**Chapter 3: The Silent Roots and the Storm of Blood**
Time in the cultivation world was a notoriously fickle concept. For high-level cultivators, a decade could pass in the blink of an eye during closed-door meditation, feeling like nothing more than an afternoon nap. But for the mortal and low-level inhabitants of the Qinghe Market slums, five years was a grinding, arduous epoch measured in sweat, blood, and the constant, suffocating fear of tomorrow.
For Lu Changsheng, however, the past five years had been a masterclass in his chosen Dao: The Dao of Supreme Caution.
The dilapidated, ten-foot-square wooden shack that had once been the solitary tomb of a dying man was gone. In its place stood a slightly larger, subtly reinforced courtyard compound. To the outside observer, it still looked like a slum dwelling—the wood was intentionally stained to look rotted, the roof tiles were mismatched, and the perimeter wall was built from crumbling mortar and jagged stones. It was the architectural equivalent of a beggar's rags, designed specifically to repel interest, jealousy, or the attention of roaming thieves.
But inside, it was a fortress of quiet, meticulous domesticity.
The courtyard was meticulously swept. A small, hidden garden in the back grew ordinary, non-spiritual vegetables to supplement their diet without raising suspicion. The massive bed had been moved into a properly insulated inner room, and three smaller rooms had been constructed around the main hearth.
The most significant change, however, was not the architecture. It was the cacophony of small, pattering footsteps and the bright, unburdened laughter of children.
Lu Changsheng sat at his worn wooden table, exactly where he had sat five years ago, holding a frayed spirit-hair brush. He dipped it into a pot of heavily diluted cinnabar ink and began to draw the sweeping, familiar strokes of a Dust Cleansing Talisman.
As his hand moved with the mechanical precision of five years of unbroken repetition, he allowed his consciousness to sink into his Sea of Consciousness.
The Eternal Bloodline Tree was no longer a solitary trunk with a single, fragile bud. It had grown. The golden bark was thicker, radiating a profound, ancient warmth that bathed his soul in an aura of absolute invulnerability to the ravages of time. And hanging heavily from the lower branches were five magnificent, fully bloomed golden flowers.
Each flower pulsed with a unique rhythm, tethered to the lifeforce of a specific descendant.
### The Harvest of the Branches
Lu Changsheng's strategy of aggressive familial expansion had yielded incredible results. The tree's feedback system was a geometric engine of progression, and over the past five years, he had reaped the passive, invisible rewards.
**[Descendant 1: Lu Ping'an (Son) - Mother: Lin Wan'er]**
* **Age:** 5
* **Spiritual Root:** Low-Grade Four-Element
* **Status:** Healthy, energetic.
**[Descendant 2: Lu Wushuang (Daughter) - Mother: Zhao Qing]**
* **Age:** 4
* **Spiritual Root:** None (Mortal)
* **Status:** Exceptionally robust constitution, immense physical strength.
**[Descendant 3: Lu Chuan (Son) - Mother: Zhao Qing]**
* **Age:** 4 (Twin to Wushuang)
* **Spiritual Root:** None (Mortal)
* **Status:** Robust constitution, physically resilient.
**[Descendant 4: Lu Zixuan (Daughter) - Mother: Xia Ruyan]**
* **Age:** 3
* **Spiritual Root:** Low-Grade Five-Element
* **Status:** High intelligence, physically frail.
**[Descendant 5: Lu Ming (Son) - Mother: Lin Wan'er]**
* **Age:** 1
* **Spiritual Root:** None (Mortal)
* **Status:** Healthy infant.
Five children. To the elite sects, Lu Changsheng was nothing more than a breeding boar, producing mortal trash and useless low-grade root holders that would never amount to anything in the grand scheme of the heavenly Dao.
But they didn't know about the **1/1 Feedback**.
Even though his children were toddlers and infants, the Eternal Bloodline Tree did not discriminate. It didn't only provide feedback for cultivation breakthroughs; it provided absolute feedback for *everything*. Every time one of his children grew a fraction of an inch, Lu Changsheng's own bones densified. Every time they recovered from a minor mortal cold, Lu Changsheng's immune system received a permanent, stacking upgrade.
The most profound change had occurred due to the twins, Wushuang and Chuan. Zhao Qing, possessing the sturdy bloodline of a blacksmith, had passed down an incredible mortal constitution to her children. They were barely four years old, yet they could lift rocks half their weight and run around the courtyard for hours without breaking a sweat.
