Who Let Him Cultivate？

Chapter 11: The Apprenticeship Ceremony

At the summit of Heavenly Gate Peak, within the hallowed confines of Xiantian Hall, Lu Yang stood with impeccable posture. He waited in respectful silence for his Master to arrive.

The hall was a sanctuary of cold, immaculate silence. Ribbons of incense smoke spiraled toward the vaulted ceiling, settling the mind into a state of profound tranquility.

Upon the central altar rested three solemn memorial tablets, honoring the Xiantian Daoist, the Guiyuan Heavenly Venerable, and the Hanhai Dao Lord.

Lu Yang knew these names well; they were the foundational pillars of the Dao Seeking Sect.

One hundred and twenty thousand years ago, the Xiantian Daoist emerged from a humble temple to establish his own lineage. At the time, he was but an ordinary cultivator. In the vast expanse of the Central Continent, there were easily eight to ten thousand others with his exact level of power. Naturally, the Dao Seeking Sect began as nothing more than a minor, unremarkable faction.

Then, one hundred thousand years ago, the world plunged into cataclysmic chaos. From the fires of this era, the Dao Seeking Sect produced an extraordinary anomaly. In terms of raw Cultivation talent, this man wouldn’t have cracked the top fifty of his generation. Yet, he possessed a razor-sharp mind, an unmatched charisma, unyielding loyalty, and the invisible, heavy blessing of Providence. He rode the bloody tides of the era to its absolute pinnacle, achieving a level of Cultivation that left his peers in the dust. He was crowned the Guiyuan Heavenly Venerable.

Under his reign, the Dao Seeking Sect exploded into prominence. During the sect’s twenty-thousand-year jubilee, he invited the four other supreme cultivators of the age and formally established the title of the “Five Great Immortal Sects”—a decree the world had no choice but to accept.

But eternity is a myth, and glory inevitably rusts. Fifty thousand years later, the sect’s power withered. The elder generation either reached the bitter end of their lifespans or perished violently, leaving the sect hollow. The younger disciples were a profound disappointment, creating a humiliating gap in succession. Whispers spread that the Dao Seeking Sect was about to be stripped of its title among the Five Great Immortal Sects.

Perhaps the sect truly was anchored by Providence. One day, while purging demons, the remaining elders pulled a child from the smoldering ruins of a destroyed city. To their shock, the boy possessed a heaven-defying, peerless aptitude for Cultivation. He advanced a thousand miles in a single day, shattering records to become the strongest Tribulation Transcendence expert of his era.

That child became the Hanhai Dao Lord, the architect of the sect’s grand revival, securing their supremacy for another fifty thousand years up to the present day.

“Eldest Senior Sister,” Lu Yang finally asked, tearing his gaze away from the tablets. He had been standing in the cavernous hall for half the day, and Yun Zhi was the only other living soul present. “Where is our Master?”

“Master is currently in Secluded Cultivation,” Yun Zhi replied, her voice a placid pool of ice. “He is at a critical juncture and cannot be disturbed. I shall accept you as a disciple on his behalf and personally oversee your Cultivation.”

She continued, her tone entirely devoid of inflection. “Before we begin, allow me to introduce our lineage. Master enforces very few rules. So long as you do not shatter the fundamental laws of morality, violate the natural order, or incite the wrath of the heavens and the hatred of the masses, he will not intervene.”

“However,” she added, her dark eyes locking onto his, “my standards are slightly higher than his. Where he turns a blind eye, I will act.”

“Master has four disciples in total. Above you are Second Senior Brother and Third Senior Sister. One currently resides in the Western Buddha Kingdom, the other in the Southern Demon Domain. They rarely return to the Sect. Meeting them is a difficult prospect.”

“Once your Cultivation bears fruit and you roam the world, you may cross paths with them. But for now…” Yun Zhi paused. With a flick of her wrist, she produced three stark, black-and-white ink-wash portraits and unrolled them in a neat row upon the altar. They depicted Lu Yang’s unseen Master, his Second Senior Brother, and his Third Senior Sister.

The figures in the portraits wore expressions of radiant, almost unsettling joy.

The Master possessed a mane of snow-white hair, yet his eyes lacked the murky film of old age; he looked like a transcendent immortal who treated the mortal realm as his personal playground.

Second Senior Brother bore a gentle, jade-like warmth, complete with sharp, sword-like eyebrows and eyes that held the stars.

Third Senior Sister was a vision of devastating allure, the kind of world-toppling beauty capable of drowning empires in blood.

“Master specifically noted that our lineage consists of five members,” Yun Zhi explained smoothly. “To have only the two of us present for your initiation would be far too desolate. Thus, he prepared these portraits to stand in their stead.”

Lu Yang looked at the living goddess standing beside him, and then at the lifelike, monochromatic faces staring joyously back at him from the altar. A profound, icy dread slithered down his spine.

The setup looked exactly like a memorial service for a lineage of heroic martyrs, leaving only him and his Senior Sister as the sole, tragic survivors.

