Monsters also need to cultivate immortality scientifically (3): Previous: The God of War’s Sunset Red Move

Chu Feng sensed the fluctuations of spiritual energy around Si Qi, a flicker of delight crossing his face. He extended his own spiritual sense to examine the state of Si Qi’s cultivation and was immediately awed by the sheer, unrestrained speed of his progress.  

If ordinary cultivators were like people scooping water from the world with bowls, basins, or jars—taking only what they could hold—  

Then Chu Feng’s cultivation was like standing beneath an endless ocean, its waters rushing toward him, bending effortlessly to his will.  

As for Si Qi? He, too, had an ocean—but its waves were too violent, too tempestuous, threatening at any moment to drown him where he stood.  

So Si Qi built himself a dam.  

He confined the raging sea within strict boundaries, then opened the floodgates, directing the torrents along meticulously planned channels. The waters roared forward in staggering volumes, yet not a drop spilled beyond its designated path.  

Better still, his design was so flawless it required no further management. Even as the deluge poured forth, Si Qi didn’t need to guide it—the currents obediently delivered themselves straight to his dantian, ready to be absorbed.  

Despite having witnessed countless geniuses over his long life, Chu Feng was utterly spellbound. From the depths of his heart, he murmured, “Your talent is no less than this master’s.”  

Si Qi preened, wrinkling his nose in a way that would’ve seemed arrogant on anyone else—but on him, it was pure, endearing smugness.  

After carefully assessing the energy flow, he grabbed his brush and scribbled more calculations. “What if we adjusted the pathway like this?” he asked Chu Feng. “Wouldn’t it be faster?”  

Chu Feng didn’t dismiss his disciple’s “childish whims,” nor did he scold him for daring to modify cultivation techniques the moment he’d learned them. Instead, he leaned in, studying the proposal with utmost seriousness.  

Running the revised path in his mind, he realized it might actually work. Not daring to let Si Qi test it firsthand, he experimented with a minor cycle in his own body—and soon gasped. “It does work. In fact, it’s even more efficient.”  

The improvement wasn’t earth-shattering—perhaps a 1% reduction in time, a 3% boost in potency—but it was undeniably there. Subtle, yet real.

Over time, these small gains would accumulate into something monumental—a towering peak built grain by grain.  

It was worth remembering that this cultivation technique had been passed down through Lingxiao Sect for millennia, refined and revised by generations of masters before settling into its current form.  

Most cultivators wouldn’t dare alter a single character, let alone the entire structure. Yet here was Si Qi, identifying flaws and proposing superior alternatives on his first attempt.  

Chu Feng’s gaze held even deeper admiration.  

“This master has always believed destiny matters little—what truly counts is the individual.”  

Cultivators preached overcoming heaven’s will, defying the natural order—yet clung to heavenly-mandated fate as absolute truth.  

No one despised this hypocrisy more than Chu Feng.  

And no one had benefited—or suffered—from it more than him.  

Taking Si Qi as his disciple had been, in part, a rebuke to that dogma—a living proof that destiny could be defied.  

Si Qi grinned cheekily. “It’s all thanks to your guidance—your patience, your protection. Anyone else would’ve let me die ten times over before I figured this out.”  

“So this achievement is as much yours as mine. Once I perfect the method, you’ll be the first to learn it.” He met Chu Feng’s eyes solemnly. “What’s yours is mine, and mine will be yours.”  

Chu Feng didn’t find this presumptuous, nor was he ashamed to learn from his disciple. His smile deepened as he ruffled Si Qi’s hair, replenishing the faint traces of fortune he’d earlier given him. “This master appreciates your filial piety.”  

Si Qi, forced into filial piety: “…………”  

He’d never once properly addressed Chu Feng as “Master” or called himself “disciple,” always speaking with casual irreverence. Yet Chu Feng seemed oblivious, dismissing his attitude as mere demonic beast artlessness—never once correcting him.

Having mastered the foundational technique, there was still much more to learn.  

Chu Feng retrieved the jade slips he had prepared in advance and said to Si Qi, “Then this master will teach you some basic techniques. First, the most fundamental skill—condensing qi into water.”  

As a metal-element sword cultivator, Chu Feng believed in “overcoming all techniques with sheer force” and had always disdained spellcraft. But now, to properly instruct this disciple who might encounter problems at every turn, he had willingly studied numerous techniques himself, mastering them thoroughly before teaching.  

