Level Twenty
Time was the one thing that could not bear being counted.
When Ning Buhui returned from Hundred Mist Valley, the weather had only just begun to warm. By the time he finished reading the Soul Beast compendium for the seventh time in his quiet room, the wind outside the window had turned cool. The leaves on the nameless trees beside the training ground had yellowed, and whenever the wind blew, they rustled down to carpet the ground.
Seven months had passed.
His days were like grain run through a millstone, crushed into identical fragments, yet each grain distinct. He rose before dawn and trained his body for an hour, sweat running from his hair to his chin and dripping onto the bluestones of the training ground, where it vanished in the morning light. Breakfast was two flatbreads and a bowl of porridge. After eating, he entered the pagoda, where Soul Power hung thick as mist. He sat cross-legged and divided his spiritual power into three streams: one drew Soul Power into his body, one steadied his mind, and one examined his entire body. The three tasks ran in parallel, without interfering with one another. He sat like that for more than half the day.
He read in the afternoon, practiced Heart Separation Control in the evening, and entered the pagoda again at night. Occasionally, Bibi Dong came by. She never entered, only stood outside the window and watched for a while. Hu Liena sometimes brought him food, setting it down before leaving. Once, Yan insisted on dragging him to the sparring ground for a match. Ning Buhui didn't fight back, and Yan patted him on the shoulder and laughed for half an incense stick's time.
The days passed as Ning Buhui cultivated day after day, and just like that, seven months went by.
His Soul Power had also risen to level nineteen. In the blink of an eye, he had spent more than half a year in Spirit Hall, and he was almost seven.
Plenty of young disciples joined Spirit Hall at six, but not one had maintained this pace after level fifteen. Once, Zhou Qing and Wu Tie privately bet on when he would reach level twenty. Zhou Qing said one year; Wu Tie said a year and a half. In the end, both men lost to Ning Buhui. Neither had expected that the pagoda's threefold concentration of Soul Power, combined with Ning Buhui's reckless determination, could compress the time so much.
But the hurdle from level nineteen to level twenty was not easy to cross.
It was unlike ordinary cultivation, where steady, patient effort would naturally bring a rise in level. This was a minor bottleneck, like a river reaching a narrow passage: the water was still flowing, but the waves simply couldn't break through. Ning Buhui had been pushing against it for two days. He could feel the Soul Power inside him swelling almost to the point of overflowing. Every meditation session was like forcing water into an already full cup, yet it still fell just a fraction short of the rim.
Early that morning, he entered the pagoda to cultivate even earlier than usual.
The pagoda was as gray and hazy as ever. He had explored the first floor until he knew it better than his own quiet room. He walked to the very center and sat cross-legged, the five centers facing the heavens. The twin yin-yang fish swam slowly along the pagoda's inner walls like two tireless moths. Ning Buhui closed his eyes. Rather than rush to draw in Soul Power, he first slowed his breathing little by little. His spiritual power split into three streams as usual: one sank into his body, one covered its surface, and one spread toward the pagoda walls, ready to sense the flow of Soul Power inside at any moment.
After about half an incense stick's time in meditation, he sensed something unusual.
The Soul Power inside him was trembling gently, like the surface of water in a kettle beginning to quiver just before boiling. Soul Power washed over his meridians and bones again and again like the tide. He could clearly feel that his Soul Power had reached a certain threshold. Just a few more drops, and it would spill over the top of the dam.
From level fifteen to level nineteen would have taken anyone else at least two years. He had forced his way through it in a little over half a year. The pagoda's threefold concentration of Soul Power was there day and night, Whale Rubber body tempering had widened his meridians, and on top of that, he had poured almost every waking hour into cultivation. Sometimes even Hu Liena couldn't bear to watch, saying he cultivated "like his life didn't matter." Ning Buhui only smiled and rose early again the next day.
Now he emptied his mind and drew the final strand of Soul Power from the pagoda into his body. The warm current traveled up his spine, past his shoulder blades and into the back of his neck, then rushed straight to the crown of his head. There, it gently circled the baihui point, as though it had found an outlet. Ning Buhui made no deliberate effort to drive it, letting the Soul Power circulate on its own. Gradually, he heard an exceedingly faint sound, like a crack opening from the depths of a frozen lake in winter.
Then the crack suddenly burst open.
Soul Power surged through his entire body with a boom, like water finally spilling over the top of a dam. He trembled in the darkness, and a soft halo appeared over his skin. It was not bright, only a thin layer clinging to him like frost formed from moonlight. The phantom image of the Nine Hell Soul-Suppressing Pagoda flickered behind him. Beside it, the black and white fish swam rapidly, firmly suppressing the surging Soul Power and preventing it from running wild.