Yun Zhi extended her pale hand, offering him three sticks of spiritual incense. “These are communion incenses. They transmit the desires of the heart. Offer three sticks to Master’s portrait to convey your utmost gratitude and reverence.”

Lu Yang ignited the incense and planted them firmly into the bronze burner resting before the Master’s smiling face. He dropped to his knees. “May the Ancestral Masters bear witness. Master above, please accept your disciple’s bow.”

Now it really feels like a funeral, Lu Yang thought, his stomach sinking.

As the grim ceremony concluded, Lu Yang hesitated, choosing his next words with extreme caution. “Senior Sister… I know this is a deeply disrespectful question, but… Master is actually still alive, right?”

Cold sweat slicked his palms. He was half-expecting Yun Zhi to flash a chilling smile and whisper, “Master perished long ago, but the Sect hides the truth. Now that you know, I must silence you.”

Instead, Yun Zhi tilted her head, a rare flicker of genuine bewilderment crossing her flawless features. “Of course he is alive.”

She smoothed her robes. “I reviewed your examination results from Word Transmission Peak. Your memorization of the human body’s acupoints and Meridians is flawless, and you can transcribe the foundational mental mantras without error. Your academic diligence is commendable.”

“Now, we begin your formal Cultivation.”

A thrill of pure adrenaline washed away Lu Yang’s morbid fears. A wide, earnest smile broke across his face. He leaned in, hanging onto her every word.

Finally. True Cultivation.

Yun Zhi looked down at him with an unreadable expression. “This is my first time teaching a disciple, and it is your first time being one. We will simply have to tolerate each other’s inexperience.”

“However, you need not worry. I have made exhaustive preparations for today.”

With a wave of her sleeve, Yun Zhi summoned a neat row of exquisite porcelain medicine vials, each bearing a distinct label. Lu Yang recognized the names of the Pills immediately, and his blood ran cold.

The White Bone Pill, a legendary elixir capable of dragging a soul back from the abyss and knitting flesh onto bare skeletal remains.

The Seven-Level Stupa Pill, a divine creation of the Western Buddha Kingdom designed to farm karmic merit; it was said that saving a life was greater than building a seven-story pagoda, and every time this pill was consumed, the Buddha Kingdom reaped the cosmic reward.

And finally, the Nine Revolutions Reincarnation Pill. A terrifying myth in the Cultivation world, born from the proverb: Endure nine cycles of death and rebirth to purchase a single life.

With an arsenal of medical miracles like this, Lu Yang would find it physically impossible to stay dead, no matter how violently he was killed.

“To cultivate Qi, one must first forge the vessel,” Yun Zhi stated matter-of-factly. “Since you lack any foundation in body refinement, we shall start from the absolute beginning.”

Yun Zhi casually reached out and tore a rift in the fabric of space. From her storage dimension, she extracted two colossal water vats. They slammed into the stone courtyard with a deafening, earth-shuddering THUD. The sheer acoustic weight of the impact made Lu Yang’s inner ear rebel. A profound sense of impending doom settled over him.

“Sword cultivators rely on two pillars: the sharpness of their sword intent, and the explosive power of their arms. Therefore, our primary objective is muscular conditioning. I will demonstrate this only once. Observe closely.”

Yun Zhi stepped lightly onto the rim of one of the vats, balancing on the millimeter-thin edge of the ceramic as if strolling across a paved courtyard. Then, she reached down and pinched the rim of the other vat with a single hand. With a casual flick of her wrist, she hoisted the multi-ton vessel into the air and released it. Before gravity could reclaim the massive object, her other hand snapped out, pinching the rim to arrest its fall, only to toss it upward again.

She juggled the colossal vat from hand to hand. Her movements were a terrifying display of absolute kinetic grace, as fluid as drifting clouds and flowing water.

From a purely theoretical standpoint, assuming one’s arms didn’t instantly detonate into a mist of blood and bone shrapnel, this was indeed an excellent way to build upper body strength.

“Achieving this baseline level of proficiency will suffice for now,” Yun Zhi said, setting the vat down without making a single sound.

Lu Yang swallowed hard, his throat suddenly bone-dry. He didn’t even need to touch the vat to gauge its mass. The thing was half the height of a grown man. It was voluminous enough to stuff him inside, pack it to the brim with wet soil, and bury him alive with room to spare.

To casually juggle a monolithic object like that wasn’t a training exercise; it was a one-way ticket to the afterlife.

Steeling his nerves, Lu Yang marched forward. He took a deep breath, braced his core, clamped his hand onto the rim, and pulled upward with explosive force.

The vat did not move a single millimeter.

Refusing to be defeated, he gripped the rim with both hands. He planted his feet, locked his jaw, and channeled every ounce of physical strength his mortal frame possessed. Veins bulged on his forehead.

Finally, the massive vat gave a reluctant, pathetic little wobble—a silent acknowledgment that Lu Yang had, at the very least, tried his absolute best.