Patiently, he explained, “Qi is formless and colorless, yet it contains the essence of all things in existence. Carefully sense the water within the spiritual energy and gather it together…”  

Realizing this step might be too abstract—and knowing that many with poor fortune could be stuck here for months, struggling to grasp that elusive feeling—Chu Feng added encouragingly, “If you believe it exists, then it must exist. For those with good talent, a week may suffice. This master believes that with your aptitude, a single day will be enough.”  

Si Qi nodded. “I’ll give it a try.”  

With that, he raised his palm, fingers curling slightly as if holding something invisible.  

Then he opened his hand—and a crystal-clear droplet of water appeared in his palm. It grew larger and larger, gathering into a shimmering orb that hovered mid-air.  

Chu Feng, who had just said not to rush and that even a day would be impressive: “…………”  

Now he finally understood how others felt when they called him a genius.  

He couldn’t help but want to praise Si Qi as one.  

Delighted by Chu Feng’s undisguised admiration, Si Qi laughed. “Of course there’s water in the air!”  

H₂O—how hard could it be?  

He was, after all, a man who came from a world of science.

Of course, he would cultivate using scientific methods!  

Seeing how effortlessly talented his disciple was, Chu Feng realized that much of what he had painstakingly studied these past days might be unnecessary.  

For cultivators, the ability to transform water into vapor or ice was often the dividing line between mediocrity and mastery in spellcraft. Chu Feng had spent considerable time researching this very topic, determined to ensure his disciple mastered it so his future potential wouldn’t be limited.  

But before he could even introduce the concept, the water orb in Si Qi’s palm suddenly shrank at a visible rate. Wisps of hot, white steam rose from just half a meter above his hand, filling the quiet chamber with warmth and humidity.  

Then, in the next instant, the temperature in the air plummeted. Blue-white ice crystals first turned into snowflakes, then condensed into a sphere, before rapidly compressing into the shape of a dart—whoosh!—flying straight out of the room.  

Chu Feng, who had witnessed the entire process: “………………”  

He realized he had still underestimated the world.  

There will always be someone better—that saying truly wasn’t just empty words.  

Though Si Qi was still weak now, just as he had claimed earlier, he would undoubtedly grow to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Chu Feng one day.  

Si Qi, as if he had just completed some trivial experiment, completely unaware of the extraordinary feat he had just performed, lowered his hand and asked Chu Feng, “Do you think the techniques and spells of the cultivation world can be automated like cultivation mantras, following specific pathways to form on their own?”  

Chu Feng didn’t quite understand, but he fully grasped his role as a master now. He realized that trying to “teach” Si Qi would only slow him down, so he simply said, “This master isn’t certain, but I believe my disciple can figure it out.”  

A pleased smile spread across Si Qi’s face. “Of course I can.”  

He loved this feeling—of Chu Feng unconditionally believing in him, trusting him without reservation.

This put him in an exceptionally good mood.  

Si Qi had played countless online games and even developed many himself. Right now, he was treating himself like a game character to be cultivated.  

In games, characters could improve their strength through idle automation—and that was exactly what Si Qi was doing now.  

In games, pressing a single key would trigger complex calculations behind the scenes, executing various skills seamlessly from the character’s body.  

Si Qi’s task was to deconstruct cultivation techniques into algorithms and integrate them into his body’s “program.” That way, with just a trigger, intricate spells and techniques would activate effortlessly—far faster than other cultivators could manage.  

And best of all, he wouldn’t have to worry about qi deviation or Heavenly Dao’s interference.  

But alas…  

The vision was grand, the reality… less so.  

Seven days later, confident he had mastered all techniques, Si Qi stood atop a mountain peak, facing Chu Feng.  

In his hand was a radiant sword, and his body was adorned with countless rare treasures and supreme-grade artifacts gifted by Chu Feng. Bathed in mountain winds, his robes fluttering, he looked every bit the part of—  

An outrageously wealthy young master.  

Then, mimicking Chu Feng’s stance, he swung his sword for the first time—ready to showcase his extraordinary swordsmanship.  

But the blade slipped from his grip like a loach, arcing gracefully through the air before—thunk!—embedding itself perfectly into the ground right between his feet, slicing off two strands of hair under the protection of his defensive artifacts.  

Chu Feng: “…………”  

Si Qi: “…………”  

Silence. Wind howled dramatically.  

After an awkward pause, the former Sword Saint of the World coughed, walked over to retrieve the sword—  

And promptly tripped flat on his face.

Chu Feng: “…………”  

Si Qi: “…………”  

Si Qi pretended nothing had happened, slowly got up, and picked up the sword for a closer look.  

Good heavens—he actually chipped a Golden Core-grade spiritual sword on a rock!  

Just as he lifted it to inspect the damage, muttering about how absurd this was—snap!—the sword shattered in his hand.  