Because of the 1/1 feedback, Lu Changsheng had passively absorbed the peak physical potential of two incredibly robust mortal bodies, compounding it upon his own cultivator physique.
He set his brush down and flexed his right hand. To the naked eye, his arm looked pale and slightly thin, befitting a malnourished loose cultivator. But beneath the skin, his muscles were dense like compacted steel wire. He was still technically at the Second Level of Qi Condensation, his spiritual energy pool pitifully shallow. Yet, purely in terms of physical, muscular strength and bone density, the stacked feedback from his five children had pushed his bodily toughness to rival a body-refining cultivator at the Fifth Level of Qi Condensation.
Furthermore, the addition of Zixuan's Low-Grade Five-Element Root, stacked with Ping'an's Low-Grade Four-Element Root, had fundamentally altered Lu Changsheng's own foundational talent.
He closed his eyes and inspected his spiritual root. Five years ago, it had been a muddy, chaotic sludge of five conflicting elements, barely capable of holding a spark of Qi. Now, the mud had settled. The five colors—red, blue, green, gold, and brown—were distinct, pure, and vibrant. It was still a Five-Element Root, ensuring his cultivation speed would naturally be much slower than a single-element genius, but it had upgraded from "Inferior Trash" to a **"High-Grade Five-Element Root."** This meant his meridians could handle a significantly larger volume of spiritual energy without rupturing. The bottleneck that had killed the original host was gone. The path forward was clear, unobstructed, and paved entirely by the existence of his family.
"Husband?"
A soft voice broke his concentration. He opened his eyes to see Xia Ruyan standing by his desk, holding a steaming cup of spiritual tea.
The past five years had been kind to her. Gone was the desperate, hollow-eyed refugee who had kneeled on his dirty floor. She wore a simple, unadorned gray dress, but her skin was glowing, and her posture held a quiet, contented dignity. Despite possessing no spiritual root, her life was better than ninety percent of the low-level cultivators in the market. She didn't have to fight. She didn't have to starve. She only had to manage the household ledger and raise her highly intelligent daughter, Zixuan.
"The tea is ready," Ruyan said gently, setting the cup down beside his stacked talisman papers. She glanced at the pile. "You have drawn forty today. Is that not enough? The market price for Dust Cleansing Talismans has dropped slightly due to the new sect shipments. It is not worth exhausting your spirit."
Lu Changsheng smiled warmly, reaching out to pat her hand. "Caution, Ruyan. We rely on the illusion of my poverty. If I stop producing my quota, people might wonder how we feed five growing children on air. It is better to flood the market with useless paper and remain an insignificant speck in the eyes of the strong."
Ruyan sighed, a mixture of fond exasperation and deep respect in her eyes. "Your Dao of Cowardice is as absolute as an Emperor's edict. But... are you not stifling yourself? Ping'an is five now. He has a Four-Element Root. He is old enough to begin sensing Qi. Yet, you have not taught him anything. You make him play in the mud with the mortal children."
Lu Changsheng's expression turned serious, the warmth fading into a chilling, pragmatic focus. "A tall tree catches the wind, Ruyan. A five-year-old child successfully sensing Qi in the slums would be viewed as a prodigy. And in this market, prodigies without a powerful patron do not survive. They are either kidnapped by demonic cultivators to be refined into human pills, or assassinated by rival gangs to prevent future threats."
He picked up his tea, taking a slow sip. "Ping'an will cultivate. But he will do so in absolute secrecy. And he will learn the most boring, slow, and unnoticeable technique in the history of the azure sky."
Before Ruyan could respond, a sudden, terrifying sound ripped through the humid afternoon air.
### The Storm of Blood
It sounded like thunder, but it was too sharp, too visceral. It was the unmistakable sound of a spiritual artifact detonating.
The ground beneath their feet trembled violently, knocking the inkpot off the table. Cinnabar spilled across the floor like fresh blood.
Outside, the ambient, grimy noise of the slums vanished, replaced by an instant of deathly silence, followed immediately by a chorus of blood-curdling screams.
*BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!*
Three more explosions rocked the eastern sector of the slums, lighting the overcast sky with flashes of unnatural, sickly green light.
Lu Changsheng was on his feet in a fraction of a second. The facade of the frail talisman maker evaporated entirely. He moved with the terrifying, silent speed of a predator, his dense muscles propelling him across the room.
