The discovery of automatic cultivation had given Jin something he never expected to possess: time.
For five years, every spare moment had been devoted to cultivation practice. Mornings began with meditation before dawn. Evenings ended with circulation exercises until exhaustion claimed him. Even his work in the fields had been structured around maximizing his cultivation opportunities—brief sessions during breaks, careful breathing patterns while performing physical labor, constant awareness of his spiritual energy flows.
Now, with the Azure Harmonization Method running continuously in the background of his consciousness, that desperate scramble for every scrap of progress had become unnecessary. The technique operated whether he focused on it or not, drawing in ambient qi, refining it through his meridians, advancing his cultivation with mechanical reliability.
Jin found himself with hours each day that had previously been consumed by practice. Hours that stretched before him like unplanted fields, waiting to be cultivated with something new.
He decided to learn techniques.
—————
The sect library for outer disciples was a modest building tucked between the administrative offices and the tool storage complex. Jin had visited it only twice in his previous years—once to research the Mind-Eroding Weevil, once to find information about advanced irrigation methods. The collection was limited compared to what inner disciples could access, but for an agricultural cultivator seeking basic combat and utility techniques, it offered sufficient options.
The librarian was an ancient man named Keeper Wu, whose age was impossible to determine but whose cultivation was rumored to have peaked at Foundation Establishment before some injury or illness forced him into retirement. He sat behind a desk of dark wood, surrounded by jade slips and scrolls, his rheumy eyes tracking Jin's entrance with surprising alertness.
"Agricultural Division, Terrace Seven," Keeper Wu said before Jin could introduce himself. "Wei Jin. Level five Qi Gathering, officially. Unofficially…" The old man's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Well. What brings you to my humble collection?"
Jin bowed respectfully. "I wish to broaden my technique knowledge, Honored Keeper. My field work no longer requires my full attention, and I believe additional skills would serve me well."
"Additional skills." Keeper Wu's smile widened. "A diplomatic way of saying you want to learn how to fight. Or at least, how to survive if fighting becomes necessary."
There was no point in denying it. "The sect can be dangerous for those without defensive capabilities."
"Indeed it can." Keeper Wu rose from his desk with the slow, careful movements of extreme age—or extreme power conserved through stillness. "Come. I'll show you what's available for disciples of your… official level."
He led Jin through rows of shelves filled with jade slips and scroll cases, each section marked with characters indicating the type of technique contained within. Agricultural methods. Crafting skills. Utility techniques. And finally, near the back of the building, a smaller section labeled "Combat Fundamentals."
"These are the techniques approved for outer disciples," Keeper Wu explained. "Nothing powerful enough to threaten the sect hierarchy, but sufficient for personal defense against beasts, bandits, or…" He paused meaningfully. "Overly ambitious fellow disciples."
Jin examined the available options with careful attention. The selection was indeed limited—perhaps three dozen techniques in total, ranging from basic body strengthening methods to simple offensive skills. But among them, three caught his interest.
The first was called Swift Shadow Step.
According to its description, the technique enhanced a cultivator's agility through specialized qi circulation in the legs and feet. Practitioners could move with increased speed and precision, their footwork becoming fluid and unpredictable. At higher levels of mastery, the technique allowed brief bursts of movement so fast they appeared as blurs to untrained observers.
Jin thought about his early years in the sect—the clumsiness that had defined him, the stumbling and falling that had made him a target for mockery. He had overcome much of that natural awkwardness through cultivation, but true agility still eluded him. This technique could address that weakness.
The second technique was Ember Sphere.
A basic fire-aspected offensive skill, it allowed cultivators to gather and project concentrated flames in spherical form. The description emphasized that the technique was meant primarily for pest control and brush clearing rather than combat, but the underlying principles were clearly applicable to self-defense. Jin's fire spiritual root would provide natural affinity for the skill, potentially allowing faster mastery than techniques of other elements.
The third technique was the one that interested him most.
It was called Void Presence.
Unlike the other two, Void Presence was not a movement or combat technique. Instead, it was designed to minimize the user's spiritual signature, making them harder to detect through cultivation senses. The description spoke of "working in shadows," of passing through areas unnoticed, of existing beneath the awareness of those who might be watching.
