A Day of Earnest Contemplation and Meager Harvest
Today, with sincere dedication, I immersed myself in the mysteries of the Fate Calculation Technique—a skill that, in our path of cultivation, is said to blend fate with personal will. Yet, despite my best efforts, the day passed with little sign of fruitful insight. Still, there is some small solace: the technique has begun to show its faint traces. I managed to extract a single, modest impression—"Perception 1"—from its enigmatic workings.
Perhaps it is true that Heaven does not disappoint those who labor with a determined heart. Or maybe it is merely the ancient saying that "the sincere heart can even move the hardest stone." It could be that the technique itself is as fearsome and awe-inspiring as legends claim. Whatever the reason, today the Fate Calculation Technique finally grudgingly opened its door to me—a door that I had struggled to nudge open for so long. Amid the rush of inner thoughts, I caught sight of something almost imperceptible: a single silken strand of my own qi fortune. It was as fine as a hair, tinged with a hint of blue so pale that if one were not meticulous, it might be dismissed as an illusion of the eyes.
I couldn't help but murmur to myself, "Is that all? That really is all there is?" Though I do not have the power to peer into the fortunes of others, I can imagine that in this moment, I am like any ordinary passerby—my fate measured down to a thread. Yet when I compared this to the detailed accounts recorded in that ancient text I so diligently studied, I thought: even if my fortune seems mediocre, at least it is not as dismal as the fates of those tragic souls described therein. This small beacon of progress—even if modest—was the honest fruit of my relentless struggle and unyielding perseverance over countless days of rigorous training.
Accepting the reality of my current state was bittersweet. It is true that one's qi fortune may appear but a faint shimmer when measured against the vivid images of potent destinies whispered of in ancient scrolls. But I resolved then that even a commoner's share of fortune was far better than the silent, nefarious ends that some suffer. In this realm of cultivation, where every gust of fate can herald danger or blessing in equal measure, a humble thread of fortune was enough to set me on the right path.
Wishing to test the newfound—but still rudimentary—power of this Fate Calculation Technique, I decided not to seclude myself in some forgotten wilderness. Instead, I retraced my steps to the vibrant market of Yuan City. Here, in the bustling lanes of the city market, mortals and cultivators alike thronged the streets. In this melting pot of human endeavor, everyday mortals would come to display trinkets that, by chance, were imbued with a whisper of cultivation. Those who happened upon mysterious objects would bring them here, exchanging items for spirit stones—which in turn could, in this market, be redeemed for gold. From the perspective of mortal commerce, it seemed at times as if cultivators were taking advantage of ordinary folk, but to many in Yuan City, the presence of even a single cultivator was akin to a blessing—a chance at the promise of sudden prosperity.
Most ordinary folk in this city know well what it means to be in the company of a cultivator. It might not be every household, but nearly everyone can boast of having met or even casually encountered a practitioner. They speak of these "Qi Condensation" stage cultivators with a touch of reverence. To them, such practitioners wield only a hint of extraordinary power—a power more remarkable than that of mere martial artists. Even though these cultivators enjoy feats that set them apart, in matters of longevity they fare not much better than the ordinary. In fact, there are some well-versed in the art of maintaining health who might even outlive a Qi Condensation practitioner. This understanding brings about a respectful distance. Ordinary citizens do not tremble before the cultivator's might, though they hold a respectful awe for that which they cannot fully understand.
I wandered slowly through the market, my mind still turning over the day's subtle impressions of fate. As I passed by a humble household, I caught sight of a Qi Condensation practitioner—a young man stuck in the later stage of cultivation—standing imposingly by his door. His very presence was enough to silence even the indignant shouts of his family. Neighbors gathered along the side of the street, watching without fear. Even if his temper might one day cause trouble, it was clear that his presence granted him a measure of community respect—a reminder that in this world, to be a cultivator meant more than just being a source of raw power; it was an affirmation of one's place in society.
With a gentle sigh, I muttered under my breath, "Truly, one seldom sees a mind as narrow as that of Lu Shao Jun… and yet, in his narrow, almost tragic way, his existence is as inconspicuous as that of a sacrificial pawn." I shook my head quietly, acknowledging the fickle nature of fate while proceeding deeper into the crowded inner district of the market, the realm reserved solely for cultivators. The outer reaches of the market bustled with mortals, but the inner sanctum was filled only with those who wielded mystical power—a place where even novice cultivators could feel the spark of potential connection to higher realms.
