Lesson 104: Study (Part Two)

In the dark gray desert, a peculiar black vehicle moved slowly along. It was odd because it resembled both a carriage and a boat: its upper half looked like a box-shaped carriage, while the lower half was fashioned like two half-hulled boats. Yet, the most remarkable thing about this contraption was not its appearance but the fact that, without any beasts of burden to drive it, it could still move forward, leaving two deep “boat tracks” in the gray sands.

The “car-boat” advanced in silence, crawling at a snail’s pace. From time to time, it would halt and rest for a few minutes before resuming its journey. Sometimes, after a pause, it continued straight ahead; other times, it would adjust its direction before moving on. Despite its slowness, the one driving it was already drenched in sweat.

Inside the black “vehicle,” the cabin was empty save for three finely woven plant fiber cushions on the floor. Teresa and her two alchemical familiars each occupied one. All three—one human and two familiars—sat with their eyes closed. The little wolf wore a look of blissful slumber; the little hawk appeared calm yet alert. Only Teresa’s face was pale and slick with sweat.

A closer look would reveal Teresa’s hands, pressed tightly against her knees, clenched so hard that her knuckles had turned pale and blue.

Suddenly, a sharp crack shattered the stillness inside the carriage. The little hawk opened its eyes a sliver, and the little wolf sleepily raised its head, just in time to see Teresa’s strained body relax all at once. She collapsed forward onto her cushion, gasping for breath, exhaustion written across her face.

The little wolf stretched, yawned, and padded over to Teresa. With nimble paws, it rummaged through her lap and quickly fished out a small white porcelain vial. Its deft claws uncorked the bottle, then tilted it to pour three drops of liquid into Teresa’s mouth. As the liquid flowed out, the cabin was instantly filled with a delicate fragrance. The little wolf’s expression grew dreamy with longing—it clearly wanted nothing more than to swallow the vial whole.

But before it could make a move, a stern warning cry from behind made the little wolf shut its mouth begrudgingly. With obvious reluctance, it replaced the stopper and shoved the vial carelessly back into Teresa’s collar, then returned to its cushion, turning its back on the little hawk and burying its head between its paws—thus initiating a silent standoff.

Meanwhile, as the little hawk watched the little wolf with exasperated resignation, Teresa’s breathing gradually steadied after being given the fragrant liquid. Slowly, specks of silvery light began to emerge around her, swirling like tiny fireflies, forming a gentle river of light that circled her. From time to time, points of this silver brilliance would break from the flow and seep into Teresa’s body.

One, two, three… After about half an hour, Teresa had absorbed nearly half of the silver lights; the rest slowly dispersed into the air.

Outside, the silver light shimmered. Within Teresa, there was no peace either. In the sea of her consciousness, amidst a gray void, a silver river of light slowly flowed. Like a ribbon, it wound round and round, forming a spindle shape. At the center of this "spindle," one end of the light river poured down like a silver waterfall, and on either side of this “silver falls,” three spirit contract pearls spun endlessly—proof of the soul bonds Teresa had forged with the little wolf, the little hawk, and the spirit of the book. These were the fairest and most severe contracts in existence, binding the soul itself.

As the silver glow seeped inward, a “rain” began to fall in the sea of consciousness. The rain was like a misty cascade, with the silver radiance colliding, shattering, and dissolving into a fine mist. The “silver rain” fell onto the spindle, urging the river of light to spin ever faster.

The faster the river spun, the more “silver rain” and “silver mist” it absorbed, and the more it absorbed, the faster it turned—a perfect cycle, continually feeding itself.

When at last all was quiet, the silver spindle in Teresa’s mind had grown nearly one-third larger, changing from a narrow rod to a plump, oval shape—her mental strength had increased significantly.

When she opened her eyes, Teresa exhaled a long, deep breath. All exhaustion and pleasure seemed to pour out with it, leaving her body languid and content.

But this comfort was short-lived. The spirit of the book’s nagging, urgent voice rang out again, like a whip lashing her relentlessly, driving her back to work.

With no choice, Teresa dragged herself up. Her mental power spread outward, seeping through the carriage boards and permeating the entire “car-boat.” At her urging, the vehicle moved on, slow and steady, pulsing with a certain rhythm.

The book spirit continued its tireless harangue in her mind: “In the ‘Ethereal Realm,’ spiritual power is everything. Here, nothing is impossible—if you can imagine it, you can do it! Even an ordinary person could defeat a level-six master if they dared to dream it. So don’t tell yourself, ‘I can’t.’ Of all things, that is the one thing you absolutely cannot do!

“Focus. Concentrate. Sense everything around you. Every ‘Ethereal Realm’ has its own energy flow. Only by grasping these patterns can you find the core, can you locate a ‘Fount of Vitality.’ Don’t forget, you have only thirteen drops of ‘Liu Hua’ left. If you can’t find another ‘Fount of Vitality’ in four days, prepare to slowly ‘enjoy’ the delightful process of weakening and dying by degrees.

“Concentrate! Be aware of everything. Seize every bit of spiritual energy you can absorb! Command your mental power like an army—capture, annihilate, absorb! Don’t let a single chance to strengthen yourself slip by!”

Thus, amid the spirit’s relentless tirade, Teresa split her focus three ways—driving the “car-boat,” attuning herself to the energy flows of the Ethereal Realm, and keeping back enough strength to snatch up any energy she could absorb from the shifting currents of space. She had lived like this for so long she no longer knew how much time had passed. In this world without day or night, she had lost all sense of time—she simply slept when exhausted, drank a few drops of life-sustaining “Liu Hua” upon waking, then worked until she drove herself to fatigue, only to repeat the cycle again.

Monotony and weariness were unavoidable, but the thrill of seeing her mental strength grow so quickly overshadowed both, so much so that, though she knew she would not last forever at this pace, she was as tireless as an addict, endlessly craving more… (To be continued)