Runes • Rifles • Reincarnation

209. Finally… Some Real Cultivating!

Shuang released a long, stagnant breath as Nano—his blood—returned to its natural circulation. A faint headache throbbed behind his eyes, the price of reversing his blood flow earlier. It was a necessary risk; if they didn’t force Nano to circulate backward during cultivation, they might inadvertently absorb the qi that formed Nano’s neurological network. If that happened, Nano wouldn’t merely be injured—he would die.He now needed to wait until his blood fully settled back into its proper rhythm, or he risked serious damage. Blood was meant to flow one way; reversing it was the sort of thing only suicidal lunatics or absolute necessities demanded. Fortunately, the strange boon they’d gained from their shared deaths—and Nano’s merging into their bloodstream—made such feats survivable.

They no longer needed blood or oxygen in the same way humans did. Or, at least, far less than normal. They could go without both for lengths impossible even for cultivators. It was entirely possible that his body—Nano included—was evolving into something unprecedented. Something more than human.

While he waited, he tested the stability rune. Running, jumping, diving, rolling across the clearing—he put his body through chaotic motion while keeping a pistol locked on a single point. No matter how he twisted or moved, his aim refused to waver. It felt like he’d been given a built-in tracking system. Strange at first, but undeniably useful.

“Hey, why are the runes on our souls too?” Jin Shu asked.

“So they can’t be wiped away. Even if we lose a limb, the runes will still exist.”

“Oh… smart.” Jin Shu paused. “Just… let’s not lose any limbs if we can help it.”

“No promises.”

“No… seriously.”

Shuang only shrugged and returned to the flat rock. His blood had finally settled, so it was time to continue.

The reversed flow caused less dizziness this time, though it still wasn’t pleasant. But staring into the infinite maze of twisting meridians inside his body remained as nauseating as ever. Regardless, he selected a new cluster centered in his chest and began forming the next rune.

This one was a callback to their original cultivation method—the life-giving rune. Now that heavenly interference no longer muddled his mind, he should finally retain full awareness of its effects without needing focused concentration. However, he wasn’t intending to use it in the same fashion. 

It took far longer than the previous engravings. Pain flared as the meridians resisted shaping themselves into the complex pattern. The rune had always felt unfinished, and inscribing it now only confirmed that theory.

By the time he completed the engraving, Shuang was drenched in sweat. Yet he couldn’t rest—the rune had to be filled with qi immediately or it would unravel entirely.

When he drew in the ambient qi, it didn’t form a gentle swirl like before. A miniature tornado manifested over his chest, whipping the clearing into a violent frenzy. Trees shuddered. Leaves spun into bladed projectiles, slicing through anything they struck. The air howled as if the world itself recoiled.

His chest glowed with burning, blistering heat as the swirling qi forced itself into the rune.

“Ugh… maybe this one was a mistake,” Shuang groaned, teeth clenched.

Dozens of brutal minutes passed before the storm finally died. The clearing lay in ruins—branches shredded, leaves strewn in tatters—except for the single untouched rock where Shuang now shakily traced a new tattoo on his chest.

The lines blurred and wavered, but the imperfection only gave the design a savage artistry. A slightly demonic skull took shape, beneath it blood-red letters scrawled as if written in real blood.

Life Comes From Death, it read, in English.

“That’s… uh… kinda morbid,” Jin Shu said, cringing at the sight.

Shuang didn’t reply. Their qi surged violently, climbing in a rapid, unstoppable ascent. It shot past the eighth stage, smashed through the ninth—and didn’t stop. It rammed against the barrier to the Spirit Realm with reckless force.

They weren’t prepared. If it broke through now, it could cripple their foundation permanently.

Shuang fought to suppress it, but it was like wrestling a maddened stallion—wild, furious, completely deaf to reason.

“Nano, need some help!”

“I’ll try absorbing it!”

Nano moved. His blood boiled—literally—as Nano devoured the excess qi. Shuang felt the blood in his veins grow heavier, denser, as Nano swelled with the absorbed energy. Something inside them was changing… dramatically.

Whether that change was a blessing or a disaster remained completely unknown.

***

Li Xue sat atop a windy, grass-covered hill, a translucent stone cupped in her hands. Her eyes were closed, her mind linked to the stone, but she could still hear Sun Mei’er’s voice behind her.

“The Wind Source Stone contains the purest wind qi—the wind element in its solid state,” Sun Mei’er explained. “But just feeling it won’t let you harness the element. You need to pour your soul into the stone and become one with the wind inside.”

“Okay? But… how exactly am I supposed to do that?” Li Xue asked.

Sun Mei’er shrugged, then remembered Li Xue couldn’t see her. “I have no idea. I’ve never used a source stone,” she admitted bluntly. “But! Being surrounded by wind should help. In theory.”

“Uh… okay!” Li Xue said, remarkably upbeat given the complete lack of actionable guidance.

She opened her eyes and stared at the stone with fierce intensity for several seconds. Then she popped her mouth open and tossed it in, swallowing it whole.

Sun Mei’er froze. Her mind went blank—no thoughts, only disbelief.

Before she could say a single word, Li Xue’s qi erupted outward. Raw wind elemental energy exploded from her body, whipping the hilltop with hurricane-force winds. Grass flattened, air screamed, and Sun Mei’er’s expression said everything she didn’t have time to verbalize:

This bitch is insane. I love it.

