one left alive — because he had appeared at the right moment.

  The villagers told him what had happened.

  Because of him, those captured had been rescued.

  The half-burned houses were extinguished.

  The dead were buried properly.

  He listened to everything.

  But when he asked who had slain the remaining bandits — and that demonic cultivator —

  No one knew.

  They only knew that after he lost consciousness, fierce winds rose along the hillside.

  And by dawn, every bandit was dead.

  Not one remained.

  He did not ask further.

  He only looked quietly toward the distant bamboo forest — where his final memory ended with the silhouette of a red-haired figure.

  Yang Feng stopped before the Mission Hall.

  The mission board hung high.

  There were not many people entering or leaving.

  He handed over his token and stated clearly that the Linghe Village mission had been completed.

  The attendant checked for a moment, then looked up at him.

  “Tier-two mission. Reassessed due to danger level.”

  “Reward: fifty contribution points.”

  Fifty.

  Equivalent to a tier-three mission.

  Yang Feng gave a slight nod.

  He showed no further reaction.

  The token in his hand trembled faintly as the number of contribution points rose.

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  He understood.

  If the mission had been raised to tier three, it meant a cultivator had intervened.

  And that person could only be from the Heavenly Sword Sect.

  Not a rogue cultivator.

  Not a passerby.

  Someone from the Sect.

  He tightened his grip slightly around the token.

  Not out of relief.

  But because of something else.

  If that person had acted, then that person had seen him.

  Had known he took the mission.

  Had known he nearly died.

  Morning wind swept across the stone courtyard.

  Yang Feng stood quietly in the Mission Hall for a long moment.

  He did not look at anyone.

  He only looked down at the gray tiles beneath his feet.

  Linghe Village was safe.

  Lin Xiao Sam was alive.

  The captured villagers had returned.

  He was alive.

  But since that day, something very small inside him had changed.

  A tier-two mission… could still hide a demonic cultivator.

  Safety… was only relative.

  If that person had not appeared.

  If he had been one step slower.

  If he had not forced one more breath.

  He might have remained forever on that hillside.

  Yang Feng inhaled deeply.

  Then exhaled.

  The hand clutching the token slowly loosened.

  He turned.

  His gaze grew heavy.

  Not from fear.

  But from understanding one more thing.

  The path he chose was not wrong.

  But if he wished to continue—

  He had to grow stronger.

  And above all,

  He had to be faster.

  From a distance, the Ninefold Qi Refining Tower did not resemble a tower.

  It resembled an ancient colossal sword plunged straight into Heavenly Sword Mountain.

  Its body was upright and straight.

  Not a single unnecessary curve.

  Dark green stone walls, polished smooth, reflecting light in a dim sheen like water.

  No runes.

  No formations.

  No decoration.

  Only natural stone veins, as though time itself had carved them — like hidden tendons within a blade, unseen, yet preventing it from breaking.

  Mountain wind swept past.

  Spiritual Qi gathered around the tower of its own accord, swirling into thin silver mist.

  No one knew why spiritual Qi favored this place.

  They only knew that in the entire Outer Sect, nowhere was denser.

  The entrance was merely a stone door taller than two men.

  No lock.

  No formation.

  Only an old elder seated before it, back slightly hunched, hand resting upon an aged wooden table.

  When standing before this door, one always felt as though standing before something not of the mortal world.

  Not because of pressure.

  Not because of killing intent.

  But because of stillness.

  So still that one could almost hear spiritual Qi flowing like water through cracks in stone.

  Yang Feng stepped before the registration desk.

  He cupped his hands.

  “Elder.”

  The old man did not look up immediately.

  He flipped a thin page in the ledger before him.

  His voice was hoarse, like wind scraping over dry rock.

  “Contribution points.”

  Yang Feng placed the token upon the table.

  The elder’s gaze swept across it.

  A faint glimmer of spiritual light flickered and faded beneath his fingertip.

  “Fifty points.”

  He spoke plainly.

  “How long can that buy?” Yang Feng asked.

  “Ten shichen.”

  “Five points per shichen.”