"Ruyan! To the cellar! Now!" he barked, his voice laced with spiritual energy that brokered no argument.
The door to the inner room flew open. Zhao Qing stood there, holding the infant Ming against her chest, a massive, rusted iron hammer gripped tightly in her free hand. Behind her, Wan'er was desperately gathering the other three toddlers, her face white with terror.
"Husband! What is happening?" Wan'er cried, trying to quiet Ping'an, who was beginning to wail from the sudden chaos.
"Gang war. Or a sect purge. It doesn't matter," Lu Changsheng said coldly, striding past them.
He grabbed the heavy wooden bed and, with a casual flex of his immensely strengthened arms, shoved the massive piece of furniture aside as if it were made of paper. Beneath the bed lay a reinforced trapdoor. Over the past five years, instead of buying pills or artifacts, Lu Changsheng had secretly dug out a massive underground cellar, lining the walls with lead and low-grade sound-dampening stones.
"Everyone inside. Do not make a sound. Do not light a candle. If the roof collapses, wait for me to dig you out. If I do not come down within two days..." Lu Changsheng paused, looking at his three wives. "If I do not come down, you take the emergency rations, use the escape tunnel that leads to the town sewer, and never look back."
"Husband, you must come with us!" Zhao Qing protested, her fierce eyes filled with dread.
"I cannot. If they breach the compound and find it completely empty, they will search for a hidden room," Lu Changsheng explained rapidly. "I must stay up here to misdirect them. Go! Protect my bloodline!"
He practically shoved them down the wooden stairs into the darkness of the cellar, pulling the heavy trapdoor shut and dragging the bed back over it. He quickly swept the spilled cinnabar ink under a rug and kicked a few loose floorboards to make the room look ransacked.
He then grabbed a small, sharp paring knife from the kitchen. Without hesitation, he slashed it across his own left arm, not deep enough to cause permanent damage, but enough to produce a terrifying amount of blood. He smeared the blood across his face, his robes, and the floor, then threw the knife into a corner.
Finally, he crawled under the broken table, curling himself into a fetal position, shivering violently, and forced his breathing into a rapid, shallow panic.
He was ready.
> **The Dao of Gou - Principle #4:** When the storm comes, be the weakest, most pathetic blade of grass. The storm uproots the mighty oaks, but it simply passes over the grass pressed into the mud.
>
For the next four hours, Lu Changsheng listened to the symphony of absolute slaughter.
It was a nightmare of epic proportions. The Black Wolf Gang, the thugs who had extorted him five years ago, had grown too powerful and arrogant. They had intercepted a shipment of mid-grade spirit stones meant for the Azure Mountain Sect.
The Sect had retaliated not with an arrest warrant, but with annihilation. They had hired the Blood Iron Mercenaries—a ruthless band of rogue cultivators led by a Foundation Establishment monster—to cleanse the slums.
Through the cracks in the wooden walls, Lu Changsheng saw the horrors of the cultivation world fully unleashed. He saw men decapitated by flying swords that moved faster than the eye could track. He saw mortal women and children incinerated by stray fireballs. He saw cultivators torn apart by spiritual beasts unleashed into the narrow alleyways.
The smell of ozone, burning flesh, and ruptured bowels permeated the shack.
Suddenly, the reinforced gate of Lu Changsheng's compound was blown off its hinges with a deafening crash. Splinters of wood peppered the walls like shrapnel.
Three figures rushed into the courtyard.
It was Wang Hu, the leader of the Black Wolf Gang. He looked nothing like the arrogant tyrant from five years ago. His left arm was missing from the elbow down, cauterized by a brutal fire spell. He was covered in blood, panting heavily, his eyes wild with the terrified realization that his cultivation level meant absolutely nothing against true power. Beside him were his two top lieutenants, both heavily wounded.
"In here! Hide in the talisman maker's shack!" Wang Hu roared, kicking the door of the main house open.
He froze, seeing the bloody, ransacked state of the room, and Lu Changsheng curled into a trembling, bleeding ball under the table.
"Lu! You useless rat!" Wang Hu spat, blood flying from his lips. "Where are your wives? Where is your stash?"
Lu Changsheng forced a pathetic, gurgling sob. "T-taken! The mercenaries came through! They took them! They cut me! P-please, Boss Wang, save me!"
Wang Hu sneered in utter disgust, kicking the table Lu Changsheng was hiding under. "Pathetic trash. Your women are probably warming a mercenary's bed right now." He turned to his lieutenants. "Barricade the door. We catch our breath here, then try to break through the northern wall."