Chu Feng: “…………”  

Si Qi: “…………”  

Si Qi looked up with a deadpan expression. “If we keep staring at each other in silence like this, does it count as padding the word count?”  

Chu Feng coughed lightly, walked over, and knelt to examine the scrapes on Si Qi’s knees. He didn’t question why a defensive robe—one that could withstand attacks from Mahayana-stage cultivators—had somehow allowed Si Qi to skin his knees just by tripping.  

If anything, he had to be grateful Si Qi was wearing it—otherwise, it wouldn’t just be a scrape, but a broken bone.  

Under the guise of treating his disciple’s wounds, Chu Feng covertly transferred some of his own fortune to Si Qi. These days, he’d been finding all sorts of excuses to touch his disciple, so even kneeling to apply medicine didn’t strike either of them as odd.  

“It was just an accident,” Chu Feng reassured him. “Next time will be different.”  

He always said things like this to encourage Si Qi.  

Unaware of the reason behind it, Si Qi only felt that every time Chu Feng touched or encouraged him, his spirits lifted remarkably.  

Must be the power of love.  

Gazing at his ever-patient beloved, Si Qi nodded, pulled down his rolled-up pant leg, gripped his newly replaced sword, and—recalling Chu Feng’s teachings—swung it once more.

Si Qi: “Hah!”  

Chu Feng, tilting his head up to watch the sword soar off the cliff again: “………………”  

He raised his right hand, fingers subtly guiding the blade back, and encouraged, “Once more.”  

Si Qi focused and tried again.  

“Hah!”  

Chu Feng swiftly intercepted the sword mid-air—just before it could complete its 180-degree arc and decapitate his only disciple.  

Si Qi: “…”  

Chu Feng: “…”  

Chu Feng took a deep breath.  

He decisively abandoned any hope of his disciple inheriting his swordsmanship legacy and suggested instead: “Your spellcasting is remarkably fluid, faster than most—a clear advantage. Perhaps you should forgo the sword path and become a spellcaster.”  

Si Qi wasn’t one to dwell on setbacks. If swords didn’t suit him, he had other paths. He nodded. “Agreed.”  

Chu Feng retrieved a stack of talisman paper from his storage pouch, infused them with spiritual energy, and sent them floating mid-air. “Start with the basics—cast spells to strike these sheets.”  

He then set the talismans in motion—first slow, then accelerating, occasionally teleporting them or amplifying their spiritual energy to test Si Qi’s reflexes and precision, teaching him to gauge the right force for different foes.  

Knowing Si Qi’s rapid learning pace, Chu Feng mentally braced himself to keep up with his disciple’s progress.  

His expectations, however, were quickly humbled.  

Si Qi stood rooted in place, earnestly conjuring ice spikes to shoot at the talismans—like a child pelting snowballs in a blizzard.

Even children throwing snowballs might hit three out of ten, but Si Qi—like a master of human body scanning—put on a dazzling display of what could only be called “sunset marksmanship,” flinging spells into the void with astonishing inaccuracy.  

At this rate, he might as well invent an auto-aiming rifle! Si Qi thought, thoroughly exasperated.  

“……” Chu Feng stared at the untouched talismans still floating in the air, then at Si Qi, who was panting from exhaustion.  

Silence.  

He could only tactfully suggest, “Perhaps combat isn’t your calling.”  

Telling a swordsman he was unsuited for the sword, and a spellcaster he was unsuited for battle—  

Such was Chu Feng’s version of tact.  

Si Qi: Fatally wounded.  

With forced composure, Si Qi deadpanned, “I think my performance was… acceptable.”  

Chu Feng seriously considered it before rating: “One point.” (Because he tried hard—one point for effort.)  

Si Qi: “……”  

Eyes brimming with tears, Si Qi whispered, “I can really score that high? I don’t have to lie to myself anymore?”  

Chu Feng: “……” So you were aware.  

“No one is perfect,” Chu Feng consoled.  

He wanted to use himself as an example—to say that even he had one or two weaknesses.  

But after careful, exhaustive deliberation, he couldn’t think of a single thing he wasn’t good at.  

This led to a moment of self-reproach: As a master, failing to provide even this basic comfort—how irresponsible. Blame his perfection.  

Instead, he offered: “The cultivation world is vast. You need not walk the path of battle.”

Yet for all cultivators, martial prowess is the foundation of their survival. In a world where the strong prey on the weak, the powerless can only be exploited and plundered. Moreover, with Si Qi’s abysmal luck—not only unable to stumble upon fortuitous encounters but also likely to become a “fortuitous encounter” for others due to his dazzling array of treasures—his situation was precarious.  

