It was early morning, and Ning sat cross-legged near the Fushan River. A wooden fishing rod balanced between two stones, to catch any fish that appeared.

  Since it was the most yang period, cultivating was ill-advised, so he naturally turned to the next best thing. After all, it was not wise to just waste precious hours that could lead to improvement.

  He took out one of the prepared leaves, pressed it to his forehead, and closed his eyes. The leaf trembled, slid half an inch, then stuck in place as he guided a faint thread of qi upward.

  Stable. He didn't let himself relax. Instead, he locked his focus tighter, refusing to let even a flicker slip.

  He'd been at this for days.

  And what exactly was this?

  Control drills.

  A basic exercise to sharpen his grasp of spiritual energy.

  From everything he'd read and watched back on Earth, Ning knew raw strength was useful, but refined control was terrifying. A master didn't waste power; they cut mountains with a drop, shattered stone with a breath. Precision made strength matter. So, yeah, he was brushing up on his control.

  At first, Ning assumed the sect would teach drills like these on day one. Surely, they wouldn't let disciples stumble blind. But when he asked Old Zhou, the old man had only chuckled and said control would "come naturally" with time and martial practice.

  That answer didn't satisfy him.

  "Impossible. A sect this big, with qi at the core of everything, and not a single structured control method? Either I'm too low to see it, or they keep it locked away."

  The latter made more sense. Knowledge here was guarded like treasure. Even the Scripture Pavilion stayed shut until the outer disciple status.

  To Ning, it felt absurdly familiar, like stumbling into an RPG where whole regions of the map were greyed out until you reached a sufficient level. If basic skills like this weren't openly shared, then for ordinary folk, stumbling forward in the dark was the norm.

  "Fortunately," Ning muttered, "All those late-night anime binges are going to be useful."

  Hence, the leaf-sticking exercise. In a certain gutsy ninja anime, it was one of the superior methods for controlling chakra. Right beside, the method of tree and water walking.

  The principle was simple. Balance a leaf with energy, don't let it fall. Hold it for hours, and control became second nature. Simple, brutal, effective.

  He snatched another leaf and pressed it alongside the first. Both quivered, threatening to slide free with every breath. Sweat beaded at his temple, but he didn't blink.

  And leaves weren't his only tools. Ning had experimented with other methods.

  Pebbles balanced on his fingertips, each supported by a thin stream of qi. The challenge was to keep them steady without tremor.

  A cup of water held in both palms until the surface stayed glassy still. At first, ripples ruined it within seconds. Now he could hold calm for minutes.

  Walking with a bowl of water balanced on his head, qi cushioning every step. Another classic for every Chinese martial arts movie.

  Martial artists used it for posture; here, it trained his energy with balance. So far, his record was five steps before disaster.

  Each exercise was dull, messy, and not remotely glorious. But Ning could feel the change. His qi, once clumsy and scattered, was sharpening, threads finer, smoother, more responsive.

  And the best thing about these methods?

  They were cheap, requiring minimal resources.

  As Ning continued training, he heard movement. It was the fishing rod.

  There was a bite.

  With swift movements, he reeled in. With his current physique, it was not hard to do so.

  After reeling, Ning quickly identified it as a carp. He tried to probe for the spiritual qi within the fish, but there were only a few traces of spiritual energy, not enough to qualify it as a spiritual fish. At best, it could be called a half-step spiritual fish.

  "Eh, it's better than nothing." Ning quickly swept away the disappointment.

  With the help of the formation, most fish in the river were imbued with spiritual energy, but true spiritual fish are rare. In a gacha, they would be super rare pulls.

  "You have already caught one, Xiao Ning?" An old man appeared with his own set of fishing equipment; who else could it be besides old Zhou?

  Stolen novel; please report.

  It was his daily ritual to start the day by fishing. The sect didn't provide any meat for peripheral disciples. It was said that after reaching outer sect disciple status, one can obtain a pound of spiritual beast meat every week.

  For Ning, who was used to being a foodie, this lack of protein naturally saddened him greatly. Fortunately, emulating the old man, he could catch some fish, getting atleast some form of protein.

  Ning nodded as a greeting and spoke with a hint of disappointment, "Yes, an ordinary yellow carp."

  Old Zhou glanced over, already seated on his usual rock with his fishing rod propped against his knee. He chuckled knowingly. "Not a spiritual fish, eh? You've been spoiled ever since that one time."

  Ning just smiled.

  He remembered it clearly: the faint glow along its scales, the density of qi radiating from its flesh. Rare and valuable enough that he hadn't dared keep it.

  Instead, he'd traded it to Old Zhou in exchange for a pouch of powdered pesticide, something that could be the difference between life and death if crops failed or wild pests grew rampant. It had seemed the wiser choice. Practical.

  Of course, the pouch still sat unused.

  Old Zhou shifted, the rod in his hand dipping slightly as the line twitched in the water. He steadied it, then grinned. "You'll catch another one someday. But until then… stop looking so mournful. At least, your cooking skills are good enough to make a good dish."

  Ning gave a soft snort of amusement.

  "You should've been a spiritual cook," Old Zhou continued with mock gravity. "Your heirloom recipes are quite unique; it would be a shame not to follow that path."

  Ning just snorted. Just two months ago, he was the 'holy farming body'; now the old man wants him to be a spiritual cook.