But they didn't get the chance.
A cold, mechanical voice echoed from the courtyard, carrying the suffocating, crushing pressure of a Late-Stage Qi Condensation cultivator.
"Found the dogs."
A man in crimson armor stepped through the shattered gateway. He held a massive, jagged halberd that dripped with fresh blood. Without a single word, he swung the weapon in a wide, horizontal arc.
A terrifying crescent of concentrated crimson Qi erupted from the blade.
It tore through the wooden walls of the shack as if they were wet paper. Wang Hu screamed, throwing up a hastily conjured spiritual shield. The shield shattered instantly. The crimson Qi sliced cleanly through the torsos of the two lieutenants, bisecting them completely. It hit Wang Hu squarely in the chest, crushing his ribs and sending him flying backward to pin against the far wall, choking on his own pulverized organs.
The mercenary commander stepped into the ruined shack, his boots splashing in the blood of the lieutenants. He looked down at the dying Wang Hu with absolute indifference.
"Azure Mountain Sect sends their regards, thief," the commander muttered, raising his halberd for the final strike.
Under the table, directly in the line of sight but ignored entirely, Lu Changsheng watched. He didn't breathe. He kept his spiritual energy completely locked down inside his Dantian, hiding behind his High-Grade Five-Element Root's natural ability to camouflage his aura as chaotic background noise.
He possessed the physical strength to leap out, snap the commander's neck, and flee. His stacked mortal feedback made him a lethal, hidden weapon at close range. But he didn't twitch a single muscle.
*Fight him, and more will come. The Sect will notice a Foundation Establishment expert dying in the slums. They will send an Elder. They will scan the area. They will find the cellar. They will find my bloodline.* Lu Changsheng watched with dead, unblinking eyes as the halberd descended, cleanly decapitating Wang Hu. The head rolled across the floor, stopping inches from Lu Changsheng's trembling hand. The arrogant boss who had demanded double protection fees was now a piece of meat.
The mercenary commander bent down, snatched the storage pouch from Wang Hu's belt, and turned to leave. He paused, his eyes sweeping the room, finally landing on Lu Changsheng cowering under the table.
Lu Changsheng whimpered, pressing his face into the bloody dirt, waiting for the strike. If the man attacked, Lu Changsheng would have to kill him and immediately abandon the Qinghe Market, fleeing into the deadly Bloodwood Forest with his wives and children in the dead of night. It was the worst-case scenario.
The commander stared at the pathetic, bleeding, mud-covered talisman maker. He extended his spiritual sense, scanning Lu Changsheng.
*Level 2 Qi Condensation. Chaotic, garbage spiritual root. Weeping like a beaten dog. Bleeding from a superficial wound.* The commander sneered, an expression of absolute, profound contempt crossing his scarred face. He hawked and spat a glob of bloody phlegm onto Lu Changsheng's back.
"Trash isn't even worth the spiritual energy it takes to swing the blade," the commander grunted. He turned on his heel and walked out, disappearing into the burning slums to continue the slaughter.
Lu Changsheng remained motionless under the table for another six hours, until the screams outside faded into the crackle of burning wood and the wails of the surviving widows. Only when he was absolutely, one hundred percent certain that the mercenaries had retreated, did he slowly untangle himself.
He stood up amidst the carnage, his face entirely devoid of the terror he had projected. He wiped Wang Hu's blood off his cheek with a steady hand.
He looked down at the severed head of the gang leader.
"I told you, Wang Hu," Lu Changsheng whispered into the silent, ruined room. "The only people who care about face are the dead ones."
He had survived. His family had survived. The Dao of Caution was infallible.
### The First Step on the Path
It took a full month for the Qinghe Market slums to recover from the purge. The Blood Iron Mercenaries had wiped out the Black Wolf Gang and two other rival factions, installing a puppet gang directly controlled by the Azure Mountain Sect to manage the "trash."
Lu Changsheng was the very first person in his sector to visit the new gang headquarters. He arrived carrying a massive box of his painstakingly drawn Dust Cleansing Talismans, practically weeping with gratitude for their "divine intervention" that saved him from the evil Wang Hu, and immediately paid his protection fee three months in advance.
The new gang leader laughed at the pathetic display, kicked Lu Changsheng out, and permanently categorized him as a harmless, useful coward who would never cause trouble.
His cover was flawlessly re-established.
