Cultivation: I Can Steal Lifespan from Spirit Beasts

His spirit roots had improved.

It was still a four-attribute root, far from genius territory, but the uptick in cultivation speed was noticeable. For Wang Ba, that was enough.

After several days of intense, uninterrupted training, a transmission talisman broke his concentration.

“Yu Changchun wants a meeting?”

Wang Ba’s eyes lit up. “He must have intel on the conscription.”

He didn’t waste a second. Cleaning himself up, he left the Spirit Water Courtyard and headed for the rendezvous point.

This time, the meeting wasn’t at the mountain gate but in a private room at a high-end teahouse in the market.

“The ‘Heart-Questioning Tea’ here has no flavor,” Yu Changchun said, his blurred face crinkling in a smile as he poured a cup. “But its true value lies in its ability to interrogate the mind and sweep away the dust of the soul. For a Qi Refining cultivator, the benefits are immense. Drink.”

Wang Ba looked at the clear liquid. It looked like tap water. If not for the faint sediment at the bottom, he would have thought he was being pranked.

He was skeptical. Yu Changchun was notoriously stingy. For him to spring for a private room in this expensive establishment was wildly out of character.

Still, Wang Ba kept his poker face and took a sip.

He tried to taste it. There was nothing.

Then, he shuddered.

A profound sensation slammed into his chest, bypassing his senses and striking directly at his heart. It was an interrogation—a barrage of doubts questioning his path, his choices, his very existence.

Wang Ba closed his eyes, letting the tea challenge him.

Are you a coward? Are you wasting your life? Is this path worth it?

Wang Ba’s Dao Heart remained immovable.

Yes, he had suffered. Yes, he had played the fool. But he had never betrayed his core survival instinct. He had never compromised his bottom line.

The doubts shattered against his resolve.

The interrogating force dissolved into a warm current that flowed up into his brow.

In an instant, nearly two hundred drops of Yin Spirit Power materialized within his Yin Spirit Abode.

Wang Ba’s eyes snapped open.

“Good tea! Incredible tea!”

One cup was worth a month of hard grinding and eating spirit turtles.

“It seems Fellow Daoist is truly a cultivation seed,” Yu Changchun laughed heartily, reaching up to stroke his beard—only to remember he had no beard, dropping his hand awkwardly.

“This tea tests the Dao Heart,” Yu explained. “If your heart is flawed, if you harbor deep doubts, the tea tastes like water. Only those with a firm, self-consistent path can taste its benefits.”

“Though, diminishing returns set in fast. After a few cups, it’s just water.”

Wang Ba nodded, realizing the gravity of the treat. “This must have cost a fortune. Fellow Daoist, you’ve spent too much.”

“Not at all. In fact, I’m riding your coattails.”

“Oh?”

“Remember that Black Crystal Peach Spirit Wine you brewed?” Yu Changchun leaned forward. “I gifted a bottle to a Martial Uncle in the Blood Bone Path. He loved it so much he gave me a VIP token for this teahouse. Do you have any more?”

Wang Ba was stunned. A Foundation Establishment cultivator—a Martial Uncle—had praised his homemade wine? That was unexpected.

He didn’t hesitate. Keeping one small jar for himself, he pulled out his last two remaining jars and placed them on the table.

Yu Changchun laughed. “I knew you were holding out on me!”

“This is truly the last of it,” Wang Ba said with a helpless shrug.

Yu Changchun cracked the seal immediately. He poured a splash of the pink liquid into a teacup and sipped it with reverent slowness. Even with his face blurred, his body language screamed pure bliss.

After a long silence, he sighed, resealed the jar, and stowed it away.

“The Blood Bone Path is fast,” Yu Changchun muttered, “but it sucks the joy out of life. Luckily, this old man has no interest in women. If those deviants from the ‘Joyous Life Path’ had to cultivate our way, they’d die of boredom.”

“Joyous Life Path?” Wang Ba’s ears perked up.

The Heavenly Gate Sect had twenty-four major Dao legacies, pieced together from conquests. Wang Ba knew little about them due to his outsider status.

Yu Changchun sneered. “They don’t need the Blood Bone Path. As long as there are men and women in the world, they have infinite ‘cultivation materials.’ Be careful, Fellow Daoist. Don’t let pretty faces lead you astray.”