Chu Feng said, “Talisman crafting, alchemy, or formation mastery—all are excellent paths. Which interests you?”  

Si Qi replied eagerly, “Children choose. I want them all!”  

Chu Feng: “Biting off more than you can chew leads to indigestion.”  

Si Qi: “I have a strong stomach.”  

Chu Feng: “Then let’s try them one by one.”  

There was a trace of concern in his voice.  

Unlike cultivation, where effort reliably yields progress, alchemy and talisman-making demand innate talent. Even a century of grinding practice might pale next to the effortless brilliance of a naturally gifted practitioner.  

Take Chu Feng, for example.  

When renowned alchemy masters were young, they might succeed twice out of three attempts, producing at least three high-grade pills per batch—a respectable achievement.  

But when Chu Feng, a complete novice, tried his hand at it? Unless the recipe was outright absurd, every single attempt would succeed, with each pill at least high-grade.  

This, understandably, infuriated seasoned alchemists, who nearly screamed “Get the hell out!” at him—resenting how he effortlessly achieved perfection without their decades of toil or passion for the craft.  

Chu Feng hadn’t done it on purpose.  

Given the choice between failure and success, of course he’d choose success.  

His alchemy wasn’t careless—he prepared meticulously, investing genuine effort. Yet somehow, everything just… worked.

Why was it that when others succeeded, it was attributed to talent and brilliance—but when he succeeded, it was dismissed as mere destiny, even sparking jealousy and resentment?  

Faced with this pattern one too many times, Chu Feng ultimately devoted himself entirely to the path of the sword—a discipline where strength was undeniable, weakness unmistakable. No amount of innate talent could compensate for laziness, and raw potential alone would never reach the pinnacle. Here, true mastery was unfeigned, impossible to fake.  

Only then did the whispers fade, sparing him the irritation.  

…Which only proved how luck-dependent alchemy truly was.  

Especially in the cultivation world. An unopened cauldron of pills was like Schrödinger’s cat—until the lid was lifted, no one knew whether the batch had succeeded or failed, or the quality of the results.  

Si Qi followed Chu Feng’s steps meticulously, replicating every detail. Same ingredients, same furnace model, even the timing was flawless. Yet while Chu Feng’s cauldron brimmed with radiant, fragrant pills, Si Qi’s yielded only a charred, stinking mess.  

Heavenly Dao declared: You shall not pass.  

Si Qi studied the starkly contrasting cauldrons and insisted, “I can do this!”  

Chu Feng: “What is your plan, disciple?”  

Si Qi, dead serious: “Pill failures aren’t my fault! It’s the subpar ingredients, imperfect heat control, and inferior furnace quality!”  

Chu Feng glanced at his own cauldron—filled with perfect pills despite the “subpar ingredients, imperfect heat control, and inferior furnace”—and forced a nod. “Indeed…”  

…Sure.  

Inside Si Qi, the flame of scientific inquiry burned fiercely.  

Who says researchers can’t fight?  

Who do you think invented guns and cannons?

Swordsmen? Spellcasters? Brute-force warriors?  

None of them—it was the research masters, those who “couldn’t lift a sword or shoulder a burden,” who painstakingly developed them piece by piece.  

Encountering a problem meant solving it. Si Qi earnestly pointed out the crude flaws in current alchemy methods:  

“The ingredients aren’t purified or extracted before being tossed in—how many variables do those extra components introduce?!”  

“The furnace temperature is manually controlled? When you say ‘high heat for smelting’ or ‘low heat for refinement,’ are we talking thousands of degrees or hundreds? At the very least, precision to single digits is mandatory!”  

“And this furnace design—the same shape for Foundation Establishment Pills, Fasting Pills, and Shapeshifting Pills? Even science labs use differently colored bottles for potassium permanganate and sulfuric acid! Is this a washing machine where you throw in clothes, quilts, and everything else?!”  

Chu Feng: “……” He didn’t understand a word, but he must be right.  

Chu Feng—a master who blindly trusted his genius disciple.  

Si Qi: “No, my OCD is acting up. I can’t tolerate such primitive research conditions.”  

Chu Feng: “Re… search?”  

Si Qi wheedled: “You’ll help me, won’t you? Gather materials—twenty samples of each for controlled experiments.”  

“Look at this recipe—why this herb? What component are we after? The elements in its roots or the sap in its leaves? Only experiments can tell.”  

“And this furnace? Pathetic. At minimum, we need a constant-temperature induction cooker—one-degree increments, timer function, fully automated alchemy…”  

Chu Feng listened in a daze, comprehending little but recognizing a plea for assistance. “This master will procure what you need.”  