Far above all this, there was talk of an even rarer kind of cultivator: the Golden Core stage—those who could traverse the heavens. Rumor had it that if such a being were to set foot in the marketplace, the act itself would be unthinkable for most. Their realm of exchange and communion was not here, but among the celestial dominions. A Golden Core cultivator could, once perfecting the Golden Core, open the celestial gate to venture into the tiny true realm suspended in the void above the Nine Desolations—a realm that only revealed its secrets once every five years when the barriers wore thin. For a cultivator whose lifespan might be a mere five hundred years, that interval between appearances was as fleeting as a moment in seclusion.
I wandered without a particular purpose, my mind half-focused on my inner progress and half-alert to the energy flows that the Fate Calculation Technique might yet reveal. Then, quite suddenly, an odd sensation tugged at my consciousness—a whisper of a change, a fleeting disturbance that was both abrupt and inexplicable. I concentrated intently on it, but when I reached out with my senses, there was nothing there to grasp. I understood immediately: this must have been the subtle signal triggered by the Fate Calculation Technique. There was no pounding of the heart or an overwhelming dread; if anything, the lack of such a reaction might be a good omen—a gentle sign that something auspicious might be nearing, a nugget of opportunity hidden amid the mundane bustle of the market.
I began to stroll the vicinity with renewed caution, with my senses probing every shadow and every flicker of energy, yet initially nothing seemed to shift in the ambient atmosphere. And then—suddenly—the elusive sensation flared up like a spark igniting dry tinder. I felt it strongly this time, a clear directional call that I could not ignore. I quickened my pace and followed it, each step carrying the promise of destiny. After only a short while, I came to a halt with a baffled look on my face. Right before me stood a young little girl—a small, unassuming figure who seemed as surprised as I was.
We regarded one another in stunned silence for a long moment. Her eyes, though wide with naive wonder, carried a depth beyond her apparent tender age. For a brief heartbeat that felt like an eternity, the energy around us was heavy with the potential of fate. Then, breaking the silence in an almost tentative tone, she spoke: "Are you my mother?" Her voice was soft, uncertain, echoing with a child's confusion.
Taken aback by such an unexpected question—and not entirely sure if what the Fate Calculation Technique had revealed was meant to be interpreted so literally—I found myself momentarily lost in thought. I crouched down to her level, trying to make sense of the sudden exchange. "Are you blind?" I asked, mimicking the rough banter of a caretaker teasing a child, though deep inside a part of me hesitated. The technique's uncanny sense of detection was showing me something altogether unexpected.
The girl, quick to respond in a childlike manner, then asked, "Then are you my father?" Her face registered genuine confusion, and for a few seconds, the absurdity of fate tickled the corners of my mind. I remained silent again, pondering what reality the Fate Calculation Technique might be playing upon. The surreal parallel to stories—of little tadpoles in search of their mothers, or even the tales I had seen of girls seeking their lost fathers from days of old—felt both strangely comical and inexplicable.
I finally shook my head, offering a curt reply: "No." I introduced myself in a standard manner, "I am Fang Jin Yu, a cultivator of the Foundation Establishment stage from Tian Ling Sect." I clasped my fists together in the customary greeting. Despite the bizarre context of the encounter—a result of the Fate Calculation Technique's fickle signal—I could not shake the feeling that there was something peculiar about this child. She looked young, no doubt, but her eyes shone with the brilliance of distant stars—calm, as deep as a reflective pond, and as if they might see right through you into the depths of your soul.
For a long moment, she stood there, her small brows knitted in puzzlement. "Who am I?" she finally murmured, her attempt to echo my self-introduction proving fruitless as her gaze fixated on mine. In that silence, the weight of our strange meeting pressed upon us. What was meant to be a demonstration of a refined technique had resulted in a surreal exchange—one that blurred the boundaries between fate and simple coincidence. I tried to clarify, "I don't know what you mean. Please do not stare at me…" I added, half in jest, half with genuine apprehension at what the Fate Calculation might be orchestrating.
Her small face contorted into an expression of reluctant acceptance, as if acknowledging that perhaps any answer I offered might be as uncertain as the directions fate itself provided. Without further protest, she trailed behind me as I began to move on once again. "Will you follow me?" I asked, trying to determine whether I should expect some strange consequence from this encounter. "Are you blind?" she echoed my earlier words in a playful, almost familiar retort—a line that, oddly enough, sounded more like a typical exchange in some tales of wandering heroes than a conversation between a master and a child of unknown parentage.
