"Awakening my Martial Soul is just around the corner… I wonder what I'll end up with."
At the entrance of Holy Soul Village stood an ancient locust tree, said to have weathered several centuries. Hanging upside down from one of its branches by his legs, Chen Ming moved with the ease of an acrobat, casually doing sit-ups in midair. His heart, however, was anything but calm—it brimmed with anticipation.
"Xiao Ming, don't be in such a hurry. The Spirit Master will be here soon."
Old Jack, seated on a small stool nearby and gnawing on a cornstalk, couldn't help but call out nervously. Even though he'd long grown used to Chen Ming's dangerous stunts, the sight still made his heart lurch every time.
There were quite a few children in Holy Soul Village, but only two truly stood out. One was Tang San, who lived at the blacksmith shop in the eastern part of the village with his disheveled, peculiar father. The other was Chen Ming—a parentless stray who had grown up on his own.
Tang San was notable for his quiet, withdrawn nature and his unusual father. Chen Ming, on the other hand, was simply a wild little monkey.
He ate well, slept well, and grew well—but you'd rarely catch him behaving like an ordinary child. Instead of playing with the other kids, he spent his days darting through trees or wandering into the nearby mountains, hunting rabbits and catching fish.
The most baffling part was that, somehow, he always succeeded. Whether it was talent, instinct, or some inexplicable trick, Chen Ming—just a child—could reliably bring back enough prey to feed himself. Sometimes, he even had extra meat to share with the villagers.
Calling him a savage would be an exaggeration… but there was no denying he was untamed.
In the beginning, Old Jack had taken it upon himself to look after the orphaned boy. But ever since Chen Ming became capable of running and jumping on his own, the old man's role had mostly been reduced to mending his constantly torn clothes.
Even so, Chen Ming often brought back high-quality wood ear mushrooms, hazelnut mushrooms, and the occasional game meat from the mountains. Thanks to that, Old Jack's household hadn't suffered from taking him in—in fact, their circumstances had improved somewhat.
"Got it, Grandpa Jack."
With a flex of his legs, Chen Ming swung himself upright, landing lightly on the branch before leaning back against the trunk of the old tree. He closed his eyes as if to rest, adopting a calm, composed posture.
But his mind was anything but still.
Little Ai, Little Ai—analyze when Su Yuntao is likely to arrive at Holy Soul Village…
"Understood. The user requests an estimate of Su Yuntao's arrival time. Calculating based on average environmental temperatures over the past three years, combined with the Spirit Hall's travel schedules…"
"Referencing variables…"
"Processing…"
"Taking into account historical environmental conditions, temperature, road conditions, average Spirit Master travel speed, and previous arrival times at Holy Soul Village, the most probable arrival date for Su Yuntao would have been yesterday… or the day before."
The mechanical voice echoed within Chen Ming's mind.
He opened his eyes, his head feeling faintly heavy, and let out a helpless sigh.
As a transmigrator from Earth, Chen Ming possessed what one might call a cheat—his own unique "AI."
Of course, it wasn't truly artificial intelligence. Rather, it was a benign mutation his soul had undergone during the process of crossing into this world.
He could partition a portion of his consciousness and place it into a cold, mechanical state of deep analysis. In essence, it functioned like an internal algorithm—built entirely from the knowledge and memories stored in his own mind—hence why he referred to it as an "AI."
The advantage was clear: when using this ability, Chen Ming could think with absolute calm, sifting through the vast reservoir of information buried in his memory and rapidly drawing conclusions.
It was precisely because of this that he'd been able to dredge up everything from his past life—short videos, survival guides, wilderness skills—and reorganize them into practical knowledge, adapting them to real-world conditions through observation and calculation.
Thanks to that ability, Chen Ming could move through the nearby hills as effortlessly as if he were walking through his own home. He cultivated wood ear mushrooms in the forest, hunted wild rabbits, caught fish from the river, and even kept hens so he could eat eggs every day to maintain his nutrition.
But this "cheat" of his did not come without a price.
Because it relied on rapid, high-intensity deep thinking, every use forced his brain into overdrive. It consumed a tremendous amount of energy and left his mind drained in a very short time. The more complex and layered the problem he tried to process, the greater the toll it took on him.
Moreover, Chen Ming's computational capacity was inherently limited. The true strength of this ability came from the uniqueness of his soul and mental state, meaning that much of his "processing power" was essentially derived from his spiritual energy. The stronger his spiritual power, the greater his capacity for analysis.
Unfortunately, in his current state—without even having awakened his Martial Soul—there was only so much he could do. Even with the combined mental strength of two lifetimes, his overall capacity remained restricted. Worse still, a significant portion of that capacity was constantly tied up in maintaining his body's basic functions, leaving very little available for deliberate calculation.
More importantly, because this "AI" was built entirely upon the knowledge he already possessed, it had a fatal flaw: if something fell outside his understanding or experience, then no matter how hard he pushed his mind—even to the point where it felt like his brain was burning—he still wouldn't be able to arrive at the correct answer.
If he ever came to blindly trust his own "plans," believing his reasoning to be infallible and everything to be under control, then failure would be inevitable.
Take Su Yuntao's visit to Holy Soul Village, for example. Logically, by Chen Ming's calculations, Su Yuntao should have arrived yesterday or the day before at the latest, and the Martial Soul awakening should already have been completed. Yet in reality, there had been no sign of him even today.
And since Chen Ming had no way of knowing what might have delayed him, there was no way to refine his analysis any further.
With nothing better to do, Chen Ming simply dropped down from the tree. The branch he'd been hanging from was over two meters high—high enough that even an average adult wouldn't dare jump lightly—but when he landed, he merely swayed slightly, effortlessly dispersing the impact before strolling over to Old Jack and plopping down beside him with complete nonchalance.
"Grandpa Jack, give me some of that sweet stalk to chew on," he said without the slightest hint of politeness.
"Hah, you brat, it's about time you settled down a bit." Old Jack wasn't stingy, and since there was nothing else to do, he simply pulled a piece of sweet corn stalk from his small pouch and handed it over.
And so, the old man and the boy sat together at the village entrance, chewing on their corn stalks as they quietly waited for Su Yuntao to arrive.
It wasn't particularly sweet, but for a farmer and a child born and raised in the countryside, it was more than enough to pass the time.
"After my Martial Soul awakens, I'm going to raid that beehive," Chen Ming suddenly said, his eyes lighting up. "I've had my eye on that big hive in the mountains for months now. There's definitely a lot of honey in it. Once I get it, I'll treat you to honey-roasted fish, Grandpa Jack."
"Sounds good, sounds good," Old Jack replied with a pleased nod, a faint smile tugging at his lips. For farmers of this era, honey was already an extremely precious source of sweetness. Even as the village chief of Holy Soul Village, the sweetest things he got to taste all year were little more than corn stalks… and the occasional hint of sweetness from his own carrot Martial Soul.
The two of them continued chatting idly, one line after another, as time slipped by unnoticed—until, at long last, a lone figure appeared in the distance, walking along the dirt road leading toward Holy Soul Village.