With the external threat neutralized for the foreseeable future, Lu Changsheng turned his attention back inward, to the core of his existence: his bloodline.
It was time for Lu Ping'an to begin.
Late at night, in the deepest, soundproofed chamber of the underground cellar, Lu Changsheng sat cross-legged on a woven straw mat. Across from him sat his five-year-old son, Ping'an.
Ping'an was a quiet, observant child. He lacked the boisterous energy of the twins, possessing a temperament closer to his father's calculating nature, albeit softened by Wan'er's gentle upbringing. He looked at Lu Changsheng with wide, reverent eyes. To Ping'an, his father wasn't a coward; his father was the man who had conjured an impenetrable underground fortress to keep monsters away.
"Ping'an," Lu Changsheng began, his voice dropping to a low, serious register. "Do you know what a cultivator is?"
"People who fly on swords, Father," Ping'an answered readily. "The strong men in the market who take our money."
"Yes. They are strong. But they also die violently," Lu Changsheng said bluntly. He reached out and placed two fingers against the boy's chest, right over his Dantian. "You have the talent to become one. But I will not teach you to fly on swords, nor will I teach you to fight. Fighting is a failure of planning."
He pulled a small, incredibly plain, unadorned jade slip from his robes. It was not a grand legacy technique. It was a mass-produced, public-domain manual he had purchased years ago for a fraction of a spirit stone.
"This is the **Tortoise Breathing Sutra**," Lu Changsheng explained, tapping the jade slip against his palm. "It has zero offensive capabilities. It will not allow you to conjure fire, summon lightning, or harden your skin. It is widely considered the most useless cultivation technique in the world."
Ping'an tilted his head, confused. "Then why must I learn it, Father?"
"Because," Lu Changsheng smiled, a genuine, terrifyingly ambitious smile, "the Tortoise Breathing Sutra does three things perfectly. First, it is the most stable Qi-gathering method in existence; it is literally impossible to suffer Qi deviation while practicing it. Second, it naturally conceals your cultivation aura, making you appear weaker than you are. And third, it focuses entirely on nourishing the physical body and extending your lifespan."
He leaned forward, looking deeply into his son's eyes. "The world will tell you to fight for a fleeting moment of glory. I am telling you to breathe, hide, and outlive your enemies until their bones turn to dust. That is the Dao of our family. Do you understand?"
Ping'an didn't fully comprehend the philosophical weight of the words, but he understood his father's absolute certainty. He nodded firmly. "I will breathe like a tortoise, Father."
"Good."
Lu Changsheng pressed the jade slip against Ping'an's forehead, transmitting the basic mnemonics and breathing rhythms of the Sutra directly into the boy's mind.
The process began. Every night, while the rest of the family slept, Ping'an would sit in the cellar, diligently following the agonizingly slow, rhythmic breathing of the Tortoise Sutra. Lu Changsheng sat beside him, monitoring every cycle of Qi, ready to intervene at the slightest sign of instability. But true to its name, the Sutra was as stable as bedrock.
Months passed. The seasons turned. The blood on the slum streets was washed away by the monsoon rains, replaced by new blood and new tragedies.
Through it all, the Lu family remained a silent, invisible monolith of stability.
Then, on Ping'an's sixth birthday, the first true fruit of Lu Changsheng's grand design finally ripened.
### The True Feedback
It was the dead of winter. The air in the cellar was cold, but the atmosphere was thick with anticipation.
Ping'an sat in the center of the room, his small face flushed, his chest rising and falling in an incredibly slow, deliberate rhythm—one breath every three minutes. Faint, almost imperceptible wisps of ambient spiritual energy were being drawn from the surrounding air, spiraling gently toward his small body and sinking into his pores.
Lu Changsheng sat opposite him, his eyes locked onto his son, his own breathing perfectly synchronized.
Suddenly, Ping'an's body shuddered. A soft, audible *pop* echoed from within his chest, like a dried twig snapping underfoot. The ambient spiritual energy in the room suddenly rushed toward him, completely absorbed into his newly opened Dantian.
A faint, pure aura of spiritual energy settled over the boy.
He had done it. At six years old, using the slowest technique imaginable and a low-grade spiritual root, Lu Ping'an had successfully broken through to the **First Level of Qi Condensation.** Ping'an opened his eyes, a massive, delighted smile breaking across his face. "Father! I feel it! It's warm inside!"
But Lu Changsheng could not answer him.