I suppressed a fleeting impulse to physically correct her, reminding myself firmly that the Fate Calculation Technique rarely sends signals without purpose. "Very well," I said in a tone meant to be casual. "In a few months, Tian Ling Sect will begin recruiting disciples. For now, you may stay with me for a while." And with that, I turned and began to walk away, leaving the perplexing child to follow quietly behind me, her small steps in rhythm with the uncertain beat of destiny.
Yet, as I continued through the market, a harsh reminder of my current state struck me: I found myself severely short of funds. Earlier, I had boasted to myself that a hoard of over seven thousand spirit stones would be enough to indulge in a few luxuries. But now, a casual inquiry into the prices of the alchemical pills for Foundation Establishment revealed a humbling reality. The so-called "Summoning Spirit Pill," a pill used by beginning cultivators to boost their inner energy, was priced at a staggering eight hundred spirit stones each. Some of the rarer elixirs even commanded prices well into the thousand-spirit-stone range—costs that rivaled or even exceeded the price of lower-tiered mystical artifacts.
To my chagrin, I had not enough spirit stones at hand to even purchase a single vial of this important pill. I knew well how effective these pills could be; after all, consuming three or four such pills typically helped a cultivator break through to the third level of the Foundation Establishment stage, provided one had the advantage of a trifecta of elemental roots. The better one's innate aptitude and spiritual roots were, the more adeptly one could absorb and refine a pill's efficacy. The stark reality, then, was that I—Fang Jin Yu—found myself, for the moment, rather impoverished, at least in terms of the material assets needed to further advance my cultivation.
A mixture of frustration and resolve stirred within me. I had achieved some progress with the Fate Calculation Technique today—a tenuous opening into realms of insight that I had long yearned to access. Yet the material world, with its inescapable need for resources, remained as unyielding as ever. I resolved to return to my own practice—with greater determination to refine my alchemical skills and eventually craft the very pills necessary for the next stage of my journey. Only then could I hope to break free from the constraints of lacking resources and climb ever higher toward true power.
The bustling market around me bustled with its familiar cacophony of voices—mortal chatter interlaced with the occasional murmured incantation of a cultivator at work. I shuffled among stalls that brimmed with curios, each one representing the collision of the arcane and the mundane. There were vendors who traded in rare herbs from remote mountains, alchemists who mixed potent powders in earthen cauldrons, and even fortune tellers whose carved faces promised glimpses of hidden fates. All the while, the mundane hum of everyday life provided a constant backdrop to the extraordinary drama that was unfolding within me.
At one stall, I paused to observe an elderly merchant whose face was lined with the map of years gone by. His eyes, alert despite a lifetime of toil, were fixed on a wares display that contained talismans and trinkets purportedly blessed by the heavens. For a fleeting moment, I thought of trying my yet-unpolished Fate Calculation Technique on him, wondering if a glimmer of his hidden qi could add a stroke of insight to my understanding. But then I recalled the precious little seed of sensation that had guided me earlier—the transient energy that had unexpectedly drawn me toward that little girl. Had fate chosen this moment to deliver some unforeseen turning point?
My thoughts were interrupted by the distant murmur of an argument. I turned toward the sound and beheld a scene that exemplified the complex interplay of mortal and magical affairs here in Yuan City. A cultivator of the Qi Condensation stage—evidently a middle-aged man of moderate cultivation—stood by the doorway of a modest home, his presence looming large enough to command silence. His mother's voice, raised in indignation, punctuated the air as she berated him relentlessly. A small crowd had gathered, their faces a mixture of sympathy and guarded awe. They knew all too well that such displays of power—and temper—were as much a part of life in our world as the mundane trials of existence. Yet in that moment, amid the clamor of everyday strife, I was reminded that even a man of seemingly average fortune, like this cultivator, was granted a measure of respect precisely because he stood in contrast to those destined for quiet oblivion.
Musing silently on the stark differences between those with a trace of fate and those who lived as expendable pawns, I continued onward. Moments later, as if guided by an unseen force, the subtle sensation of fate stirred anew. I felt that indescribable tug, the same fleeting signal from the Fate Calculation Technique that had led me to encounter the little girl. I paused again and focused deeply on the energy, and this time it was unmistakable. The sensation blossomed, saturating the air around me, and I took a quick, determined stride in its direction. Within moments, I realized that the signal had drawn me back to the child, who now looked up at me with a mix of confusion and something like solemn understanding.
"Are you… my parent?" she inquired once more, her voice no longer wavering between tease and genuine inquiry. In that brief exchange, the murmur of the marketplace seemed to fade into a quiet background hum. I searched her eyes—for a hint of familiar spirit, for any sign that fate had woven our destinies together in an intricate tapestry—but found nothing definitive. I simply repeated, with a mix of amusement and earnest regret, "No, I am not your parent. I am Fang Jin Yu, a cultivator of the Foundation Establishment stage from Tian Ling Sect." My words hung in the air, heavy with the irony that fate's signals do not always make logical sense.