  Only then did the elder lift his head to look at him.

  His eyes were clouded, but not dull.

  “Enter.”

  “Choose your floor. Choose your room.”

  “When time ends, the door opens.”

  “If you do not leave… the tower will expel you.”

  No warning.

  No further explanation.

  Only fact.

  Yang Feng nodded.

  “Many thanks, Elder.”

  He retrieved the token and turned to face the stone door.

  The moment his palm touched its cold surface, a faint sensation brushed across his skin.

  Not pain.

  Not weight.

  Only a silent verification.

  The stone door opened.

  Inside was neither dark nor bright.

  Only a gray dimness.

  Spiritual Qi was clearly thicker than outside — heavy and dense, like unfallen mist.

  Yang Feng stepped in.

  The door closed behind him without a sound.

  Inside the tower, there was no noise.

  No conversation.

  Only the soft echo of footsteps against stone and the rhythm of spiritual Qi flowing around one’s body.

  He walked straight to the third floor.

  He did not linger.

  He did not hesitate.

  A vacant room opened when he pushed aside a small stone door along the corridor.

  Inside was only a straw meditation cushion and four stone walls.

  No window.

  No light.

  Only spiritual Qi.

  Yang Feng closed the door.

  Sat down.

  Inhaled.

  The spiritual Qi within the room immediately pressed against his body, like water flooding into cracks.

  He took out a jade slip from his storage pouch.

  Yang Feng opened the jade slip.

  Soft light from the inscribed runes illuminated his face briefly before fading into the air.

  Heavenly Sword Inner Cultivation Method — Qi Refinement Edition.

  He placed the jade slip aside.

  His hands formed a seal.

  Back straight.

  Shoulders relaxed.

  Inhale.

  Slow.

  Deep.

  Following the rhythm recorded in the Inner Cultivation Method.

  Spiritual Qi in the room stirred at once.

  Not violently.

  Not hurriedly.

  Like water following a channel, finding its own path downward.

  Inhale.

  Spiritual Qi coursed along the meridians, down the arms, across the chest, gathering in the dantian.

  Exhale.

  Impurities were pushed back along the breath, dispersing from the body.

  Again.

  At first, stiff.

  After half a shichen, the breathing gradually steadied.

  After one shichen, spiritual Qi flowed more smoothly through the meridians.

  After three shichen, when the density of Qi pressed enough to make his meridians ache faintly—

  Yang Feng suddenly noticed something very small.

  With each inhalation, there was not only spiritual Qi.

  Between the slow and deep breaths, his chest generated another current.

  Not cold.

  Not warm.

  Not belonging to heaven and earth.

  It felt like a breath compressed for a long time, finally finding an outlet.

  This current did not merge with spiritual Qi.

  It followed another path.

  Slower.

  Heavier.

  But it did not disperse.

  Yang Feng opened his eyes briefly.

  He did not expel it.

  He did not force it.

  He merely tried guiding it downward toward the dantian.

  Spiritual Qi swirled above.

  That other current sank quietly to the bottom.

  Like a pebble falling into a lake.

  No ripples.

  Yet not dissolved.

  He closed his eyes again.

  He continued cultivating.

  Breathing steady.

  Mind calm.

  Ten shichen passed quickly.

  When the stone door opened, Yang Feng rose to his feet.

  The aura around him was steadier than before — by a thin layer.

  No sign of breakthrough.

  But he knew.

  With this speed of absorption, it would not be long before he would break through.

  by Moawar

  He, Life, had a simple job.

  His responsibility as an Overpower was to make sure that fiction stories and the characters in them follow their dictated path. He always did his job well enough, not more or less than was needed.

  His latest assignment, however, would, in retrospect, prove to be his most challenging one of all.

  He would find himself in a unfamiliar world. There he'll have to quickly adapt to guide Nozomi.

  The strongest magical girl with the potential to accidentally destroy those she seeks to protect in her fight against evil.

  What to Expect:

  -If you like the psychological aspects of Madoka Magica and the mixing of different genres a crossover story brings then this story is for you