Jin thought about his years of careful anonymity. About hiding his true cultivation level from Overseer Huang. About the value of moving through the sect without attracting attention. This technique would formalize skills he'd been developing instinctively, giving him proper methods for concealment rather than simple caution.
"These three," he told Keeper Wu.
The old librarian examined his choices with an unreadable expression. "An interesting combination. Speed, fire, and stealth. You're building a toolkit for survival rather than confrontation."
"I prefer to avoid fights when possible."
"Wise. But when avoidance fails?"
Jin met the old man's eyes. "Then I prefer to end them quickly and disappear before anyone realizes what happened."
Keeper Wu laughed—a dry, rustling sound like wind through dead leaves. "You'll go far, young farmer. Or die trying. Either way, it should be interesting to watch."
He recorded Jin's technique selections on a jade slip and handed over the relevant materials. The fee was significant—three months' worth of saved spirit stones—but Jin paid without hesitation. Knowledge was the most valuable investment a cultivator could make.
—————
Learning the techniques proved both easier and harder than Jin expected.
The Azure Harmonization Method's automatic operation freed his conscious mind for focused practice, allowing him to devote full attention to mastering new skills. But the techniques themselves were complex, requiring physical conditioning and mental discipline that cultivation alone couldn't provide.
Swift Shadow Step demanded that Jin retrain his movement patterns from the ground up. The technique's qi circulation was unlike anything he'd practiced before—rapid pulses of energy through his leg meridians, timed precisely to his footwork, building momentum through accumulation rather than single explosive bursts.
He practiced in the early mornings, before his field work began, running through movement drills in a secluded corner of the terrace. His first attempts were embarrassing—he tripped over his own feet more often than he moved with any grace, his timing hopelessly mistimed, his qi circulation stuttering and uneven.
But Jin had long since learned that failure was simply the first step toward mastery.
He practiced every day. His footwork improved. His timing refined. His qi circulation smoothed into something approaching the technique's intended flow.
By the end of the first month, he could move noticeably faster than before. By the end of the second, he could execute short bursts of speed that made his movements blur slightly to normal vision. By the end of the third, the technique had begun to feel natural—not yet mastered, but functional.
[Azure Harmonization Method - Current Efficiency: 100%]
The tracker continued its steady pulse, the automatic cultivation advancing him toward level seven while his conscious efforts focused on technique development.
Ember Sphere came more easily.
Jin's fire spiritual root provided natural affinity for flame manipulation, and the technique's basic principles aligned well with skills he'd already developed. Gathering spiritual energy, shaping it through visualization, releasing it in controlled bursts—these were familiar concepts, merely applied to a different purpose.
His first successful Ember Sphere was the size of a chicken egg, glowing with dull orange light that provided more illumination than heat. But with practice, the spheres grew larger, hotter, more concentrated. By the fourth month, he could produce flames capable of scorching wood and igniting dry grass.
Not powerful enough to threaten a serious opponent, perhaps. But sufficient for the purposes Jin had in mind.
Void Presence was the most challenging of the three techniques—and the most rewarding.
The skill required Jin to fundamentally alter his relationship with his own spiritual energy. Rather than projecting qi outward as most techniques demanded, Void Presence required him to draw his energy inward, condensing his spiritual signature into a tight core that leaked nothing into the surrounding environment.
The effect, when properly executed, was remarkable.
Jin could stand in an open field and be overlooked by disciples walking past. Could enter a building and go unnoticed by occupants focused on other tasks. Could exist, for brief periods, as something approaching invisible—not truly unseen, but somehow beneath notice, dismissed by minds that registered his presence as unimportant.
The technique had obvious applications for someone who preferred to operate without attracting attention.
—————
"You've been busy."
Old Shen's voice came from behind Jin, startling him despite months of enhanced awareness training. The old man had an uncanny ability to approach without detection, regardless of Jin's improved spiritual senses.
"Learning new skills," Jin replied, not turning from his morning practice. He was working through Swift Shadow Step's movement forms, his feet tracing precise patterns across the dew-dampened grass.
"So I've noticed." Old Shen circled around to face him, weathered features arranged in an expression of knowing amusement. "New techniques. New training routines. New focus that seems entirely unrelated to agricultural work." He paused. "And yet, your field productivity hasn't suffered at all. If anything, it's improved."
Jin said nothing. His automatic cultivation was not a secret he intended to share, even with allies.
