Chapter 947: Chapter 947
Siheng was beyond shocked. His mind reeled as he tried to process what had just happened. "I was only in there studying sword techniques for what felt like a short while—how could two entire hours have slipped by?"
he blurted out, his voice a mixture of confusion and incredulity. The realization hit him like a sudden gust of wind, unsettling his usual composure. He had been so engrossed in the intricate dance of the blade, tracing the flowing patterns of each move in his mind, that the passage of time had completely escaped his notice.
Nanli, standing nearby with her arms crossed, replied with a calm and measured tone, "When you step into the space of ancient texts and cultivation techniques, time flows differently than it does out here. You’re fortunate you didn’t lose yourself completely in there—otherwise, there’s no telling how long you might have been trapped."
Her words carried a subtle warning, born from experience. She had seen others succumb to the allure of those timeless realms, their minds ensnared by the promise of mastery, only to emerge years later, dazed and disoriented.
The space within these mystical tomes wasn’t merely a library of knowledge; it was a separate dimension, a place where the rules of the mortal world bent and twisted.
Just then, Yun Jianchu approached from a short distance away. She carried herself with an air of casual confidence, showing no inclination to put on a lofty demeanor in front of Siheng.
As an elder, she didn’t feel the need to flaunt her status—after all, what was the point of being called "Aunt Chuyun" if she couldn’t step up when it truly mattered? In moments , she saw it as her responsibility to guide the younger generation, to offer wisdom or assistance when they needed it most.
She fixed Siheng with a steady gaze and spoke earnestly, "That’s why, when immortals retreat into seclusion to cultivate, they don’t measure time in days. They count it in centuries. Inside those spaces, they barely sense the passage of time at all. As Yining once put it, the long lifespans of immortals exist precisely so they have enough time to master these celestial techniques."
Siheng tilted his head, a spark of curiosity igniting in his eyes. "So, if I went in, learned a single move, and came back out, doesn’t that mean I could control time to some extent?" he asked.
The idea intrigued him—if he could dip in and out of these spaces at will, perhaps with a few more attempts, he could figure out how to manipulate the flow of time within an entire cultivation manual. It seemed like a clever shortcut, a way to bend the mysterious rules to his advantage.
Yun Jianchu shook her head gently, her expression softening as she explained, "Some techniques allow that, yes. But others—particularly the more profound ones—require your spiritual consciousness and primordial spirit to fully immerse themselves. You can’t leave until you’ve comprehended and mastered every aspect of the technique. That’s why you need to be meticulous and discerning. Choose wisely, because picking the wrong one could trap you—or worse."
She paused, letting her words sink in before continuing, "Those kinds of celestial techniques are usually incredibly powerful, but they’re rare. They also demand a certain level of innate talent. If you don’t meet the requirements, no matter how many times you try to enter the text’s space, the door won’t open for you."
She went on, her voice taking on a reflective tone, "Yining once told me about a superior celestial technique he practiced. He spent three thousand years in seclusion, locked inside that space with no way out until he’d fully grasped it."
The sheer scale of such a commitment lingered in the air, a testament to the dedication required of those who walked the path of immortality.
Siheng nodded slowly, absorbing her explanation. "I see," he murmured, a newfound respect for the complexity of these arts settling into his mind.
Suddenly, a thought struck Yun Jianchu, her eyes brightening with realization. "Wait—you’re trying to find a way to save Cinian, aren’t you? Perfect timing. Yining once acquired a medical celestial technique. Let’s see if it could be of use."
With a practiced ease, she scanned the collection of texts in her memory, her fingers brushing over an unseen shelf in her mind until she pinpointed the exact volume by its cover alone. She retrieved it—a worn yet elegant tome—and handed it to Siheng.
Nanli glanced at the title and raised an eyebrow in surprise. "The Qiankun Life-Extending Needle? I didn’t expect you to actually come through with something this useful," she remarked, her tone laced with playful skepticism.
Yun Jianchu smirked, arching a brow in response. "Of course I did. Back in the day, I was the one who organized all of Yining’s texts." As she spoke, a flicker of nostalgia crossed her face, tinged with a bittersweet ache.
Those days of sorting through dusty scrolls and rare manuscripts alongside Yining had been some of her fondest memories—moments of quiet companionship that now felt like a distant dream.
Siheng turned to Nanli, his voice edged with urgency. "Will this text work?" He couldn’t afford any more delays—not when Cinian’s life hung in the balance.
Nanli gave a firm nod. "It’ll work. Go in and study it. Just try to be quick about it."
Relief washed over Siheng, easing the tension in his shoulders. He took a steadying breath, opened the book, and was immediately enveloped in a flash of light that pulled him into its inner space.
