Chapter 63: I Want It All

After carefully recording the changes in his body, Luo Ancestor documented the transformation of his Four-Nine Profound Arts, then summoned into the cave the anxious crowd waiting outside. The upheaval he had just caused was no small matter—it was intense, unlike anything that had ever happened before.

“Chief, are you alright?” Ironhead Child was the first to rush in, concern etched across his face.

“I’m fine,” Luo Ancestor replied lightly.

Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief. Then, they heard Luo Ancestor announce that he would teach them a new method of cultivation, to be promoted among all tribesmen. Moreover, every child aged three to eighteen would learn this set of techniques.

“Four-Nine Profound Arts?” Ironhead Child cradled the rudimentary book in his hands, gazing at the shamanic script on its pages, and muttered the name aloud.

“Pass it around first. Then, each of you should copy it for yourselves,” Luo Ancestor instructed.

The process of copying would deepen their understanding. Though everyone was sharp-minded with excellent memories, able to memorize the contents at a glance, recalling from memory and reading from the page were never quite the same. If any insights arose, they could jot them down in the book, which would help preserve them in their minds. Despite their prodigious memory, the amount of information they absorbed daily was considerable, and some memories would inevitably fade with time—they were human, after all, not afflicted with hyperthymesia, nor had they cultivated Yin or Yang spirits. All their memories resided in their brains, and with such longevity, forgetting was a natural mechanism.

Of course, anything truly important would be remembered for a lifetime after just one reading. The process of forgetting was slow for these prehistoric humans, perhaps due to differences in brain structure compared to their previous incarnations. Luo Ancestor, however, had not been a neurologist in his past life, nor had he enlightened every “Cave Dweller” in this one, so a detailed comparison was impossible.

No one questioned Luo Ancestor’s instructions; his word was law. If the chief told them to eat dirt, it would surely be for their own good—this was the prevailing consensus of the “Cave Dweller” tribe.

“Do any of you have questions?” After they finished reading the first transformation's cultivation method, Luo Ancestor offered.

“Chief, do we need to recite the incantation aloud while practicing?” Ironhead Child raised his hand.

Luo Ancestor shook his head. “Silently recite it in your heart.”

The first transformation’s incantation was not a secret spell but a practice method, written to accompany changes in posture—much like the rhythmic instructions for morning exercises: “Left hand, right hand, both rise together,” catchy and easy to remember. But later transformations would be different; this was only the fundamental method for the first transformation, designed to boost efficiency.

From the seventh transformation onward, the Four-Nine Profound Arts would reduce reliance on physical movements, transitioning into mental meditation to sense the spiritual energy of heaven and earth. If one’s sensitivity was lacking, innate abilities could assist.

“The first transformation is easy for you, but it’s much harder for the children in the tribe. Don’t teach them all the positions at once; proceed step by step. When they reach fourteen, then show them the full set,” Luo Ancestor instructed further.

Everyone responded in unison, understanding clearly. Luo Ancestor trusted their sense of discretion and their loyalty, but worried about mischievous children sneaking glances and causing trouble.

“Copy the first transformation now and distribute it to the others,” Luo Ancestor urged.

Thus, in a single day, the first transformation of the Four-Nine Profound Arts spread throughout the entire tribe, including the villagers at Tiger Head Village.

During this time, Luo Ancestor made another trip to the mountain where Chou Pheasant had been slain, scavenging the remains. Luck favored him; he found three pieces of flesh, the largest weighing ten pounds, totaling eighteen pounds together.

“The knife work is far from perfect—these cuts are neither neat nor even,” Luo Ancestor muttered as he gathered the flesh.

In the days that followed, aside from supervising the tribe’s progress in cultivation, Luo Ancestor roamed the mountains collecting “rubbish.”

Thus a year passed. Throughout this period, Luo Ancestor slowed the “time acceleration” inside his Pot Realm, maintaining it at thirty times the rate of the outside world.

The reason was his focus on studying the Four-Nine Profound Arts. Although the main method was written, its actual cultivation required repeated trials and adjustments.

Fortunately, he possessed the Pot Realm and the power of Creation Manipulation, skillfully combining them, which allowed him to avoid many pitfalls.

Over the year, he did not neglect his practice of Qi refinement. While enhancing the physical body was important, cultivation itself was paramount.

Naturally, bodily cultivation reciprocated as well, feeding back into spiritual progress, though for now, physical cultivation lagged behind Qi refinement.

Additionally, Luo Ancestor sought to integrate the Four-Nine Profound Arts for bodily cultivation with the Qi refinement method, striving for a balance of body and spirit.

He often pondered the similarity between physical transformation and the elevation of Qi refinement realms—both involved enhancing the self. Physical cultivation was the evolution of flesh and blood, while advanced Qi refinement shifted toward the soul.

The soul was elusive, existing on the mental plane, manifesting chiefly in thought and spirit. Yet the soul encompassed the body, for the soul arose from the brain—a part of flesh and blood—while the “spirit” originated in the body: bones, skin, organs, and meridians. Thus, physical cultivation was critical to Qi refinement.

Luo Ancestor had considered the concept of “body cultivation” from novels. But his deductions proved that pure body cultivation was not viable; one could not cultivate only the flesh and neglect the soul, nor vice versa. Doing so would hinder one’s progress.

After all, what defined a living being was self-awareness—knowing what one is.

Luo Ancestor speculated that, ultimately, cultivation was the mastery and synthesis of the world’s principles. If one had even greater ability, perhaps they could create new laws and truths.

But before mastering the existing laws, one had to strengthen oneself. It was not a matter of choosing body or Qi refinement, but pursuing both.

He desired both physical and spiritual mastery.

Of course, this was limited by Luo Ancestor’s current perspective. He was still a novice on the path of cultivation, with only “two and a half years” of experience. The road ahead was long, requiring him to explore step by step.

Though he was impatient, he had ample time.