Chapter 141: A New Way To Cultivate Feng Zhan drove his head deeper into the cold floorboards and groveled. His forehead scraped raw, but he didn’t dare stop. Groveling was the only thing he knew how to do anymore. What else was there for someone like him? He could not cultivate. He could not fight. He could not even provide for himself without scraps thrown his way by pitying servants. At seventeen, when other disciples had long since stepped into the path of martial ascension, Feng Zhan was weaker than a mortal farmer. The sect physicians had declared him a hopeless case years ago. "Your meridians are crippled," they told him. "You were born without the channels to harness qi. There is no cure." And in the world of cultivation, weakness was death. He remembered those words with a shudder. Every day since then had been a slow grind of humiliation: mocked by peers, dismissed by elders, scorned by the girl he once admired. The sect had no tolerance for parasites. He was a burden at best, a laughingstock at worst. So when he had stumbled through a portal bathed in light, when a message had whispered to him that there was another way, a chance to grow stronger... he had taken it. He had taken it without hesitation. Now here he was, kneeling before a man whose very presence weighed on him heavier than the sect’s collective scorn ever had. "You can raise your head," a voice said, calm and commanding. Feng Zhan froze. He hadn’t expected permission so quickly. Slowly, he lifted his gaze. The man before him didn’t look like some ancient immortal or venerable sage. He wasn’t cloaked in ornate robes or dripping with talismans. He was... young. Not much older than Feng himself. But that made him even more terrifying. Long silver hair cascaded over broad shoulders, catching the dim light with an ethereal gleam. Crimson eyes regarded him with calm intensity, their depth more frightening than any elder’s glare. He was shirtless, but even bare, his body radiated strength, his muscles looked as if they were sculpted by the best artician. This man didn’t need ornaments to look like a young master. He was one, effortlessly. Feng Zhan’s lips trembled. "Y-yes...?" He should have been relieved. Instead, terror climbed his spine. Because though this world had no qi — he could feel it clearly now, none of the familiar threads that cultivators drew into their bodies but there was something else. It pressed down on his skin, filled his lungs, seeped into his very bones. He had felt faint traces of it before, in rare places where heaven and earth converged. But here, it was everywhere. And the man standing in front of him radiated that energy like a sun. It was suffocating. If this man wanted, he could erase Feng Zhan with a flick of his finger. Feng swallowed, dry-mouthed. "This is magic," the man explained. His voice was calm, assured, but there was weight in it. A flare of light blossomed in his palm. A flame — blue and ghostly. Feng instinctively recoiled, but then froze as the sensation hit him. There was no heat... only cold. Frigid winds licked across his skin from that small flame, biting deeper than winter’s frost. The hairs on his arms rose as a shiver raced down his spine. This... this was power. Feng’s breath hitched, eyes widening as he stared at the flame. ’If I had this kind of power... I could crush the sect. I could silence them all.’ The thought was poisonous, treacherous, but it slipped through his mind unbidden. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms, and tried not to let it show on his face. "You weren’t able to cultivate, were you?" The man’s words were quiet but sharp. Feng’s body locked up instantly. How did he know? Was he already considering discarding him? His throat bobbed as he forced the words out. "Y-yes, Master." The title slipped out too easily. Feng hated himself for it, but what else could he do? This man was his only hope. If he despised him, if he cast him aside... Feng would be nothing again. Azel narrowed his eyes. Inwardly, he winced. ’Master, huh? Damn, that feels wrong. For a man to call me that... Medusa does it far better.’ It was an uncomfortable feeling. But he kept his face calm. If he showed weakness, Feng might doubt him. And a doubting cultivator was a dangerous thing. If this boy fell into despair again, if he turned bitter too quickly... Azel might end up with a knife in his back. "I’m not going to throw you away," Azel said firmly. The effect was immediate. The rigid tension in Feng’s body melted. He sagged like a man reprieved from execution, relief flooding his pale features. His lips parted in a shaky exhale, as though he’d been holding his breath for hours. Azel watched him carefully, then allowed a small smile. "If that’s what you’re worried about, put it aside. I’m here to show you a new way to cultivate." Feng blinked, stunned. "A... new way?" "Yes." Azel’s gaze sharpened. He remembered the story of Feng Zhan’s original path. How the boy had crawled back to his chamber one night after yet another beating, body broken, spirit fractured. How he had collapsed in despair, clutching the only heirloom left from his disgraced family: a cracked jewel strung around his neck. That night, mana seeped out from the jewel, bathing his ruined body. For the first time, he absorbed something other than qi. His crippled meridians, useless for channeling spiritual energy, responded to this foreign current. He called it mana. It rejuvenated him, strengthened him. But it was a one-time blessing. Once the jewel’s reserves were drained, there was no other source. Not until he discovered that demonic cultivators’ twisted bodies generated corrupted mana. So Feng Zhan became a demon. Not out of choice, but necessity. To fuel his path, he slaughtered, consumed, and corrupted himself. That was the birth of the Demon of Annihilation. Azel’s jaw tightened. But this wasn’t that world. Here, mana flowed in the air like water. A resource not scarce, but abundant. You could find it anywhere. What had driven Feng Zhan to madness in his world could become his salvation here. "Yes," Azel repeated, softer this time. "A new way to cultivate. One that doesn’t rely on qi at all." Feng leaned forward, trembling with cautious hope. "You mean...?" "I call it Magic Cultivation." The words rang in Feng’s ears like divine decree. His breath quickened. "You can feel it, can’t you?" Azel gestured to the space around them. "The energy in the air. It’s stronger than qi ever was." Feng nodded furiously. "Yes. Yes, I feel it!" His voice cracked, desperation mingling with awe. "Good." Azel’s lips curved upward. "That’s your new path. Magic Cultivation. You don’t need crippled meridians to use it. You only need will." "A new way to cultivate..." he whispered. "Yes." Azel’s voice cut through his thoughts. "You can start right now." Feng’s eyes snapped to his face, burning with anticipation. "Tell me. Please, Master. Tell me how." Azel raised his hand, the blue flame still flickering in his palm. Its cold glow danced across the walls, casting long shadows that seemed to breathe with anticipation. "You can sense the energy in the air all around you, right?" "Yes!" Feng nodded, his voice almost frantic. "Yes, I feel it — everywhere!" Azel smiled faintly. "Then it’s simple. Suck it into your dantian."