  Still thinking of something, he spoke, "I'll bring some of the dishes over later then, if you're willing to part with that spiritual wine of yours."

  At this, Old Zhou's eyes gleamed, and he laughed loudly, beard shaking. "Ah, so you admit it! You've been eyeing my wine all along. Always pretending not to care, hm? Do you know how many times I've caught you sneaking glances at my gourd during dinner?"

  Ning just kept smiling, shaking his head slightly, neither confirming nor denying.

  At first, he hadn't touched the spiritual wine during their first dinner together. But who could've guessed that Old Zhou was such a skilled brewer? His wine wasn't just delicious; it even aided cultivation. No wonder Brother Fang had been so greedy.

  A few peaceful minutes passed. The river gurgled softly; the sky brightened.

  As Ning was packing up, Old Zhou spoke again, his tone suddenly… peculiar. "By the way, Xiao Ning, you should take care of yourself."

  Ning blinked. "Uh… what?" His body tensed instinctively. Was something wrong? Some hidden danger?

  "I've noticed your lights burning late into the night," Old Zhou continued, stroking his beard with a knowing grin. "And sometimes I hear… movement. You're still young. Don't overstrain yourself."

  Ning frowned, utterly lost. "I was just practicing."

  "Right, right 'practicing,'" Old Zhou said, nodding with exaggerated solemnity. "Just don't overdo your… training sessions."

  Realization dawned. Ning's eyes widened.

  "Y-You dirty old man!"

  Old Zhou erupted in laughter, nearly toppling off his rock as his booming cackle echoed down the riverside.

  ...

  Returning to his farm, Ning calmly put down the equipment, his earlier temper nowhere to be seen. He had already figured out the old man's temper.

  Old Zhou was getting old, but due to the vigor brought by cultivation, his desires were not exactly diminished, to say. With cultivation yielding no result, his desires naturally turned towards a more 'mortal' side. With such worldly desires, naturally, thoughts turned accordingly.

  "Alas! Old Zhou really looked like a wisened elder back then." Ning couldn't help but wonder if he had fallen into the old man being pervy cliche.

  For the past two months, he had maintained a strict routine, every hour, every breath accounted for. His sleep schedule was cut down to the bare minimum, just enough to keep him from collapsing.

  At his current level, he couldn't cultivate continuously; doing so would only waste energy and risk qi deviation. So, he had to carefully plan every session, when to cultivate, when to rest, when to recover his mind, and even when to eat. It was tedious, but Ning just liked watching numbers go brr.

  Speaking of numbers, Ning mumbled, "Panel."

  [Name: Ji Ning

  Spiritual Root: Mid-grade Spiritual Root

  Attributes: Five Elemental Attributes

  Talent: Extreme Space-Time Sensitivity

  Realm: 1st Stage of Qi Condensation(42/100)

  Cultivation Method: Pure Qi Sutra (1st floor: 21/100)

  Martial Arts: Bone Forging Fist (Small Accomplishment: 12/200), Shadow Steps (Small accomplishment: 3/200),

  Spells: Small Cloud Rain Technique (Starting: 99/100)]

  His numbers had been upped a lot. Especially, his cultivation and magic had been the one he had focused on the most. As for martial arts, both have reached minor success.

  Over time, Ning had also begun to understand the true difference between martial arts and spells.

  Martial arts, bluntly put, were early-game stuff. They didn't need chants or rituals, just muscle memory, stamina, and reflexes. Quick, efficient, and reliable in a fight.

  Spells, on the other hand, were the late-game monsters. In the beginning, they were sluggish and impractical, too long to cast, too easy to interrupt. In a real battle, a martial artist could easily knock your teeth out before you even finished the first incantation.

  Take his technique, for example. It required a lengthy chant, precise gestures, and ridiculous concentration. At first, it was slow, awkward, and the cloud formed didn't exceed more than three meters.

  But now, that had changed. His Spiritual Rain was on the verge of reaching minor success.

  Old Zhou had taken years to master this spell to a great accomplishment level.

  And yet, Ning had nearly caught up in just two months.

  He could think of several reasons why.

  First was his affinity for water element. With it, he achieved twice the results with half the effort, unlike Old Zhou, whose affinity leaned toward earth.

  Second was his comprehension. While he wasn't some heaven-defying genius, his understanding of principles and patterns was sharp enough to grasp concepts quickly.

  Third, his control over spiritual qi had grown remarkably refined. His energy no longer leaked or scattered; every drop was used efficiently, like a well-tuned machine.

  Finally, he had min-maxed like crazy; just one glance at his panel made that obvious. His martial arts had only grown a little, but thanks to his constant spamming of the rain spell, its progress had skyrocketed naturally.

  So, as his daily routine, Ning spammed the small cloud rain technique. He would not leave until that final 1 percent gets filled today. Seeing the progress bar stuck at 99 was really uncomfortable.

  It took hours for every inch to be nurtured with the rain, so he was very patient with it. And, as luck would have it, when he was halfway through, Ning felt he had grasped something more, his gesture becoming smoother, his concentration higher.

  [Small Cloud Rain: Starting -> Small Success(1/200)]

  With some adjustment, Ning swiftly launched his technique. A cloud over 30 meters formed slowly but surely.

  Seeing this, Ning smiled. He could finally move to the next step of his plan.

  ...

  Thanks for reading~