Wang Ba thought of the alluring women in the Wood Tower Dwelling and nodded.

“Anyway,” Yu Changchun shifted gears to the main topic. “My Martial Uncle—the one who liked your wine—is overseeing the logistics for the conscription.”

Wang Ba held his breath.

“The date is set: Twenty days from now.”

“The target is the Mirror Moon Mansion in the Kingdom of Jiang.”

“Mirror Moon Mansion?” Wang Ba asked.

“A female-only sect. Their strongest elder just broke into the Golden Core realm. It’s a soft target.”

Yu Changchun paused. “The commander for this operation is the Chief Steward. You know him. He’s from your old sect.”

“Lu Yuansheng?”

Wang Ba’s mind flashed back to the night the Eastern Sage Sect fell—the black-robed traitor who had led the slaughter.

And he thought of another figure. Senior Brother Zhao…

He suppressed the urge to touch the bead hidden in his ribs.

“Where is Jiang? Why target a female sect?”

“Jiang is far. Even a Golden Core cultivator would need a decade to fly there,” Yu Changchun explained. “As for why… likely pressure from the Mysterious Maiden Path and the Joyous Life Path. They need female cultivators as resources.”

Mysterious Maiden Path… That name sounded familiar.

“Twenty days,” Wang Ba mused. “That aligns with next month’s teleportation window.”

He planned to visit a different market before the war started. The local supply was dry.

“I’ll ask my Martial Uncle to look out for you,” Yu Changchun promised, though Wang Ba knew better than to rely on it.

“Oh, and if you brew more of that wine… save it all for me. I have a use for it.”

Wang Ba immediately offered to write down the recipe.

“No,” Yu Changchun rejected it flatly. “I’m a loner. I don’t have the time or energy. Besides…” He stood up, looking out the window, his voice turning somber. “My ‘brothers’ in the sect are snakes. We maintain a facade, but I trust none of them. You, Wang Ba… I consider you a confidant.”

Wang Ba fell silent. For the first time, he felt a genuine connection with the monster in human skin.

In the days that followed, Wang Ba stuck to his routine: cultivate Qi, visualize the Yin Spirit, and deal with his backlog of customers.

These customers were rare breeds—Left-Path Cultivators who stubbornly clung to their orthodox cultivation methods rather than succumbing to the demonic paths.

Though few in number, they were skilled artisans.

One customer, a man named Gao, traded a Top Grade Wood Armor Talisman for a hundred chickens.

It was a steal. The Wood Armor Talisman was weak against fire but offered defense far superior to standard talismans against everything else.

Wang Ba accumulated a stockpile of artifacts, talismans, and pills. Most were useless to him, but perfect for his subordinates.

Shen Fu had finally broken through to Qi Refining Level 4.

Wang Ba called a meeting with his team: Shen Fu, Bu Chan, Su Lingling, and the quiet Yun Caixiang.

He distributed the loot. Middle-grade artifacts, high-grade talismans—a fortune for low-level cultivators.

“Senior Brother…” Shen Fu looked ashamed, holding a glowing sword. “I… I don’t have the face to accept this.”

He had already used Wang Ba’s resources to break through. Now he was taking handouts again?

“You already have no face,” Su Lingling quipped, inspecting a jade hairpin. “So hurry up and get strong enough to be useful.”

Shen Fu glared at her but stayed silent. He knew she was right.

Bu Chan and Su Lingling accepted their gifts without hesitation. They had worked the fields and maintained the spirit vein for years; they felt they had earned it.

Yun Caixiang took her share silently. She was the ghost of the group, always present but rarely heard.

Once the gifts were distributed, Wang Ba dropped the bomb.

“The Conscription is in twenty days.”

The room went cold.

They were weak. Qi Refining Level 3 or 4. In a sect war, they weren’t soldiers; they were cannon fodder. The survival rate was abysmal—nine deaths, one life.

Even the sharp-tongued Su Lingling looked pale.

Suddenly, the quiet Yun Caixiang spoke up.

“Senior Brother.”

Everyone turned.

“I heard a rumor from a cultivator who transferred from the Sword Billow Garrison,” she said softly. “In their market… someone is selling a Shield-Armored Giant-Headed Turtle.”

Wang Ba froze.

The final piece of the puzzle.