As Chen Ming's cultivation deepened and his body grew stronger, his computational capacity had been steadily and gradually increasing. If the processing power he possessed when he first awakened his Martial Soul was a baseline of 1, then now it had risen to roughly 3.2.
However, he had long since discovered a crucial limitation—there was a ceiling to how much of that power he could actually use.
At most, only about seventy percent was available for active control. The remaining thirty percent formed what he considered his "foundation," something he simply did not dare to touch.
Breathing, heartbeat, the peristalsis of internal organs, muscle contractions, nutrient distribution, hormone secretion—these were all instinctive bodily functions. Even without conscious awareness, the body continued to operate with precision and stability, maintained by an unseen, automatic system.
That thirty percent of computational capacity was tied to those processes.
Chen Ming knew that a portion—perhaps even a significant portion—of it was being wasted. And yet, until now, he had never dared to interfere.
The human body was far too delicate.
It was both an exquisitely engineered structure and, at the same time, a bizarre system that somehow ran on countless hidden "bugs." Removing one component might seem to have no effect on the physical body, yet a specific "program" might inexplicably crash and die on you without warning.
When programmers debugged their code, if the program failed, at least the programmer could still walk away.
But if something went wrong with the body, there was no escape.
Because of that, although Chen Ming had long entertained the idea of optimizing this "foundation," he had never dared to tamper with what he privately likened to a towering heap of unstable code.
Until now.
This time, he decided to push the boundary—just a little.
Rather than attempting something drastic, like engraving a cultivation method directly into his body to enable continuous, passive training around the clock, he chose a far more cautious approach. He began by subtly stimulating the hormones responsible for growth, while also enhancing his digestive capacity and appetite.
At this point, the medical and pharmaceutical knowledge he had learned from Dugu Bo finally proved its worth.
Using mild-natured herbs from the Ice and Fire Yin Yang Well, Chen Ming refined batches of pills. He also prepared a thick, dark-brown medicinal paste by boiling together select herbs and Spirit Beast bones he had obtained from Dugu Bo. Alongside these, he formulated various stimulating medicinal powders.
Unlike the traditional alchemy of this world—which relied heavily on experience, intuition, and even luck—Chen Ming's formulas had been simulated countless times in his mind and validated through small-scale experiments. The results were precise, reliable, and consistent.
Over the next few days, Dugu Bo witnessed what could only be described as true "drug cultivation."
Chen Ming began by taking medicinal pills to completely cleanse his digestive system. For several days, he consumed nothing but water mixed with salt and sugar, supplemented by fasting pills made from ingredients like polygonatum, atractylodes, and red dates blended with honey.
Through slow meditation and a specialized boxing routine that stimulated the flow of Blood Essence, he worked to expel impurities from his body as thoroughly as possible.
This was a traditional Daoist fasting method, designed to regulate the body and purge accumulated toxins.
Once that phase was complete, he entered the second stage.
This time, he relied primarily on mild medicinal pills, complemented by a carefully structured diet rich in protein, nutrients, and vitamins. Gradually, step by step, he adjusted his intake while steadily increasing the intensity of his physical training.
Everything was controlled. Everything was deliberate.
He wasn't just cultivating—he was rewriting the very logic of his body from the ground up.
Push-ups, sit-ups, stretching, frog jumps, burpees, running, yoga…
Chen Ming cycled through them all with methodical precision. And for the inevitable soreness that followed, he had long since prepared countermeasures. First came a medicinal bath—warm spring water infused with specially formulated powders—followed by the slow application of herbal paste across his body.
Combined with internal guiding techniques, deep meditation, and proper sleep, the fatigue in his muscles dissipated at an astonishing rate.
Of course, he didn't neglect his daily responsibilities either. Treating Dugu Bo—drawing out toxins, monitoring his condition—remained part of his routine. After all, Chen Ming wasn't Tang San; his mastery of poison techniques wasn't that profound, nor was he the type to gloss over things and call it "good enough."
If he was going to treat someone, then he would do it properly—root and branch.
From Dugu Bo's perspective, the changes in Chen Ming during this period were nothing short of astonishing.
The first week of fasting alone caused him to lose nearly five kilograms. Yet soon after, through careful dietary adjustments and controlled training, he regained it—only this time, it was leaner and more refined.
His hair and nails grew at a pace visible to the naked eye. Once training began, his skin started peeling away in sheets, dry and brittle like shedding scales, revealing fresh, tender skin beneath.
After a full month, Chen Ming had grown nearly ten centimeters taller. Despite repeated haircuts, his hair still reached his shoulders. His skin was as smooth and delicate as that of a newborn, and his eyes shone with an unmistakable vitality.
The aura he carried was so full of life that even an ordinary person could tell at a glance that he was different.
If one were to describe it in the language of martial arts novels, it would be as though he had consumed rare heavenly treasures to replenish his innate essence, then combined internal cultivation techniques with external training to purge the majority of impurities from his body—resulting in a dramatic surge in power.
Chen Ming made no effort to hide any of this.
He openly explained the principles behind his transformation, detailing the purpose of each medicinal formula and even sharing the prescriptions themselves with Dugu Bo. He laid out his reasoning step by step, even asking for feedback or possible improvements.
But to Dugu Bo… it all sounded half-understood at best.
He could grasp fragments—bits and pieces—but the overall logic eluded him entirely.
What do you mean, "do this, then this, then this, and you'll get that result"?
Are you even a Spirit Master? Because this doesn't look like Spirit Master cultivation at all!
In his understanding, Spirit Masters were supposed to fight tooth and nail, struggle desperately for resources, and, upon reaching their limits, risk their lives hunting Spirit Beasts for rings. Even obtaining a Spirit Bone was meant to be a near-death experience, a stroke of incredible luck—something that transformed you while forcing you to guard your secret carefully.
It wasn't supposed to be this simple.
Eating some medicine, training a bit—and then achieving such drastic changes?
The truth was, even though Chen Ming explained everything clearly, Dugu Bo simply lacked the foundational knowledge to fully comprehend it. His aptitude in this area was limited, and the world itself—its rigid, underdeveloped cultivation system—offered little framework for understanding such methods.
Even with Chen Ming practically teaching him step by step, Dugu Bo still couldn't quite grasp it.
Age played a role as well. Had he encountered this in his youth, he might have learned it more quickly. But now, his learning pace had slowed considerably.
At best, he understood one thing: if a young Spirit Master followed Chen Ming's regimen, their condition would undoubtedly improve. As for why it worked, however—that remained beyond him. He knew the result, but not the reasoning behind it.
Only after pushing his body to its peak condition, expelling as many impurities as possible, did Chen Ming finally turn his attention back to the Land Dragon Golden Melon.
And this time, what he intended to do was not merely absorb it.
He was going to refine it—
as if it were a crafted artifact.