Chapter 9: Full of Hope

“Abandon all hope of cultivating immortality!”

The moment these words were spoken, the four of them turned pale, especially Zhu Linxian.

“What do you mean by that?”

Sensing the sudden shift in their emotions, Chen Zhaohu hesitated, wondering if he had been too blunt.

His younger brother, Chen Qingling, spoke without restraint: “Cultivation requires spiritual roots! In that forsaken place you were in, the spiritual energy is completely depleted. Even if you were born with spiritual roots, after so many years without nourishment, they would have withered away long ago!

No spiritual roots, yet you wish to cultivate immortality? Pure delusion!”

“Spiritual roots?” The four exchanged glances, their faces visibly anxious.

“Spiritual roots are… well, they’re the bridge in your dantian that connects you to the world’s spiritual energy. Without this bridge, even if you are surrounded by spiritual energy, you can neither sense nor absorb it, let alone refine it into your own magical power!”

“To absorb and refine the world’s spiritual energy as one’s own power—is that what cultivation is?” The four, gifted enough to be considered seedlings for immortality, quickly grasped the principle.

“Yes, that’s cultivation! With magical power, you can learn immortal arts, and it also nourishes the body, extending life.” Chen Qingling, eager to teach, was quite satisfied.

Seeing their faces grow dim and their eyes lose hope, Chen Zhaohu glared at Chen Qingling: “Enough! You’ve only eaten spirit rice for a few years and now you think you know everything?”

“Don’t listen to him, friends.

What you seek in cultivation is indeed different from body refining. It’s not about stimulating your own blood and energy—it requires absorbing spiritual energy from the world. As for spiritual roots… yes, they are essential.

However, among all beings, humanity is the leader. Born with all five elements, anyone born here possesses spiritual roots.

The only difference is in how well those roots sense spiritual energy.

The more strands your roots sense from any element, the more efficiently you can absorb and refine that element’s spiritual energy. If your roots sense fewer than ten strands, absorption is slow—those are considered low-grade spiritual roots. Ten to twenty strands, and the process is faster—middle-grade roots. More than twenty strands, and you’re a child of destiny, with high-grade roots; building your foundation is easy, and you can hope for a golden core…”

“For example, my innate metal root senses only two strands, wood three, water four, fire and earth just one each—barely scraping the bottom of the low-grade roots, which is the norm here.

But even so, it doesn’t mean you can’t cultivate. It’s slow, yes, but… the world of cultivation is full of surprises; who can say I won’t stumble upon a stroke of fortune?”

Having finished, Chen Zhaohu looked at the group again. “So, even if your spiritual roots are poor, there’s still a sliver of hope—it just might take unimaginable luck.”

“You’re so certain our roots are poor?” Zhu Linxian stood, gripping the table, shoulders trembling, unwilling to accept it.

Chen Zhaohu gave a sheepish smile: “Well… anyone coming out from a land of spiritual deprivation can’t be in good shape. My brother is right about that.

Human spiritual roots, like bones and body, grow over time—not fixed at birth, except for inherited talent. The main factor is postnatal nourishment, and spiritual energy is the key.

Spiritual roots truly mature by age fifteen. If they’re not nourished by spiritual energy during that time, if there’s no natural affinity, they won’t grow well.

Especially in that forsaken place—not only is there none of the pure energy from spiritual veins and fields, it’s worse than even this barren land of ours. It’s truly devoid of spiritual energy. Even a prodigy born with heaven-grade roots would see them degenerate and wither if they lived there too long.”

The chair creaked as Zhu Linxian went limp, collapsing back into her seat, face ashen.

The other three were equally despondent.

Chen Zhaohu felt a bitter taste, wanting to offer comfort, but words failed him.

Then he noticed Li Ji’an and was surprised.

Li Ji’an remained calm and composed, his eyes even full of hope…

Noticing Chen Zhaohu’s gaze, Li Ji’an smiled.

He felt no despair—in fact, he was quite expectant.

If spiritual roots were fixed at birth, he would be disheartened. But if they must grow, then his prospects were bright.

This lifetime, he was already twenty-eight. According to Chen Zhaohu, his roots must be poor, but that wouldn’t stop him from nurturing them from age eight in his next life.

Moreover, the world of cultivation is filled with divine abilities, immortal arts, and myriad crafts—alchemy, artifacts, talismans, formations—if he keeps reincarnating, endless possibilities await!

“Zhaohu, you’re looking after my business again—how delightful!” At that moment, the innkeeper approached with a broad smile.

Chen Zhaohu withdrew his gaze from Li Ji’an and his companions, greeting the innkeeper with a smile.

“Shameful, really. My quota for Tianxian Tower this month isn’t enough, so I can’t supply you further. But my brother caught something valuable, and I introduced him to you first. Please give him a good price.”

“Haha, what’s the point of formalities among brothers? To be selected by Tianxian Tower is a blessing—maybe one day you’ll receive rewards from their clan.” The innkeeper patted Chen Zhaohu on the shoulder and then examined the purple-gold mink.

“Two spirit stones! How about it?”

Chen Zhaohu looked at Li Ji’an and nodded with a smile. “It’s up to my brother.”

Li Ji’an smiled back, “Thank you, innkeeper. It’s yours.”

The innkeeper signaled his young assistant to take away the purple-gold mink, then drew out two pigeon-egg sized, bright green spirit stones from his pocket.

“Why not exchange them for spirit sand for my brother?” Chen Zhaohu interjected.

The innkeeper glanced at Li Ji’an, and seeing him nod, put away the stones and produced a small pouch of spirit sand.

After the innkeeper departed, Chen Zhaohu explained, “You’re new here. You probably won’t need spirit stones for a while—spirit sand is enough for daily needs.”

The meal that followed was a delight for Li Ji’an; not only was the flavor unique, but the beast meat contained qi and blood far richer than the royal treasures of the immortal dynasty, filling him with anticipation for body refinement in this world.

The other four, however, found it hard to swallow.

After dinner, Li Ji’an accepted Chen Zhaohu’s invitation and followed him to his residence.

“Well? Built by a mid-stage Qi practitioner from the Huangshan Wei clan, expert in earth arts. Cost ten spirit stones!”

Occupying ten acres, two stories with ten rooms, a beast pen, and a courtyard for training, the sturdy stone structure was impressive.

“Brother Li, if you don’t mind, you can stay here for now. No need to rush into joining us—take your time, get to know things. There’s always cultivators coming and going on the square; you can ask around. But be careful—it’s a mixed crowd, so don’t get fooled.

Also, there’s a spirit-testing stone set up by the immortal market on the north side of the square. Ten taels of spirit sand per test. If you’re not convinced, you can check for yourself,” Chen Zhaohu said, full of generosity.

Hearing this, the other four could hardly sit still, all looking to Li Ji’an.

“Alright, let’s go test ourselves,” Li Ji’an understood their urgency, so he led the group back toward the square.