Watching the results take hold, everyone grew even more earnest—striving to explore their own paths, attempting to cultivate.
And so the Dragon Kingdom's journey into cultivation began.
"Just as we suspected, the cultivation threshold has dropped with this Spiritual Energy shift."
"Even the most loyal soldiers couldn't break through at the original threshold."
In the Imperial Capital's Spiritual Energy Bureau, Leo Swift watched the growing stream of reports confirming successful cultivation among the soldiers, and a smile crept unbidden onto his face.
When it came to conviction in the Dao, Dragon Kingdom soldiers yielded to no one. Their Dao was to defend their homeland.
And they would see it through—walking that path to the end, without wavering.
But even the most loyal soldiers had failed when they'd attempted cultivation during the second Spiritual Energy Tide.
Either the Daoist practitioners' Dao-seeking hearts had been recognized by the Dao itself—granting them the ability to cultivate as a gift reserved for the Daoist tradition alone—or those Daoists' conviction was simply deeper than anyone else's.
Right now, neither explanation mattered much. Daoism was the Dragon Kingdom's native culture; throughout history, Daoist monks who had descended their mountains to exorcise demons and save the people were beyond counting. The trust they held for Daoism was something no other tradition could match.
The recent beast wave had borne that out. Daoist disciples had appeared everywhere—driving out demons, healing the sick, protecting ordinary people.
How else could there be so many videos online?
In today's Dragon Kingdom, the more people who could cultivate, the more people who had the power to protect themselves—the better.
That said, one point had to be managed carefully: not every cultivation method was suitable for everyone.
Soldiers had methods suited to soldiers. Civilians had methods suited to civilians.
Chivalry at the sword's edge breaks the law.
Even now, during this period of extraordinary unity and peace born from the beast wave, that era would eventually end. And when it did, unchecked martial power in civilian society could easily breed ambition.
And even without ambition—two people arguing, argument turning physical—if both had cultivated high-combat techniques, a single mistake could turn a brawl into a killing.
That, they could not permit.
In their long-term planning, different professions would cultivate different methods.
Teachers could pursue methods that sharpened mental focus—calming students, drawing them into deeper concentration.
Medical workers could pursue methods that enhanced life force—stopping bleeding in emergencies, even accelerating recovery.
Chefs could pursue methods that strengthened the body and heightened the senses, which would naturally improve their craft as well.
Of course, this was still in the planning stage. They would not force anyone into a specific method—only offer guidance.
But a technique like the Shushan Sword Art would not reach the general public anytime soon. For now, only members of the Spiritual Energy Bureau could elect to cultivate it.
What they wanted from civilian cultivation was not the power to fight back. It was the physical resilience to run—to flee to shelters, to reach safety. That distinction mattered.
And in fact, as the Dragon Kingdom moved into an era of mass Dao-seeking, Dao-pursuing, and cultivation, the atmosphere of society had already begun to shift.
Because cultivation required something as its foundation: a path you believed in, one you were willing to walk for the rest of your life.
Doctor. Teacher. Soldier. Chef. Musician.
Any of these could be someone's choice.
The prerequisite was genuine love for that path—the willingness to keep walking it forever, not the decision of someone pushed there by circumstance.
Those who succeeded in cultivation were, without exception, people who loved their profession and their path with everything they had—people prepared to spend their entire lives on it.
And having chosen their path, their desire for everything else naturally diminished. They grew purer.
They stopped caring about money. They reached back and reclaimed the integrity and character they'd once possessed—qualities lost over the years, worn away by the world and its pressures.
They chose a profession no longer because of its prospects, its earning potential, its outlook—but because they loved it. Because it was their dream.
People's thinking will always shift with the prevailing atmosphere of their age. And as sincerity, kindness, compassion, courage, and integrity were taken up by more and more people—held without reservation, lived out without compromise—the things that ran contrary to these qualities began to find themselves slowly crowded out.
Yes, a thug's life, a bandit's road, a petty criminal's existence—these were also a kind of path. But the overwhelming majority of people would never choose them. Most wouldn't even recognize them as paths at all.
And the rare few who embraced such a path as a genuine lifelong pursuit—who committed to it completely, who were even acknowledged by the Dao and gained the ability to cultivate—they would be caught, and punished under the laws drafted for the post-Spiritual Energy Awakening era.
With cultivation came diligence.
Outside of professional obligations and daily necessities—bathing, eating—people gradually surrendered the rest of their time to cultivation.
Not only because cultivation built physical strength, preserved beauty, extended life, and made the hours feel longer than they were; but because absorbing spiritual energy brought a joy that reached into the soul.
It felt like life itself drawing in the substance it needed to evolve—a broken body being repaired and made whole. The sensation was utterly addictive.
And so money became less important.
Beyond their beloved work, beyond time spent with family and friends, almost nothing else could pull people away from their practice.
Money? Enough to get by.
Food, drink—wasn't that enough?
Why did anyone need such a grand house? Why such an expensive car?
The purity of the mind caused consumer desire to shrink without limit. Outside of daily necessities, people stopped buying things that offered them no real benefit.
Beautiful but absurdly expensive clothes?
Just an ordinary garment—what's so special about a famous label?
Spending that much on clothing instead of a cheap cultivation pill that actually helped you cultivate made no sense. If you were genuinely beautiful, everything you wore looked beautiful.
Cosmetics were even more pointless. No makeup in the world could improve your skin the way cultivation did.
Watches? Antiques? Collectibles?
Too expensive. Pointless. Unnecessary.
Unless someone loved these things to their core—loved them to the bone, had made them their life's path—these luxuries could no longer stir the desires of the masses.
Of course, the Dragon Kingdom also had many people who had chosen a commercial path. The merchant.
(End of Chapter 277)