The small girl's gaze softened as if struggling to reconcile the absurdity of her question with the quiet dignity of my response. "Then… who am I?" she whispered, as if expecting that I would provide some clarity on her own enigmatic existence. For a long time, I had dedicated my life to unlocking the secrets of fate and fortune—yet now, standing before this child whose eyes shone like distant galaxies, I felt the frisson of responsibility. It was as though fate had chosen me to be part of a larger, mysterious plan. And even if I could not yet fully comprehend the strands of destiny interwoven in her presence, I knew that I could not simply let this encounter pass by without care.
I offered what little comfort or guidance I could muster, "For now, follow me. There may yet be time to find answers in the days to come." It was not a grand promise, merely a pittance of reassurance that my own path might one day chart the way for her. With that, I turned back toward the heart of the marketplace, my mind brimming with both new determination and the quiet sadness that accompanies unexpected responsibilities.
Yet my journey was far from over. Even as I hoped that this strange encounter might one day yield meaning, my practical needs intruded once again. I recalled with dismay that my treasure pouch contained only a meager supply of spirit stones—far too few to purchase even the simplest of alchemical pills. I had once prided myself on having what I believed to be a modest fortune; now, after some unsolicited inquiries with vendors and alchemists about the prices of Foundation Establishment pills, I was forced to confront an inescapable truth: I was still, in every material sense, a pauper.
The price of a single Summoning Spirit Pill was astronomical by mortal standards—a staggering eight hundred spirit stones for one pill. And rarer formulations, meant for those who had advanced further in their cultivation, could cost a thousand or more. To put it bluntly, even if my heart was set on reaching the next stage and conquering the immortal arts, my purse remained woefully inadequate. Without the resources to purchase even a single vial of these vital pills, I would be forced to postpone my progress until I was able to earn or procure more spirit stones.
It was in these moments of stark reality—a blend of cultivation technique and earthly poverty—that I resolved to double down on my own abilities. The solution, I concluded, lay in refining my talents in alchemy. I would return to my secluded studies and commit even more fervently to the art of pill refinement. For it was not merely the accumulation of spirit stones or material wealth that would grant me immortality; it was the mastery of my own inner power and the ingenuity to cast aside dependence on external funds.
Thus, as dusk began to settle over the chaotic hum of Yuan City's marketplace, I, Fang Jin Yu, set my mind upon returning to the solitary chambers of my training. I promised myself that the day's meager harvest of the Fate Calculation Technique was but the first step—a trembling breakthrough in a journey that would eventually yield far greater spoils. In the quiet of my private retreat, I would meditate further on the delicate energies that danced at the edges of my being. I would strain to grasp every nuance, every fleeting spark of insight that the technique offered, until one day I might call forth even a basic "Fate Calculation 1" to ward off dangers or signal the approach of serendipity.
As I stepped away from the market's clamor, I glanced back at the little girl quietly following me—a silent reminder that fate, however peculiar, chooses its vessels in mysterious ways. The bustling streets, the towering stalls of mystical artifacts, and even the faces of the everyday citizens of Yuan City all seemed to recede into shadow in contrast to the luminous uncertainty of our connection. I knew that her presence, seemingly accidental though it might be, could eventually be woven into the tapestry of my own destiny. Perhaps she too carried a spark of an uncommon fate, a latent potential that would one day light the way to a brighter future. Even if today she appeared as nothing more than a perplexing child, I sensed that within her lay the whisper of something far grander—a secret yet to be revealed by the inexorable march of time.
In the days that followed, my footsteps would echo both in the labyrinthine alleys of Yuan City and in the quiet solitude of secluded practice. I would have to navigate the same struggles every cultivator faces: the delicate balance between the ethereal pursuit of power and the mundane necessities of survival. Money, after all, remained a most stubborn obstacle. The irony was clear: while one's inner qi might burn bright with potential, the material realm demanded constant attention—a reminder that no one, not even a cultivator striving for immortality, was immune to the burdens of earthly existence.
Now, as twilight deepened into night and my mind churned with the intermingling of ambition, disappointment, and a fragile hope for progress, I resolved to treat each challenge as a stepping stone. The subtle impressions gleaned from my practice of the Fate Calculation Technique were fragile but precious—they were the light that, however faint, promised a future in which my destiny could be consciously molded. Until then, I would continue to hone my alchemical skills, to labor over spirit stones as earnestly as I did over mysterious techniques that claimed to read the tapestry of fate itself.