Nodding to herself, she thought that out of all Jin Shu’s little wives, this one was the most like her. Though, honestly, this little girl wasn’t even a fraction as beautiful as she was. Only Tian Li could rival even a sliver of her looks.

She was proud of her son. For someone who constantly whined about not wanting a harem, he was doing extremely well with all these little wives. If only he hadn’t thrown away that technique she’d painstakingly found for him. Such a powerful method—one even she envied—discarded like worthless trash. It still pained her to think about.

She sighed. He was always suppressing his true nature. Jin Shu was more like her than he could imagine—she’d made sure of it—but he hid from who he was meant to be. If he would just let go once, he’d see the beauty in the chaos. She was certain of it. But… he needed to find his own path—even if it was the wrong one. Watching him go down that path was tough, but that was what being a parent meant.

Turning her attention back to Li Xue’s absurd breakthrough attempt, she watched the wind tear across the hilltop in spiraling patterns. Shapes flickered in the roaring air—avian silhouettes, fleeting and impossible to fully discern.

A bird? A sign? An omen? She wasn’t sure.

But she could feel it.

Something was coming.

***

Biyu found the largest, most vibrant tree in the forest and settled cross-legged in its crown. Ever since fully awakening her life energy—the wood element—she’d felt a deep kinship with nature. That connection had only intensified after her bonding ceremony with the dryad queen. When she sat still in cultivation, she could hear the forest’s voice, every whisper and breath of its tiny inhabitants—though none existed yet within the hidden realm.

She made a mental note to ask Jin Shu about introducing some wildlife later. This place should feel alive. But first, she needed to push her cultivation as far as she could before their excursion south.

It was difficult without a proper spirit. She supposed she and her master had something in common now—a spirit that refused to be cultivated. Except in her case, she technically didn’t even have one.

Not yet, anyway.

“She'll come around eventually,” Biyu murmured to herself.

She shook her head, exhaled, and let her eyes drift shut. The rustling leaves around her began to speak—stories carried on trembling branches, tales whispered in a language only she could hear. She opened herself to those stories, drawing them in one by one. Each voice joined the others inside her, forming a soft, swelling chorus in her core.

Slowly, gently, her cultivation began to rise—no sudden leaps, just a steady trickle drawn from the living world around her. It wasn’t much without a spirit to anchor it, but it was progress.

And for now, that was enough.

***

Rolling up the hem of her robe, Tian Li lowered her feet over the ledge and let them sink into the warm water below. She watched the two children playing nearby with a soft, wistful smile—imagining, for a fleeting moment, that they were her own. Hers and Jin Shu’s.

The thought made her shudder. “Why am I thinking that? I like women. But… no! No buts!”

She blew out a tense breath, brow creasing. “Ugh! I don't know! It's all so complicated!”

A gentle hand settled on her shoulder. Tian Li glanced back and blinked in surprise—her master, Chen Ai Yun, stood behind her with that serene, knowing smile of hers.

“You know,” Chen Ai Yun said, “I went through something similar when I was around your age. Back then I was meant to marry Jin Shu’s father, but… I had a troublesome junior sister who kept professing her love for me.”

Tian Li stared. “What did you do?”

“I tried to marry him,” Chen Ai Yun admitted lightly. “But I just couldn’t. I had zero interest in any sort of relationship, honestly. Still… someone had wormed her way into my heart and refused to leave until she got her way.”

“So… do you think I should give in?” Tian Li asked tentatively.

Chen Ai Yun shook her head. “I think you should follow your heart.”

“I… I don’t know,” Tian Li said, voice small. “He already has Biyu and Li Xue, and I’m sure there will be more down the line. Will he really love all of us equally?”

“I can’t answer that,” Chen Ai Yun said gently. “But I can tell you my experience. Mei’er… she had lovers before me and after me—”

“After?!” Tian Li blurted.

Chen Ai Yun chuckled. “Yes, after. We have a sort of candid agreement. I don’t want to share her, but I know I can’t hold all of her affection—much as I’d like to. She’s too free-spirited to be kept by one person alone. A caged bird will never be as happy as one that can fly.”

“You’re saying… it’s better to share? Even if I don’t want to?”

“That’s only my experience,” Chen Ai Yun said with a small shrug. “Your path is yours alone.”

Tian Li’s gaze drifted back to the lapping waves, unfocused and troubled.

“Though…” her master added lightly, “it’s not all that bad for you, is it? Best of both worlds, no?”

Tian Li shot her a narrow side-eye.

“Sorry, sorry,” Chen Ai Yun laughed, lifting her hands. “I suppose spending so long with Mei’er has rubbed off on me.”

She squeezed Tian Li’s shoulder. “Think on it a bit more. You can decide after we return. I heard from Mei’er that Jin Shu is planning a wedding afterward.”

“That wasn’t a joke?” Tian Li asked, genuinely startled.

“She certainly didn’t take it as one,” Chen Ai Yun said. “She’s already preparing for it.”

“Hmm… I’ll think about it.” Tian Li hesitated. “But… can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Are you happy?”

Chen Ai Yun blinked once, then smiled softly—quiet, warm, and real. “Yes.”

“Good.” Tian Li nodded and sank back into her thoughts.