Global Cultivation

When you push open the peach-wood door, a warm breeze mixed with the scent of spiritual tea and sandalwood brushes against your face, shutting out the exhaust of the spiritual subway. The Guixu Tavern is quieter than expected—a spiritual lamp on the bar emits a soft amber glow, illuminating an entire row of glazed wine jars on the wooden shelves, which contain glowing spiritual fruits and herbs. An old-fashioned phonograph in the corner plays an unknown guqin melody, forming a wonderful harmony with the modern neon signs.

The woman in a plain qipao behind the bar looks up, her gaze behind narrow-framed glasses lingering on you for a moment. She reaches up to adjust the wooden hairpin in her bun—seemingly ordinary, but you have seen similar styles of magical treasures auctioned for seven figures in the news.

"A new face. First time at Guixu?" Her voice is unhurried, like chatting with an old friend. She takes out a clean glazed cup, pours in an amber liquid, and pushes it in front of you. "The rule of Guixu: since it's your first time, this drink is on me."

Before you can thank her, brisk footsteps approach from behind—a girl in a ponytail and sneakers jogs over carrying a tray, almost bumping into you. "Ah, sorry, sorry! Are you a new guest? I'm Xiaozhu!" She sets down the tray, smiling defenselessly. "Boss, can this guest register as a member? There's a double spirit stone bonus for the first top-up today!"

Shen Wuyou doesn't look up, only giving a soft "Mhm," but you see the corner of her mouth twitch upward almost imperceptibly.

Just then, the phone in your pocket vibrates.

You finally find the location marked by the navigation—an abandoned industrial area in the suburbs of Linhai. The air is filled with a mixture of rust and ozone, and faint glimmers of light occasionally emerge from the cracks in the concrete beneath your feet, traces of spiritual qi seeping out of the ground.

Then you see it: in the shadow of an abandoned warehouse, there is an almost invisible crack in the air—like a fracture on glass, its edges glowing with a faint blue light, with tiny streams of spiritual qi occasionally seeping out, as if someone had opened a small hole underwater. You reach out to touch it, but instinctively feel a sudden pang of dread.

"Don't touch it."

The voice comes from behind, low and crisp. You turn around to find a woman in modified martial arts attire and a leather jacket leaning against the wall. Her short brown hair is neat, and she holds an unlit cigarette between her fingers. Pinned to her waist is a badge—Zizaitian—along with a folding fan that doesn't look much like an ornament.

"That rift is unstable. If you don't want to be sucked into some ancient ruin, you'd better keep your distance." She straightens up, walks over, sizes you up for a moment, and then pulls a business card from her pocket to hand to you. There are only two lines on the card: "Zizaitian · Rogue Cultivator Mutual Aid Alliance" and her phone number.

"My name is Liu Ruyan." She pauses. "Are you looking for something to do? I've had my eye on that place for a long time—if you're interested, you can come find me. But let me warn you first: people with too much curiosity die quickly."

She finished speaking, turned, and vanished into the night, her footsteps as light as a cat's.

You look down at the card in your hand, and then at the faint blue rift—it trembles slightly, as if breathing.