His meridians were stretched tight, but they did not hurt. The power spun faster and faster inside him, like wind sweeping through an empty valley and stirring up countless tiny points of light. At last, all the Soul Power that had been darting about abruptly drew inward and spread evenly throughout his body. The faint cracking sound in his ears vanished, and the world seemed to fall quiet with it.
He had broken through to level twenty.
Ning Buhui slowly opened his eyes. A lingering light still shone in them, his pupils startlingly bright in the gray haze. He parted his lips and slowly let out a long breath. As it left him, his whole body relaxed, and even his back slumped. He sat quietly for quite a while, waiting until the Soul Power throughout his body had completely settled before leaving the pagoda.
It had still been morning when he entered the pagoda to cultivate. Now the moon hung above the branches. He held out a hand and lightly traced the air with his fingertip in the moonlight. His Soul Power was considerably more robust than it had been during the day. Level twenty was still an unremarkable level on the Douluo Continent, but for a seven-year-old child, it was a height many people nearing adulthood might never reach.
Ning Buhui sat down at the table and poured himself a cup of water.
Over the past six months and more, he had hardly ever gone beyond Spirit Hall's gates. Aside from following Zhou Qing to the city's pharmacies twice to buy ointment for bruises, his movements had been confined to four places: the quiet room, the training ground, the library, and the side hall. He had never missed a meal, though, because without food he wouldn't have the strength to keep going. He fell asleep quickly because another full day of lessons awaited him the next day. Sometimes he woke in the middle of the night with both legs cramping so badly that he couldn't stand. He would bite the corner of his quilt and wait for the pain to pass, then roll over and go back to sleep. He ate more than anyone at all three meals and had shot up in height. Zhou Qing said Ning Buhui was like a little monster whose winding key was held by someone else, wound painfully tight every day and yet never putting a foot wrong.
But Ning Buhui knew he was nowhere near the point where he could relax. Level twenty meant he could absorb his Second Soul Ring.
After taking a sip of water, he rummaged through a drawer and brought out several sheets of paper. On them were the Soul Beasts he had been noting down as candidates over the past while. Some he had copied from the library's books, while others he had added from memories of his previous life. The Second Soul Ring was crucial to him. His Martial Soul was no ordinary Martial Soul. If he chose the right Soul Ring, the skills of both its yin and yang sides could come into their own. If he chose wrong, he would waste two skills for nothing.
His gaze swept back and forth across the pages. For his second ring, he had set his sights on an age of around six to seven thousand years. His first ring was already more than two thousand years old. If the second was too low, it would drag down the overall quality of his Soul Power; if it was too high, no matter how much his nine-year-old body had been strengthened, he would still have to consider the risk of absorbing it. His body had been tempered with Whale Rubber, and his Martial Soul had further strengthened it during this breakthrough to level twenty. Seven thousand years was the balance point between his safety threshold and his potential gains.
The names of several candidate Soul Beasts met his eyes: Bone-Corroding Spider, Crypt Bear, Black-Patterned Snake. Yet his gaze always came to rest on another name in the end.
Soul-Binding Vine.
Yes, the choice he favored for his Second Soul Ring was a plant Soul Beast. He had written the name down the first time he came across it in the illustrated Soul Beast compendium. It was a plant Soul Beast with both wood and dark attributes. After a hundred years, it grew exceptionally tough tendrils that could coil around and bind targets. A Soul-Binding Vine over a thousand years old could whip several vines out of the ground at once, constrict a target to death, and then feed on its Soul Power. It was not fierce, but it was extremely difficult to deal with. The vitality inherent in its wood attribute, paired with the death brought by its dark attribute, made it a choice that could not have been more suitable for Ning Buhui's Second Soul Ring.
He picked up his brush and drew a circle beside the words "Soul-Binding Vine."
Of course, he would still need to ask his teacher for help with its precise age and where to find it. He folded the papers, put out the lamp, and entered the pagoda again. Breakthrough or not, tonight's cultivation was not over. A foundation had to be tamped firm layer by layer, and a path had to be walked step by step. Level twenty was only another small step toward his ultimate goal.
The wind picked up outside. The paper window bulged gently in the breeze, as though someone outside had let out a sigh. Ning Buhui closed his eyes and sank back into cultivation. The gray mist inside the pagoda slowly closed around him, enveloping him in warm silence.
There were still two months until his seventh birthday. Beyond level twenty, the road was still very long. Some roads could not be seen by others, but he himself knew that not a single step had been taken in vain.