After Elder Zhou left, Ye Chen sat in the main hall for a long time.
The night wind rustled the window lattice, producing a faint creaking sound. The oil lamp on the table flickered, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Ye Haoran had already retired to his room, and Lin Wanqing had gone to the kitchen to tidy up. Only Ye Chen remained, sitting quietly by himself.
Three months.
He calculated the time silently in his mind. Three months—neither too long nor too short. For an ordinary child, three months might change nothing. But for Ye Chen, these three months would determine his future path.
Sky Academy's selection examination had no entry barriers.
What did that mean? It meant countless people would flock to participate. Not just from Qingshi City, but from surrounding towns, even from farther away. Among them would be scions of noble families, prodigies who had undergone rigorous training since childhood, possessing abundant Lingyuan reserves and extensive combat experience.
And Ye Chen? A six-year-old with a "useless attribute," his Lingyuan reserves barely a tenth of an ordinary child's, without having experienced a single real battle.
"The gap is too wide." Ye Chen closed his eyes, his mind racing.
But he did not shrink back.
In his past life as a researcher, he had faced countless "impossible" problems. The papers published in top journals—each one was born after countless failures. Failure was not frightening. What was frightening was lacking the courage to try.
"Three months is enough to accomplish a great deal."
Ye Chen opened his eyes, his gaze unusually clear. He began to map out every day of the next ninety days in his mind.
First, cultivation.
He needed to raise his Lingyuan reserves to at least the level of an ordinary child within three months. At the same time, he needed to extend the duration of his Time Perception and Spatial Perception to more than thirty seconds. Difficult, but not impossible.
Second, combat.
Perception alone was insufficient. He needed to learn how to apply these abilities in battle. He needed to train his physical reaction speed, his fighting instincts, and his ability to make correct judgments under pressure.
Finally, strategy.
He had to face the fact: even after three months, his Lingyuan reserves would not surpass those prodigies who had trained since birth. This meant he could not rely on brute force; he had to rely on intelligence. He needed to achieve maximum effect with minimum expenditure.
"The first two months for foundation building, the last month for combat training." Ye Chen finalized his plan.
Outside, the moon had quietly climbed above the treetops, its silvery light streaming through the window and illuminating the boy's determined profile.
Before dawn the next day, Ye Chen awoke.
He dressed quietly, grabbed two pieces of dried food from the kitchen, and slipped out. At the doorway, he paused—on the table by the entrance sat a water flask and a small bundle.
Inside the bundle were a change of clean clothes and several medicinal plasters.
Ye Chen was momentarily surprised, then looked up toward his father's room. The door was shut, no sound came from within. But he knew his father was awake.
"Thank you," he said softly, picking up the bundle and water flask before pushing the door open.
Qingshi City lay still in the early morning light. The streets were empty, broken only by occasional dog barks. Ye Chen hurried through the alleyways, following the familiar mountain path toward his "secret base."
When he reached the valley, the eastern sky was just beginning to lighten.
Settling under the old tree, he placed the bundle and water flask aside, closed his eyes, and began the day's cultivation.
Instead of rushing to capture virtual particles, he started with something more important—sensing his own Lingyuan.
Three months of practice had deepened his understanding of his own Lingyuan. He discovered that the Space-Time Lingyuan differed fundamentally from ordinary Lingyuan: it was not "stored" in the body but "flowed."
An ordinary person's Lingyuan was like water in a reservoir—every use diminished it, requiring slow replenishment. But Space-Time Lingyuan was different—it was like a river, continuously drawing energy from the void and circulating through the body. Only, this "river" was too narrow, its flow too small, giving the impression of insufficient reserves.
"If I could widen this channel…"
Ye Chen's thoughts grew clearer. He did not need to "store" Lingyuan like ordinary people; he needed to "expand capacity"—to make his Lingyuan river wider and deeper, allowing more energy to flow through simultaneously.
How?
He recalled a concept from his past life: resonance.
When two systems shared the same frequency, a tiny perturbation could trigger a massive response. If he could synchronize his Lingyuan's frequency with those virtual particles in the void, each capture's efficiency would multiply.
"Let's try."
Taking a deep breath, Ye Chen sank his consciousness inward. This time, instead of "capturing" the fluctuations, he tried to "sense" their frequency.
First attempt—nothing.
Second—still nothing.
Third, fourth, fifth…
He lost count of his attempts. The sun rose in the east and slowly climbed toward its zenith. Sweat dripped down his cheeks, falling on the fallen leaves with faint plinks.
Finally, around noon, he felt it.
An extremely subtle rhythm, like distant drums, like a heartbeat's pulse. Those fleeting fluctuations in the void were not random—they had a fixed frequency, merely too fast and too brief for ordinary perception.
But Ye Chen perceived it.
He let his consciousness vibrate at that frequency. Awkward at first, like a beginner stumbling through an unfamiliar melody. But he persisted, adjusting again and again.
After what felt like an eternity, his consciousness finally synchronized completely with the frequency.
In that moment, the world transformed.
Countless tiny fluctuations surged toward him from the void, like iron filings drawn to a magnet, streaming into his Lingyuan river. The once-narrow channel suddenly expanded—not physically, but its flow rate exploded.
Ye Chen felt an electric tingle spread from his scalp through his limbs. Gritting his teeth, he forced his consciousness to remain steady despite the strange sensation.
One second, two seconds, three…
Ten seconds passed, and the resonance held.
Twenty seconds.
Thirty.
Forty.
At forty-five seconds, Ye Chen could hold on no longer. His consciousness snapped like a string stretched to its limit. The resonance collapsed, the fluctuations scattered, and his Lingyuan river returned to its original state.
But Ye Chen knew that in those forty-five seconds, the Lingyuan he had gained equaled half a month's previous total.
"Ha… haha…" He collapsed onto the fallen leaves, panting heavily, but his lips curved upward uncontrollably.
He had found the way.
Though he could currently maintain it for less than a minute, with practice, the duration would lengthen. The Lingyuan river would widen, and his strength would grow.
"Three months… it's enough."
Ye Chen closed his eyes, letting the sunlight warm his face. Fatigue washed over him, but his heart brimmed with unprecedented confidence.