Will

Meanwhile, at the Super Speciality Hospital, the attending doctor emerged from hours of surgery and treatment to meet the anxious family members. His face was tired but carried a hint of awe and joy.

"Master Tang is stable now and has passed the critical stage," he began, his voice steady but tinged with admiration. "He's recovering well, though he'll still need some support. In my career, I've treated a few martial artists, but even among them, it's rare—no, astonishing—to see someone sustain life under such severe injuries. His resilience is extraordinary."

A medical martial practitioner, licensed by the state, stepped forward next. His expression was serious, but his eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Who was the martial master who helped him before he arrived here? Whoever it was, their intervention was nothing short of miraculous. Without that person, Master Tang wouldn't have made it."

Tang Xuemei, standing nearby, felt her stomach drop. What are they talking about? She was sure no one had intervened—no one except that strange boy who'd been watching the sunrise. But he hadn't done anything… had he? As her panic settled, she remembered the boy was always in her blind spot.

A week later, Tang Xuemei sat by her grandfather's bedside in the recovery room. The old man looked frail but was regaining his strength day by day. She hesitated before bringing up the topic that had been gnawing at her.

"Grandpa," she began, fiddling with the edge of her sleeve, "do you remember that boy we met on the mountain? The one I thought was suspicious? I didn't have time to think about him then, but… something's been bothering me."

Her grandfather turned his head slightly, his sharp eyes focusing on her. "Go on."

"Well," she continued, "when you collapsed, the ambulance arrived almost immediately. But I checked later—it usually takes at least half an hour to reach that area. Which means someone called for help before you even fell. That boy… he must have called them. But how could he have known? Is he some kind of divination master or something?"

The old man chuckled weakly, then winced at the effort. "Xuemei, don't talk nonsense. There's only one divination master in the region, and he's a grandmaster who sacrifices his own lifespan to divine. Besides, I didn't sense any martial Qi fluctuations from that boy. He seemed… ordinary."

Xuemei frowned, her mind racing. "But Grandpa, the doctors said your internal bleeding stopped miraculously before they even treated you. Did you see him do anything? Did he… touch you or something?"

The old man's brow furrowed as he tried to recall. "I remember feeling my Qi spiral out of control. I thought it was the end. But then… there was a strange warmth, like a gentle hand steadying me. I assumed it was my imagination."

Xuemei's eyes widened. "He did come over to you, but I didn't see him do anything. I was too panicked. I'm sorry, Grandpa. I even tried to trace the person who called the ambulance, but there's no record of the call in the system. The operator swears he received one, though."

The old man sighed deeply, his gaze drifting to the window. "It seems we owe this stranger a life-saving grace, and we don't even know who he is or how to repay him. But he only seems around 15 or 16 years old?"

Xuemei clenched her fists, determination flashing in her eyes. "If he's out there, Grandpa, I'll find him. Whoever he is, he saved you. That's not something we can just let go."

The old man nodded slowly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Perhaps. But remember, Xuemei, not all debts can be repaid with gold or favors. Some are meant to remind us of the kindness in the world—even when it comes from the most unexpected places."

Xuemei didn't respond, but her mind was already racing. Who are you, really? And why did you save us?

...

Months slipped by like sand through an hourglass. Han Chen's life had settled into a rhythm of quiet cultivation and occasional updates from his father, Han Zhong. The news from the family business, however, was far from encouraging.

Han Zhong's voice had been tense during their last call. The main family's core businesses were floundering, their once-dominant products losing their edge in the market. Competitors were circling like vultures, picking apart their market share piece by piece. The company board, desperate for a lifeline, had proposed diversifying into new fields—specifically, the booming renewable energy sector.

Han Zhong had taken the lead, spearheading efforts to pivot the family business into solar panel manufacturing, battery storage systems, and electric vehicle charging infrastructure. Leveraging the company's expertise in materials engineering, he negotiated joint ventures with international renewable energy firms, bringing cutting-edge technology into their operations.