"One might wonder," Old Shen continued, "how a disciple finds time for extensive technique training while maintaining peak agricultural performance. One might wonder if perhaps that disciple has discovered some advantage that allows him to cultivate without the usual time investment."
"One might wonder many things."
Old Shen laughed. "And one might be wise enough not to ask directly. I've learned a few things in my decades here, young farmer. The most important is knowing which questions are better left unspoken."
He settled onto a nearby stone, his old joints creaking with the movement. For a moment, he simply watched Jin practice, his eyes tracking the younger man's footwork with professional assessment.
"Your movement has improved significantly," he observed. "Not yet smooth, but functional. Another year of practice and you might actually be graceful."
"High praise from someone who once hid my shoes in the compost pit."
"That was character building." Old Shen's grin was unrepentant. "And speaking of character building—I notice you've been spending considerable time with our young Lin Mei lately."
Jin's footwork stuttered slightly, his concentration momentarily disrupted. "We're friends."
"Friends." Old Shen's tone dripped with exaggerated skepticism. "Friends who sit together watching sunsets. Friends who talk until late hours when others have gone to sleep. Friends who look at each other with expressions that suggest friendship is perhaps not the most accurate description."
Heat rose to Jin's cheeks despite his best efforts to maintain composure. "Our relationship is—"
"Your relationship is your own business," Old Shen interrupted, his voice softening. "I'm not mocking you, Wei Jin. Quite the opposite. Lin Mei is a good woman—clever, loyal, stronger than she appears. And you…" He paused, considering his words. "You've become a good man. Better than most who pass through these gates. If the two of you have found something worth having, that's a blessing in a world that offers precious few of them."
Jin stopped his practice, turning to face the old man directly. "Did you find such a blessing? With your wife?"
Old Shen was quiet for a long moment, his eyes distant with memory. "I did. For the years we had together, I did. The cultivation world took that from me eventually, as it takes everything. But the having of it…" He shook his head. "The having of it was worth every moment of losing."
"Do you regret coming to the sect?"
"Every day. And yet I would make the same choice again." Old Shen's gaze sharpened, focusing on Jin with unusual intensity. "That's the burden we carry, those of us who cultivate. We sacrifice the present for the future. We give up what we have for what we might become. And sometimes, if we're very lucky, we find people who make the sacrifice bearable."
Jin thought about Lin Mei. About the warmth of her presence, the comfort of her company, the growing awareness that she had become essential to his happiness in ways he was only beginning to understand.
"She makes it bearable," he admitted quietly.
Old Shen smiled—a genuine expression, free of his usual mischief. "Then hold onto her. Protect her. Build something together that's worth protecting." He rose from his stone, bones creaking. "And for the sake of all that's sacred, tell her how you feel before she loses patience and finds someone else."
He walked away, leaving Jin alone with his thoughts and his half-completed practice forms.
—————
The sixth year ended with a letter and a revelation.
Jin received the letter first—another message from his brother, carried by the sect's correspondence service from the distant village he still thought of as home.
Little Brother,
The spirits continue to bless our family. Mei Ling has given birth to a daughter, whom we have named Wei Hua after our grandmother. She is small and perfect, with her mother's eyes and her father's stubbornness. Your nephew Wei Jun is fascinated by his new sister and has declared himself her protector.
You are an uncle twice over now.
The spirit stones you have sent have transformed our circumstances. We have purchased additional land. Hired workers to help with the harvest. Even begun repairs on the old family shrine that has stood neglected since grandfather's passing. The village whispers about our sudden prosperity, but we simply smile and say that we have a cultivator in the family who remembers his roots.
Mother asks about your health. Father asks about your cultivation. They are too proud to say so directly, but they miss you terribly. We all do.
Perhaps someday, when your duties allow, you might visit. Wei Jun asks constantly about the uncle he has never met. I tell him stories of when we were children together, before the cultivation world claimed you. He listens with wide eyes and dreams of becoming a cultivator himself someday.
May the spirits protect you, little brother.
Your brother,Wei Chen
Jin read the letter three times, committing every word to memory. A niece. Wei Hua. Another life connected to his, another reason to work harder and grow stronger.
The revelation came later that same evening.
