In the ancestral world, cultivation was a delicate balance between spirit and body—the Spirit Dao refined the soul, while the Body Dao strengthened the vessel that carried it. The lower world leaned more heavily on the Body Dao, demanding raw physical strength and endurance. The concepts of spirit and soul were not as refined here, with most lacking any method to train the soul. Training the soul solely through sheer will and without resources was a long, arduous task that normal people in the lower world couldn't accomplish in their lifetimes. The lower world lacked something present in the upper and ancestral worlds, where even ordinary people could practice spirit cultivation to a certain level without needing specific resources.
Mu Yan closed his eyes, focusing inward. His mind reached out tentatively, seeking the channels of Qi—the spiritual energy that flowed through all living things. The sensation was faint, like a flickering candle struggling against the wind, but slowly and steadily getting stronger with each passing moment.
He recalled the black coin, now warm but silent on his left hand, humming softly with a strange power. "This coin... it saved me." His focus shifted to the coin on his right hand, similarly humming with a strange power.
"These coins, with all my ancestral world knowledge, I still cannot understand what they are. Could it be…?" He recalled reading about the mythical God World, a realm above the ancestral world where immortality was not a legend but a tangible reality, where gods existed, and the impossible became possible. "I must unearth the secrets of these coins. This will be my key to soaring to unprecedented heights and exacting my revenge."
He tried probing the coins with his spirit, but to no avail. He decided to try again tomorrow. Now, he just wanted to lie down and close his eyes. But before that, he had to bury Grandma Shi with proper honours. He started looking around for a small clay pot and found it beneath her cot, where Grandma used to keep a few dinars saved for unforgiving days. He found a total of twenty dinars, barely enough to suffice for burying her with new clothes, some ornaments, and lighting candles in prayer for her soul to journey smoothly to the afterlife.
He went out and informed the villagers of her passing. Soon, people left their homes and gathered for her final passing. Villagers like Old Man Hemlock, the village elder with a long white beard, offered quiet condolences. Elara, the kind baker's wife who always gave Mu Yan extra bread, brought a fresh loaf as an offering. They chanted and prayed for her soul, and she was laid to rest at the back of her small home, beneath a pine tree, side by side with her husband, so that they could meet again in the afterlife.
People consoled him, offering their help if he needed anything. He said his goodbyes and closed the door after the last person left. Then he lay down and closed his eyes. Soon, he was lost, only to open them to roaring sounds of battle drums and alien sounds, with battle clashes echoing. Mu Yan tried to focus, but soon he went under.