Chapter Two: Calming the Soul and Nurturing the Spirit

Young men rarely have complicated thoughts, and his predecessor soon sensed his own soul and began to nourish it according to the instructions in the cultivation manual. Yet, whether this manual was incomplete remained unclear—there existed only the method for refining the soul, but nothing for tempering the body.

He focused solely on nurturing the soul, neglecting the corresponding training of the flesh. The soul drew upon the body's vitality and blood, growing ever stronger, while his body grew weaker and weaker. At an age when young men ought to be thriving, his vital energy withered, his body growing more and more frail. It was only thanks to his innate constitution that, after years of such practice, he had not yet met with disaster.

But on the path of cultivation, mistake upon mistake leads inevitably to ruin. At last, on the day when his soul was brimming with power, nearly breaking through the crown of his head to reach the fabled state of “soul leaving the body,” he felt his spirit grow light and seemed ready to drift away on the wind, shedding the fetters of flesh.

Unversed in cultivation, he did not know that when the soul departs, it drags with it all the body's essence. His body, already frail, lost most of the energy it produced each day to the soul's circulation and hunger.

At the moment the soul was about to depart, it required even greater reserves of essence. His body could not possibly provide so much. Ignorant of this truth, he forced his way through, depleting the body's reserves to the verge of collapse.

That final breath never returned. Body is the corporeal soul, spirit is the ethereal; between the two runs an intricate web of connection. Suddenly, he fell into madness—his true spirit ensnared in illusions, his consciousness thrown into chaos.

In the end, it was a doctor from Earth who claimed his body in this turmoil.

Later, though he merged with most of his predecessor’s memories and became a new “Shen Lian,” the first challenge he faced was that of his chronically ill body.

Fortunately, in the madness of his predecessor’s last moments, part of the soul’s power dispersed through the limbs and bones, dissolving into essence and supplementing the flesh, barely preserving the body’s life.

Thus, when Shen Lian awoke, he did not die immediately.

He was, after all, a physician and understood all too well how weak this body was.

He did not know that a powerful soul could, in fact, burden the body so heavily, but he knew that the most urgent task was to nurse the body back to health, to restore the depleted vital energy.

Luckily, he was deep in the mountains, and the plants here were not all that different from those on Earth, allowing him to find some medicinal herbs to restore his strength.

Unfortunately, there were no wild ginseng or fo-ti roots to be found. In any era, such potent tonics are always in short supply; if any did exist, the villagers would have long since dug them up.

After several months of careful nourishment, Shen Lian’s body, once little more than skin and bones, had regained some flesh, though he was still far from a normal person’s vigor.

At least he was not so feeble as to be toppled by a gust of wind.

Since his predecessor had suffered madness from practicing that technique, Shen Lian, lacking proper knowledge of cultivation, had no intention of continuing those dangerous arts.

He knew well that reckless practice, like careless use of medicine, was a sure path to death—unless one was blessed with extraordinary luck. Even Zhang Wuji, who mastered the Nine Yang Divine Art, had both great fortune and learned from masters like Xie Xun and Zhang Sanfeng, laying a solid foundation.

Having managed to traverse worlds, Shen Lian was not about to gamble his fate, hoping for a second chance should he perish.

So life went on for a time. Shen Lian had just finished drinking a bitter medicinal brew and, thinking he would from now on perform only simple exercises like the Five-Animal Frolics instead of choking down such bitter medicine, was surprised by a knock at the door. He thought to himself that, since the villagers had just brought food and clothing yesterday, there should be no reason for anyone to come today.

Opening the door, he saw a middle-aged man, dressed in decent fabrics but in the livery of a servant or hired hand.

He wondered where he had seen this face before.

Having merged with his predecessor’s memories and absorbed much of his soul, Shen Lian’s spirit was strong and his memory excellent—nothing escaped his recollection. After a moment’s thought, he remembered: this was one of the Shen family’s servants.

The man said, “Third Young Master, you’ve finally opened the door.”

Shen Lian’s maternal uncle had two sons, both older than himself. Since Shen Lian had taken the Shen family name, he was ranked third among their children.

Shen Lian responded without excess warmth or coldness, simply and directly: “Steward Wu, what brings you here?”

Steward Wu had served the Shen family for many years and held a certain position among the servants. Typically, errands would not require his personal attention. He said, “Third Young Master, it’s been two years since I last saw you, and you’ve grown much thinner.”

Steward Wu did not have a deep impression of this third master, but half a year ago, an incident changed everything. Of the third generation, only the young lady remained; the eldest master was ill, perhaps unable to have children, and the second master had been injured years ago in martial training, also losing the ability to sire heirs. Given the circumstances, it was possible that this somewhat estranged third young master might one day take charge of the family.

Thus, at the master’s command, he had come to invite Shen Lian home, treading carefully lest he say the wrong thing.

Shen Lian thought to himself: today is no special occasion, so what is his purpose? He was no longer the same Shen Lian; having lived through the modern world and reached adulthood, he was far more perceptive than before, well aware that no one visits without a reason.

The Shen family estate was a hundred miles from here—neither near nor far—and even a servant would not come unless necessary.

He asked directly, “Steward Wu, you haven’t said why you’ve come to me today.” This was in keeping with his current identity and age.

Steward Wu replied, “The Old Master and Master have not seen you for a long time and worry you suffer in solitude in the mountains. They wish for you to return home for a time.”

Shen Lian was silent a moment, then asked, “Has something significant happened recently?”

Steward Wu’s heart skipped a beat. This young master was solitary, but no fool; if he were too clever, he might not enjoy such fortune. He seemed coarse, but was shrewd enough.

At last, Wu said, “A few days ago, the eldest and second young masters passed away.”

That was all he said, leaving the rest unsaid. Anyone with the slightest understanding of the Shen family’s current predicament would know what this meant—the immense Shen estate had just lost its two most legitimate heirs.

Shen Lian was silent for a while, then said, “Very well. I’ll leave with you first thing tomorrow.”

Steward Wu replied, “Third Young Master, you don’t look well. I’ll arrange for a comfortable carriage and come for you in the morning.”

Shen Lian nodded. “All right. Would you like to come in and rest a while?”

Steward Wu declined, “No need. I’ll take this opportunity to inspect the Shen family’s fields at the foot of the mountain.”

After Steward Wu had left, Shen Lian returned to his quiet chamber. The windows were tightly papered, leaving not a sliver of light. He lit a stick of soul-calming incense, crafted from mountain herbs. In the dark room, the single burning ember glowed like a lone star in the night—cold, solitary, its faint fragrance curling through the air as Shen Lian sat cross-legged in meditation.

Within his heart’s spiritual sea, all was silent, as if before the birth of the universe, lost in the solitude of nothingness. No crystal, no light, no structure, no foundation—only pure darkness, vague and immeasurable, submerged in ceaseless flow. A primordial deity was born from the void, holding a jade scepter, seated in the emptiness, silent and serene. The tangled thoughts that had arisen in Shen Lian’s heart gradually faded away, dissolving into nothingness.