Lin Mei found him in his field, finishing the day's work as the sun painted the sky in shades of amber and gold. Her approach was hesitant, lacking her usual confident stride. Her face was pale, her eyes holding something Jin couldn't immediately identify.
"What's wrong?" he asked, setting aside his tools.
Lin Mei didn't answer immediately. She stood at the edge of his hectare, hands clasped before her, seeming to struggle with words that wouldn't come.
"Lin Mei?" Jin moved closer, concern growing. "Are you ill? Should I fetch the physician?"
"I'm not ill." Her voice was barely audible. "At least, not in the way you mean."
"Then what—"
"I'm pregnant."
The words hung in the air between them, solid as stone, heavy as the earth beneath Jin's feet.
Pregnant.
Jin's mind went blank. His carefully cultivated composure shattered like thin ice under sudden weight. He stared at Lin Mei, seeing her as if for the first time—the subtle changes in her posture, the new softness around her midsection, the fear in her eyes as she waited for his reaction.
"Pregnant," he repeated, his voice sounding strange to his own ears.
"Yes." Lin Mei's composure cracked, tears beginning to spill down her cheeks. "I'm sorry, I should have been more careful, I didn't think—we didn't talk about—I don't know how you feel about—"
Jin crossed the distance between them in three quick steps and wrapped his arms around her.
"Don't apologize," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "Never apologize for this."
Lin Mei collapsed against him, her tears soaking into his robes, her body trembling with released tension. Jin held her close, his mind racing through implications and possibilities even as his heart swelled with something he'd never felt before.
A child. His child. Growing inside the woman he loved.
Loved. Yes, that was the word. He loved her. Had loved her for months, perhaps years, without finding the courage to name the feeling. And now life was forcing him to acknowledge truths he'd been too cautious to confront.
"I didn't plan for this," Lin Mei whispered against his chest. "I know we never talked about the future, never discussed what we were to each other. I didn't want to pressure you, didn't want to assume—"
"I love you."
The words came out without permission, bypassing the careful filters Jin usually applied to everything he said. But they were true—more true than anything he'd ever spoken—and once released, he felt no desire to take them back.
Lin Mei looked up at him, her tear-streaked face transforming with hope. "You mean that?"
"I mean that." Jin cupped her face in his hands, wiping away tears with his thumbs. "I've been a coward, Lin Mei. Afraid to speak, afraid to commit, afraid of what might happen if I let myself want something beyond cultivation and survival. But this—" He moved one hand to rest against her stomach, feeling the subtle warmth of new life beneath his palm. "This changes everything."
"What do we do now?"
Jin thought about the question with the same careful analysis he applied to all problems. They were outer disciples—low in the sect hierarchy, limited in resources, vulnerable to the whims of those with greater power. Having a child in such circumstances was complicated. Dangerous, even.
But it was also precious beyond measure.
"First," he said, "we find somewhere better to live. The dormitory is no place for a pregnant woman, let alone a child. I've seen small courtyards available for rent near the eastern edge of the terrace—simple, but private. We'll take one."
"Can we afford it?"
"I've been saving." Jin smiled slightly. "My expenses have been minimal, and my harvests have been profitable. We can afford it."
"And my field work?" Lin Mei gestured vaguely toward her own hectare. "I can't maintain it while—"
"I'll do it." The decision was automatic, requiring no calculation. "I'll work both fields. With my current efficiency, it won't be a significant burden."
Lin Mei shook her head. "That's too much. You can't—"
"I can." Jin's voice was firm. "I have advantages you don't know about. Trust me—this is manageable."
"I trust you." Lin Mei's smile was watery but genuine. "I've trusted you for years. That's not going to change now."
—————
The courtyard they rented was small but well-maintained.
It occupied a corner of the residential section reserved for senior outer disciples—those with sufficient resources and seniority to claim private space rather than dormitory beds. The building was constructed of weathered gray stone and dark wood, with a peaked roof of clay tiles that had faded from red to rust over decades of exposure.
The interior was simple: a main room that served as kitchen and living space, a smaller bedroom with space for a proper bed and storage, and a tiny bathroom with basic facilities. A covered porch looked out onto a courtyard perhaps twenty feet square, where previous tenants had planted a small garden now gone to seed.