But the real challenge lay ahead. Han Zhong was now deep in talks with local governments, securing grants and easing initial investments to kickstart these ventures. If all went according to plan, the next phase would involve acquiring promising startups and expanding into export markets. The potential for profit was enormous, but Han Chen knew better than to celebrate prematurely.

The family's internal dynamics were a ticking time bomb. Hidden manipulations, subtle sabotages, and power struggles were inevitable. The main family would likely see this as an opportunity to tighten their grip—or worse, stage a full-scale takeover. Han Zhong's efforts were a gamble, and the stakes couldn't be higher.

While the family business teetered on the edge of transformation, Han Chen's cultivation had taken a dramatic leap forward. His human body training exercises had begun to integrate minor Dao laws, elevating his martial arts to a quasi-spiritual level. It was a subtle but profound shift, like a blade being tempered to its finest edge.

However, the lack of sufficient Qi and blood essence forced him to prioritize realm improvement over full body refinement. It was a calculated trade-off.

Three months after his encounter on the mountain, Han Chen felt a breakthrough approaching. The dark Jin Qi within him had grown purer, denser, until it thrummed like a coiled serpent ready to strike. He stood at the peak of his current realm, the boundary between stages trembling under the weight of his progress.

But Han Chen held back. He suppressed the breakthrough, letting the energy settle and stabilize. Rushing now would only lead to instability, and he couldn't afford any missteps.

As he exhaled, a faint smile touched his lips. The path ahead was still long, but he was closer than ever to transcending the limits of mortal martial arts. And with the family's business ventures hanging in the balance, he knew his strength would soon be needed—not just for himself, but for those who depended on him.

Han Chen spent those days honing his spirit like a blade against a whetstone. His mind buzzed with an immortal's awareness—vast, ancient, and frustratingly out of reach. It was like owning a dragon's hoard but only being able to carry a single coin. His soul, still too frail, couldn't channel that power fully.

Nights became a ritual of confronting his will. He'd sit beneath the stars, replaying memories of his past life's stumbles—the battles he'd fled, the choices that gnawed at him. Each regret became a puzzle. What if I'd stood my ground? What if I'd spoken up? Guided by his creed—longevity, justice, betterment—he rewrote those moments in his mind, stitching new endings like a tailor mending torn cloth.

"In silence and empty mind, letting my thoughts dissolve into stillness."

"Replay my past failures and imagine rewriting them, shaping strength from regret."

"Breathe deeply, visualizing cosmos, pulling the weight of the stars into my core, condensing it into golden energy."

"Extend my will outward like tendrils of silver, connecting to objects and moving them with thought."

"Sharpen my awareness to sense the faintest shifts of energy and unseen forces around me."

"Visualize threads linking my mind to others, gently plucking them to read emotions and thoughts. Grip an unyielding object and command it to change, enforcing your will upon its nature."

"Picture the rules of reality as runes before me, altering their form with focused intent."

"Refine my control, from lifting small objects to bending the elements of the world. With every breath and every act, strengthen my spirit until reality itself obeys my command."

"No storm nor shadow can break the will honed; face the future as an unyielding force."

This was a mysterious spirit will enhancement method, Han Chen deduced during his past life time. It was alchemy in a sense—transforming guilt into grit. At night under the stars when he practices this technique, he felt connected to his surrounding.

Due to his consciousness being extremely powerful, what others took a decade to achieve took a night for Han Chen. Yet the strangest change was a new awareness. Not sight, but a skin-level tingle, a meter-wide bubble where he felt the world's breath—the prickle of dew, the weight of shadows.

The sensation he was feeling is spirit 'will' extending its tendrils over surrounding. In the past even as an immortal emperor he didn't fully uncover the traits of consciousness. As everything was possible within his domain of law, he didn't have the need nor the thought of these methods. Due to the trait of his unique consciousness, the growth rate was very fast as he trained day by day.