In the quiet hours that followed—when the neon glow of marketplace lanterns faded behind the heavy curtain of night—I retreated to a small, dimly lit room rented near the edge of the inner district. Seated cross-legged on a cushion, I closed my eyes and began the practice once more. I reached inward, tuning out the clamorous noise of the world, and sought that elusive thread of qi fortune that had first appeared in such a fragile, near-translucent way. I considered the possibility that the meagerness of my own fortune was not a curse but a challenge—a call to prove that even the faintest spark could, through tenacity and courage, ignite a conflagration of power.
At times, I found myself remembering the chronicles of ancient cultivators who, when faced with similar adversity, had turned scarcity into a wellspring of inspiration. Their perseverance in the face of overwhelming odds had led to breakthroughs that altered the course of destiny itself. In that very spirit, I vowed to nurture this small seed of insight until it could blossom into a robust, unyielding force—a force that might one day tip the scales in battles yet to be fought.
The hours ticked away slowly as I meditated on the intricacies of fate and the tenuous connections between the material and the metaphysical. The experience of the day, both its disappointments and its inexplicable surprises, intertwined into a single narrative—a narrative that demanded my complete attention in order to be understood. I pictured the subtle aura of my qi as a delicate, pale ribbon flowing intermittently through my body, its color reflecting my humility but also the untapped potential within. Even if my qi fortune now appeared as nothing more than an inconspicuous, nearly invisible thread, I trusted that with time and relentless effort, that thread would thicken and strengthen. I would eventually come to master the Fate Calculation Technique, to use its power to sense impending danger and glimpse the hidden blessings that lay ahead.
In these silent moments of reflection, my thoughts drifted back to the little girl who had so unexpectedly entered my day. I wondered what her own fate might be—what unseen potential lay dormant within her luminous eyes. Perhaps her presence was no coincidence but a deliberate twist in the grand tapestry of destiny. Even as I labored over the art of alchemy and the secrets of the Fate Calculation Technique, I could not dismiss the nagging thought that our fates were now somehow intertwined. With each heartbeat, I vowed that if she were indeed destined to play a part in my future, then I would protect that possibility, nurturing it even as I strived for my own ascension.
The night grew deep, and just as the crescent moon began its silent vigil overhead, I acknowledged that today had been a day of both bitter lessons and quiet triumphs. The small breakthrough in perceiving the essence of my own qi was not overwhelming—but it was something. And the encounters, strange and unexpected as they were, spoke of a future where chance and destiny would collide in ways that defied ordinary explanation.
In the quiet hours before the first hint of dawn, I resolved that tomorrow would mark a new beginning. I would persist in my training, eager to gain further impressions and unravel more of the cryptic language of fate. And though my purse was light, and my resources few, my resolve burned bright with the promise that every small step forward, every subtle impression gained today, would ultimately lead to a fate of my own crafting.
Thus, as the night finally yielded to the promise of a new day, my thoughts turned once more to the path ahead. I rose from my meditation with a sense of cautious optimism—a knowledge that, regardless of today's meager outcomes, the wheel of fate was already in motion. The marketplace, with its endless interplay of mortal ambitions and the quiet power of cultivation, had taught me that sometimes the most unremarkable fortunes held the greatest potential. And so, with a heart both heavy and hopeful, I stepped toward the rising sun, already anticipating the lessons and opportunities that tomorrow might bring.
In this translation, every scene from the original Chinese narrative is presented with an expanded, human touch. From the quiet revelation of an almost invisible qi strand to the unpredictable encounter with a mysterious little girl—and the stark reminder of one's material limitations—the narrative is imbued with introspection and subtle humor. Fang Jin Yu's internal monologue reveals both the unrelenting ambitions of a cultivator determined to master arcane arts and the everyday hurdles that make his journey so human.
This day, though it may have seemed like one of little harvest, is a vital chapter in the tapestry of fate. It is a day of introspection, of small breakthroughs in understanding the elusive Fate Calculation Technique, and of unexpected meetings that hint at far greater challenges and opportunities yet to come. As Fang Jin Yu learns to navigate the dual worlds of mystic power and mundane reality, he begins to see that every trial, every overlooked moment, is part of a larger design renowned for both its cruelty and its wonder.
May this retelling inspire further reflection on the nature of destiny, the struggle between hope and despair, and the endless possibility that even the slimmest thread of fortune can one day weave a destiny of extraordinary power.