Jin stood in the courtyard on their first evening there, watching Lin Mei explore their new home with the wonder of someone who had never had private space before. Her hands trailed across the wooden furniture, tested the mattress on the actual bed, marveled at the luxury of doors that could be closed for privacy.
"It's ours," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "Really ours."
"Really ours," Jin agreed.
The automatic cultivation continued its patient work, advancing him toward level eight while he focused on building a life worth having. He could feel his progress—slow compared to his early years, but steady and inevitable. Another few months would see him break through to level seven. After that, level eight. Then nine.
And beyond that—Foundation Establishment. The boundary between ordinary cultivators and true powers. The threshold that would transform everything.
But for now, Jin set aside thoughts of distant advancement. He had more immediate concerns.
He walked to where Lin Mei stood by the bedroom window, wrapping his arms around her from behind. His hands rested on her stomach, where their child grew in patient darkness.
"I've been thinking about the future," he said.
"That sounds ominous."
"Practical," he corrected. "We need to plan. A child changes everything—our priorities, our vulnerabilities, our opportunities."
Lin Mei leaned back against him, her body warm and solid in his arms. "What kind of plans?"
Jin had been considering this for days, turning possibilities over in his mind like seeds waiting to be planted.
"Short term: secure our position on the terrace. Overseer Huang supports us, but political situations change. We need allies beyond her—disciples who would defend us, supervisors who owe us favors, connections that would survive any single person's fall."
"You've always been good at building alliances."
"I've had to be." Jin paused, organizing his thoughts. "Medium term: advance our cultivation. I'm at level seven now—"
"Level seven?" Lin Mei twisted in his arms to face him. "When did you break through? You were at level five last time you reported."
"I've been… discreet about my progress." Jin met her eyes, seeing the questions there. "It's part of what I am. I advance faster than I should, Lin Mei. Much faster. And I've learned that advertising such advantages is dangerous."
"How much faster?"
"Fast enough that I expect to reach level nine within four years. Perhaps less."
Lin Mei's eyes widened. "Level nine? The peak of Qi Gathering? But your spiritual roots—"
"My spiritual roots say I shouldn't be possible." Jin smiled slightly. "And yet here I am. I don't fully understand it myself, but I've learned to use it."
"Does anyone else know?"
"Old Shen suspects. Da Feng and Luo Qiang probably have guesses. But no one knows the full truth." He cupped her face in his hands. "Except you. Now."
Lin Mei was silent for a long moment, absorbing this revelation. Then she smiled—that bright, unguarded smile that had first drawn Jin's attention years ago.
"You're full of surprises, Wei Jin. I thought I knew everything about you."
"You know the important things. The rest is just… details."
"Details like being a cultivation genius hiding behind a mask of ordinary progress?"
"Genius is too strong a word." Jin felt uncomfortable with the label. "I work hard. I've been lucky. And I have certain advantages that others lack."
"Mysterious advantages you refuse to explain."
"For now." He kissed her forehead. "Someday, when I understand them better myself, I'll tell you everything. I promise."
Lin Mei accepted this with the patience she'd developed over years of knowing him. "And the long-term plans? Beyond reaching level nine?"
Jin looked out the window, toward the distant towers of the inner sect that had once seemed impossibly remote. "Foundation Establishment. Legitimate power. Enough strength that our child will never have to fear the bullies and tyrants that made our early years so difficult."
"That's ambitious."
"That's necessary." Jin's voice hardened. "I watched Overseer Lu terrorize this terrace for years. Watched disciples broken by those with power and no conscience. I won't let our child grow up in that world without protection."
Lin Mei placed her hands over his, pressing them against her stomach. "Then we'll get there together. Both of us. I may not have your mysterious advantages, but I'm not without my own skills."
"I know." Jin smiled. "You're the best gossip in the agricultural division. Information is power, and you have more of it than anyone."
"Flattery." But she smiled back. "Keep it up."
They stood together in their new home, two cultivators planning a future that neither had expected to have. Outside, the sun set over the agricultural terrace, painting the spirit rice fields in gold and shadow.
Jin thought about his nephew and niece, growing up in a distant village. Thought about his brother, who had sacrificed everything to give Jin this chance. Thought about the child growing inside Lin Mei, who would inherit whatever world Jin managed to build.
The burdens were heavy. They had always been heavy.
But now, finally, he wasn't carrying them alone.
—————
End of Chapter Eleven