Si Qi’s mind raced with research plans, his excitement palpable as he nodded eagerly, urging Chu Feng to hurry.  

And Chu Feng did hurry.

Facing the bitter, strained smile of the Medicine Hall’s master, Chu Feng left behind a pile of spirit stones and looted two-thirds of the hall’s inventory, explaining simply:  

“My disciple wishes to refine pills.”  

The hall master’s heart screamed “I don’t want pills—I want to curse your ancestors!”  

Just a month ago, this master-disciple pair had swindled a heap of top-grade elixirs from him. Now, after barely giving up on cultivation (finally no longer wreaking havoc), the disciple had suddenly pivoted to alchemy—the side hustle of all things.  

If he wanted to dabble in pill-making, fine. Lingxiao Sect was wealthy enough to indulge its disciples’ hobbies.  

But since when did a beginner need to plunder over half the sect’s medicinal reserves?!  

By now, everyone knew: whatever entered the hands of Chu Feng’s disciple was as good as wasted—a bottomless money pit with zero returns.  

Other disciples risked life and limb on missions for years to earn a single precious herb, yet this guy could clear out the entire stockpile with one word.  

How could anyone not resent him?  

The hatred was real.  

When the Sect Leader heard the news, he could no longer stay seated.  

First, it was elixirs. Now, it was pill refining. In just one month, this disciple had stirred up endless trouble. If not for Chu Feng’s face, he’d have been kicked out on day one—slapped into the horizon.  

Get lost—preferably to another continent!  

When the Sect Leader arrived, the pair were in the courtyard, processing herbs.  

The sight of rare spiritual plants shredded, juiced, and ground into powder made his heart bleed.  

Such wanton waste!!!

He landed steadily on the open ground, strode forward without sparing Si Qi a glance, and said to Chu Feng, “This disciple is the shame of our sect! Immortal Venerable, you must reconsider—do not let him deceive you further!”  

Si Qi looked up, baffled—what had he even done to deserve being called the “shame of the sect”?  

Chu Feng’s expression darkened, his eyes simmering with restrained anger.  

Seeing this, the Sect Leader’s heart sank. He wasn’t acting out of selfishness but for the sect’s sake. He didn’t want to offend Chu Feng.  

Suppressing his frustration, he compromised: “Then let us test his aptitude. Since he’s attempting alchemy, let’s see how this batch turns out. If he fails to produce even a single pill within seven days, it proves his lack of talent. At that point, Immortal Venerable, you may return the herbs and reclaim the spirit stones. How does that sound?”  

Chu Feng didn’t reply, but his hand gently stroked Si Qi’s head in reassurance, transferring a stream of fortune to shield him from being branded “incompetent.”  

“My disciple will succeed.”  

The Sect Leader inwardly scoffed. A swordsman teaching a novice—who hadn’t even mastered Qi absorption—how to refine pills? What kind of joke was this?  

But he didn’t argue. Instead, he took out a meditation cushion, sat cross-legged, and prepared to witness the impending disaster—and the waste of his precious resources.  

He watched as Si Qi gave him a faint smile and calmly resumed his bizarre herb processing.  

The disciple dissected priceless ingredients into dozens of strange categories, then mixed and matched them in ways that made no sense—like a chef haphazardly prepping ingredients for a dish he’d never cooked.  

Though the Sect Leader wasn’t an alchemist, even he knew the basics. Seeing such reckless handling was like watching someone set a treasure pile on fire—agonizing.  

Just endure it, he told himself. One day, this nuisance would be gone.  

The morning passed quickly.  

Si Qi scribbled notes on paper, analyzed the materials, then set up twenty furnaces in front of him—as if planning to refine twenty batches at once.  

The Sect Leader nearly choked.  

Spoiled brat!!!  

Even renowned alchemy grandmasters wouldn’t dare handle so many furnaces simultaneously. How dare he squander resources like this?!  

He shot Chu Feng a pointed look—See now what kind of disciple you’ve taken in?  

But all he met was Chu Feng’s serene gaze, brimming with indulgence toward Si Qi.  

The Immortal Venerable even dabbed a silk handkerchief at his disciple’s sweatless brow, tucked away stray strands of hair, and—when his fingers accidentally brushed Si Qi’s cheek—withdrew them with deliberate slowness.  

The Sect Leader was seething, on the verge of losing his mind.  

This damned seducer!! How dare he use his looks to beguile his master?!  

Finally, Si Qi double-checked the furnaces and materials, eager as a child with a new toy.  

“Everything’s ready—let the experiments begin!”