The moment Ping'an's Dantian fully formed, an apocalyptic eruption occurred within Lu Changsheng's Sea of Consciousness.
The Eternal Bloodline Tree did not just glow; it blazed like a golden sun going supernova. The flower representing Ping'an, which had been peacefully pulsing for six years, suddenly unleashed a torrent of pure, unadulterated cultivation feedback.
*Rule Two Activated: The Branches of Feedback.*
*[Descendant 1: Lu Ping'an has reached Qi Condensation Level 1]*
*[Technique Mastered: Tortoise Breathing Sutra (Initiate)]*
*[Initiating 1/1 Comprehensive Feedback...]*
A pillar of golden energy slammed down from the heavens of his mind directly into his physical body.
Lu Changsheng threw his head back, his eyes rolling up as the sheer, overwhelming force of the feedback hit him. This wasn't the slow, passive mortal feedback of physical growth. This was actual, concentrated cultivation base bypassing all natural laws and injecting itself directly into his core.
His High-Grade Five-Element Root greedily devoured the energy. His Dantian, which had been stagnant at Level 2 for over a decade, suddenly expanded violently.
The spiritual energy wasn't chaotic or foreign; because it came from his own bloodline, it was perfectly tailored to his body. It seamlessly integrated with his existing Qi, multiplying his reserves instantly.
The invisible barrier holding him at Level 2 shattered instantly.
*Crack.* He broke through to **Qi Condensation Level 3.** But the feedback didn't stop. The sheer volume of energy generated by Ping'an creating a Dantian from nothing was immense. The golden torrent continued to flow, pushing the boundaries of his newly expanded meridians.
The Tortoise Breathing Sutra, which Ping'an had barely grasped as an initiate, was perfectly mirrored into Lu Changsheng's mind. But because of his adult comprehension and stacked physical foundation, his understanding of the technique bypassed 'Initiate' and instantly hit **'Mastery'.** His own aura immediately retracted, vanishing entirely. To the outside world, he now felt like an absolute, talentless mortal without a single drop of Qi.
Meanwhile, his cultivation base continued to surge.
The energy hit the next bottleneck. It didn't pause to gather strength. It didn't require him to swallow a toxic, impure pill. It simply smashed through the barrier with the force of a tidal wave hitting a paper wall.
*Crack.*
He broke through to **Qi Condensation Level 4.**
The golden light slowly faded, retracting back into the Bloodline Tree, leaving the canopy slightly larger, the roots slightly deeper.
Lu Changsheng collapsed forward, catching himself on his hands and knees on the straw mat, gasping for air. His entire body was drenched in sweat, but his eyes... his eyes burned with a terrifying, predatory intensity in the dark cellar.
He clenched his fists. The power coursing through his veins was intoxicating.
Level 4. He was now officially in the mid-stages of Qi Condensation. He possessed the strength to slaughter Wang Hu with a single slap. He possessed the cultivation to be a squad leader in the local gangs, or an outer sect disciple in a minor sect.
He had achieved in a single moment what the original host had died trying to reach, and he had done it without risking a single hair on his head, without fighting a single battle, without leaving the safety of his home.
Ping'an crawled over, looking at his father with concern. "Father? Are you hurt?"
Lu Changsheng looked up, his terrifyingly intense gaze melting into an expression of profound, overwhelming love. He reached out and pulled his son into a fierce embrace, laughing—a deep, resonant sound of absolute triumph.
"Hurt? No, my son," Lu Changsheng whispered, his voice vibrating with the power of his new realm. "I am healed. I am perfect."
He looked past Ping'an, his gaze piercing the dirt ceiling of the cellar, looking toward the heavens that forced men to bleed for a scrap of power.
*One child. One single breakthrough to the lowest realm of cultivation, and I jumped two levels instantly.* He imagined ten children reaching Foundation Establishment. He imagined a hundred descendants reaching Core Formation. He imagined a sprawling, hidden empire of blood, all feeding back into the roots of the golden tree hidden within his soul.
He didn't need to conquer the world. He just needed to seed it.
"Come, Ping'an," Lu Changsheng said, standing up, the aura of a mortal perfectly concealing the power of a Level 4 cultivator. "Let us go upstairs. Your mothers will be worried. Tomorrow, I will teach you how to draw talismans. We must ensure we look very, very poor."
The Dao of Caution had been proven. The path to immortality was open. And Lu Changsheng was ready to walk it, slowly, silently, and eternally in the shadows.