This time, he found himself standing before a woman. She wore a simple, unadorned skirt and robe, her features striking—cold yet captivating, with piercing eyes that seemed to glow with an inner fire.
"I am Qionghua Celestial Sovereign," she declared, her voice resonant and commanding. "After millennia of research, I created this set of needle techniques. Young one, our meeting is fate. Do you wish to learn?"
"I do," Siheng replied, bowing respectfully. "Please teach me."
His tone was earnest, driven by the weight of his mission.
Qionghua Celestial Sovereign, clearly not one for idle chatter, let out a curt hum and waved her hand. Instantly, a detailed diagram of a human skeleton and its acupuncture points materialized before Siheng. The chart was intricate, a dizzying array of lines and nodes that seemed to pulse with hidden meaning.
"I will teach you only three needle techniques," she said, her voice unwavering. "If you possess talent, you’ll be able to grasp their essence and build upon them."
Siheng frowned slightly, sensing the challenge ahead. Medicine had never been his forte—he’d dabbled in it before but never with serious intent. In the past, that lack of interest hadn’t mattered. Now, with Cinian’s life on the line, the stakes were higher than ever, and a flicker of nervousness stirred within him.
He ventured a question, hoping for clarity: "Celestial Sovereign, if a cultivator’s heart meridians were shattered, which needle technique would save them?"
But the figures within these texts were mere illusions, their responses preordained by their creators. Qionghua Celestial Sovereign repeated her earlier statement, unmoved: "I will teach you only three needle techniques. If you possess talent, you’ll be able to grasp their essence and build upon them."
Siheng took a deep breath, steadying his resolve. "Alright, then. Let’s begin."
Qionghua Celestial Sovereign formed a hand seal and announced, "The first technique: gather your spiritual energy into a fine needle!"
With a sharp whoosh, a long, slender needle of spiritual energy appeared before her—barely visible to the naked eye, delicate yet potent.
Siheng watched, expecting her to elaborate. Instead, she withdrew her hand and said flatly, "Young one, demonstrate."
"That’s it?" Siheng blinked, caught off guard. "That’s the first technique?"
"Indeed," she replied, her expression impassive.
Siheng’s lips twitched, a mix of amusement and frustration bubbling up. These ancient techniques were peculiar—perhaps designed to prevent students from overreaching, forcing them to master each step before advancing. Skipping ahead was clearly not an option.
He focused, channeling his spiritual energy in an attempt to form a needle. Qionghua hadn’t offered any tricks or shortcuts, leaving him to rely solely on his own intuition—a daunting task. Shaping spiritual energy wasn’t new to him, but crafting something as fine and stable as her demonstration required finesse he wasn’t sure he possessed.
His first attempt produced a needle the size of an embroidery pin—far too large. Qionghua’s verdict was swift: "First attempt: failure."
Siheng didn’t let it faze him. He adjusted his approach and tried again. This time, the needle was much smaller—tinier than an embroidery pin—but it lacked strength. Sure enough, Qionghua shook her head. "Too small, too weak. Second attempt: insufficient."
Siheng’s brow furrowed. "Why do you keep counting—first, second?"
"Because you have only three chances," she replied, her tone cutting. "Fail all three, and it proves your medical talent is mediocre. I won’t pass the Qiankun Life-Extending Needle to someone who might one day kill with it."
The words stung. Siheng had never faced such humiliation before. He’d always excelled effortlessly, picking up skills with ease. Nothing had ever truly stumped him—until now. This encounter with a genuine celestial technique humbled him, revealing how small he was in the grand scheme of things. There were greater talents, vaster skies beyond his own.
One chance remained. Siheng closed his eyes, taking several slow breaths to calm his racing heart. When he opened them, his focus was razor-sharp. With swift precision, he conjured a needle—perfect in size, length, and quantity. Qionghua clapped her hands lightly. "Congratulations, young one. You’ve passed the first test."
Siheng exhaled in relief. "Please, Celestial Sovereign, teach me the second technique."
She wasted no time, raising her hand to manipulate her spiritual needle. "The second technique: control the force and strike with precision!" The needle darted downward, piercing every acupuncture point on the diagram with unerring accuracy, each strike calibrated with a different degree of force.
She dispelled the needle and turned to him. "Your turn."
Sweat beaded on Siheng’s forehead as he asked, "Is there a limit to my attempts this time?"
"No," Qionghua replied evenly. "You may practice here as long as you wish. Or, if you choose, tell me to stop, and I’ll send you out."
Her words confirmed it—this technique wouldn’t be mastered quickly. Siheng steeled himself and made his first attempt. Though he could form the needle, his accuracy was abysmal, the strikes landing far from their intended marks.