Chapter 33: Who Cultivates Without a Cheat?

The sun began its slow descent toward the west. Feng Xue glanced at his watch, noting that it was already five in the afternoon. Looking toward the tea stall in the distance, he extinguished the candle on his bicycle’s headlamp and began to pedal with renewed vigor. As the wheels spun rapidly, his speed increased in an instant.

"Boss, how much further to the next stop?"

Arriving at the stall, Feng Xue did not dismount. He simply pulled out a few copper coins and slapped them onto the table as usual. The young owner, who had been half-dozing, replied casually:

"Still over thirty miles to Lu City. By the time you ride there, the city gates will be closed. If you don't want to sleep in the wilderness, follow this road west; you'll see a village in about five miles."

Feng Xue offered a friendly smile and asked, "How come you aren't closing up shop yet this late?"

"How could I close so early?" The owner waved his hand, looking annoyed. "The railway doesn't stop until nine. I have to wait here until eight-thirty for the folks from over there to come by, then we can head back together. Don't think about hitching a ride, though—we’re heading straight to the military barracks..."

As he spoke, the owner began to ramble. It sounded like he was complaining about his job being dull and tedious, but to Feng Xue, it sounded exactly like someone bragging about having a brother-in-law who was a station supervisor.

Knowing it was best not to provoke such people, Feng Xue fished a few more copper coins from his pocket, produced his empty water bottle, and asked the owner for a flask of hot tea.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Feng Xue used the excuse of needing to make good time to leave the stall.

Two miles down the road, Feng Xue pulled out his water bottle. He didn't drink; instead, he poured the tea onto the ground. While the probability of it being tainted was slim, he was, at this point, essentially a bird startled by the mere twang of a bowstring.

After a moment of hesitation, Feng Xue decided to follow the owner’s advice and head toward the village. After all, it was a settlement only twenty or thirty miles from the county seat; it likely hosted many traveling merchants, and as long as he remained vigilant, it shouldn't be overly dangerous.

With this thought, Feng Xue continued his ride. Half an hour later, the silhouette of the village came into view.

The village was small, consisting of no more than twenty households. However, there were large, orderly plots of land outside the settlement. Though they looked somewhat desolate in the winter, the undulating furrows clearly indicated that this was farmland.

A small stream wound its way around the village and the fields. Aside from lacking a "back mountain," it possessed every element of a secluded village found in literature.

As Feng Xue rode to the entrance of the village, he saw several elderly men playing chess. One of the onlookers spotted him first and was about to speak, but Feng Xue beat him to it:

"Grandpa, I’m headed to Lu City County. The sun is setting, and I won't make it to the city in time. Would it be possible to borrow a spot to stay the night? I don't need to enter the village; I can just set up a tent by the entrance!"

At these words, the old man’s expression stiffened. "What kind of talk is that? A guest is a guest; how could we let you stay outside the village? Don't let the temperature fool you now—once night falls, it will be..."

Before the old man could finish, Feng Xue reached into his coat and pulled out several arm-length iron rods, followed by some unfamiliar fabric—items that, by all appearances, could not possibly have fit inside his clothing.

The old man was a worldly person and immediately realized the truth, gasping, "Little... ahem, young master, are you a cultivator?"

Once this was said, the men who had been focused on the chess game turned their attention toward him. This was exactly what Feng Xue had hoped for. He nodded and said:

"I wouldn't dare claim the title of 'Master.' I have only just stepped onto the path of cultivation and am currently traveling to experience the world."

The village elders were in an uproar. The man who had been playing chess immediately swept the pieces aside, stood up, and insisted:

"Experiencing the world means living among the people! How can you not even step into the village? We often host traveling merchants and have dedicated guest rooms. You must not refuse!"

The commotion caught the attention of the villagers. Perhaps bored by the winter inactivity, news that a "cultivator" had arrived spread through the twenty-odd households instantly.

The villagers were quite tactful, however. While they enthusiastically invited Feng Xue to rest in the guest rooms, they avoided asking any questions related to his "cultivation."

Though the fees for mystical practitioners in this world seemed transparent, Feng Xue found this reception rare. Even in his previous life, he was accustomed to people casually asking artist friends for sketches or lawyer friends for legal advice.

Regardless of their hospitality, Feng Xue did not intend to comply. He spoke plainly:

"I appreciate the kindness of you all, but mystical practitioners often deal with spirits and gods. Entering the village casually invites unnecessary suspicion, and besides, this village lacks local resident practitioners like a large city would have. If there were any accidental friction, it would not benefit the village."

Having put it that way, the villagers stopped pestering him. But seeing the satisfied expressions on the faces of the elders and matrons, it was clear they were thinking, "I’ve learned something new today; I'll definitely brag about this to the folks in the next village!"

Even so, the villagers brought over firewood. Feng Xue accepted it but paid for it according to the market rates of Ping'an County.

Once the tent was set up, Feng Xue checked that no one was around. He took out his candle, seal, brush, clear water, and parchment, using a small low table he had brought from home to set up a miniature altar.

If it weren't for the sake of combat, an altar wouldn't need to be very complex. Dipping his brush into the clear water, he drew a circle on the face of the seal and began his ritual.

He was not practicing "Ghost Control," but rather "Spirit Attachment."

As one of the four basic incantations, the core of the Spirit Attachment spell was the ability to maintain mana on a specific object for an extended period. It was a foundational skill; of the twelve incantations he had bought from Nine Aunt, eleven required some degree of proficiency in Spirit Attachment.

Ghost Control, which Feng Xue intended to learn, was no exception.

He pressed his hands onto the table, and mana surged from his sea of consciousness. It split into two streams, calibrated by the candlelight, and converged onto the seal.

He did not "form a mudra"—or rather, he was not yet worthy of it.

According to the "Yizhuang Secret Manual," every practitioner had their own way of forming mudras. These hand signs were essentially "shortcuts" for casting spells; they linked the ritual sequences they had memorized to simple physical gestures, replacing complex rituals with a single motion.

Feng Xue, of course, lacked this ability. He could only follow the steps, guiding his mana to evenly coat the circle he had drawn with water on the base of the blank seal.

When the water trace began to glow faintly, Feng Xue decisively grabbed the seal and pressed it onto the parchment.

A strange sensation emerged in his heart. Feng Xue quickly clicked his stopwatch: 1, 2, 3...

"It only lasted seven seconds? That means the maximum duration I can maintain a Spirit Attachment is two minutes?"

Feeling the sensation on the parchment fade, Feng Xue stopped the watch. Looking at the number 6.97, he shook his head slightly. Just as he was about to repeat the training, he noticed something strange in his peripheral vision.

Feng Xue was all too familiar with this feeling. He opened his "over-the-shoulder" view with anticipation, and as expected, a new entry had appeared above his head:

[Spirit Attachment: Uses a seal as a medium to attach one's own mana to a corresponding object.]