Several cuts of Cockatrice meat caught my eye — firm, faintly iridescent beneath the surface. I selected the leaner sections. Spiritual flour followed. Then herbs. What looked remarkably like Earth spices: cumin, chilli, turmeric, coriander.
A plan began forming.
If this meat truly came from Saint Realm beasts, then it needed tempering. Subtlety. The children were mortal — for now. Overwhelming them with pure spiritual density would be reckless.
I cleaned the meat thoroughly, trimming excess spiritual fat that shimmered faintly under the kitchen lights. Each piece was seasoned carefully, floured, and placed in the fridge to rest.
Next came the potatoes — or at least, something close enough in appearance. I peeled them and set them to boil.
The system’s culinary inheritance filtered through my thoughts.
Leave the lid off. Allow excess spiritual qi to disperse. Reduce potency to a safe threshold.
I nodded to myself.
“This should be safe enough for their first meal.”
My gaze drifted inward.
“System,” I said mentally, “explain the Spirit Root Vault. And how I use it.”
Ding. Ding. Ding.
The Spirit Root Vault and Constitution Vault contain transplantable spirit roots and body constitutions perfectly aligned with the aspirant’s deepest cultivation potential.
Wastes may be refined into treasures capable of overturning this realm.
Escort a sworn disciple to the vault. Have them place their hand upon the altar outside the chamber.
The vault will analyse their nature and grant the optimal foundational configuration.
I stood there, mouth slightly open.
“That’s… absurd.”
I had expected something incremental. Basic spirit roots. Perhaps minor upgrades earned through quests.
This?
This was sect-founding, era-defining power.
“Do some missions, raise them steadily, maybe produce a few future Emperors,” I muttered. “Not rewrite the cultivation hierarchy from scratch.”
Footsteps hurried around the corner.
“Excuse me, Miss Heather. Is there anything we can help with?”
James’s voice pulled me back.
The three of them stood at the entrance to the kitchen. Lucy tilted her head slightly.
“Is she alright?” she whispered to James.
He shrugged and gently tapped my shoulder.
I blinked.
“Oh. Sorry, children. I drifted off for a moment.”
Harry stepped forward respectfully. “We were wondering if there’s anything we can do.”
A faint smile curved my lips. I placed a hand atop each of their heads in turn.
“Dinner is under control,” I said. “But I do have a question.”
They straightened instinctively.
“Yes, Miss,” they replied in unison.
I studied them carefully.
“What would you do,” I asked quietly, “if I could allow you to cultivate?”
Silence.
Shock rippled across their faces.
Harry’s jaw tightened. James’s eyes grew glassy. Even Lucy’s fingers trembled slightly.
James spoke first.
“Please don’t joke about that,” he said softly. “We’re here because we’re mortal. If we could cultivate, the sects would’ve kept us — even as cannon fodder.”
My gaze softened.
“I would not offer you a choice I cannot honour. So I ask again.”
Their reaction was immediate.
All three dropped to their knees and kowtowed three times without hesitation.
“Master!” they shouted in unison.
The force behind it startled me. Their eyes burned — not with childish excitement, but with something far fiercer.
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Devotion.
Desperation.
Resolve.
They looked as though they would walk through a sea of flames without complaint.
I quickly raised my hands and helped them up.
“Easy, easy. None of that.”
I looked at them firmly.
“You may call me Granny. Not Master. We are family.”
Their expressions shifted — confused, then warmed.
“But,” I continued, voice steady, “before we proceed, you must swear never to reveal anything you see here. Ever.”
Without hesitation, they placed their left hands over their hearts.
“We swear,” James began.
“We will never divulge what we see or receive here,” Harry continued.
“We will protect our family with our lives,” Lucy finished.
“Should we betray this oath, may Heaven strike us down.”
The air hummed faintly.
The oath held weight.
I felt it settle into the pagoda’s formations.
A quiet pride stirred within me.
“Good,” I said gently. “Now follow me.”
We navigated what felt like an endless network of corridors until we reached something unexpected.
A lift.
Polished metal doors. Two buttons on the left — up and down.
System. Which way up or down?
Ding. Ding. Ding.
Please press the down button and request transport to the Vault.
I did as instructed.
The doors slid shut with a smooth whisper.
We descended.
When the doors opened, the children gasped.
The chamber beyond glittered in layered hues of gold and silver, veins of luminous ore threading through the walls. The air was dense — not oppressive, but charged with ancient authority.
At the centre stood a jade altar.
Deep green. Flawless. Inlaid with gemstones along its edges, each one pulsing faintly.
In its centre was a single indentation.
A handprint.
The space around it felt… evaluative.
As though it were already watching us.
I stepped forward.
“Alright,” I said quietly. “Who wants to change their fate first?”
James stepped forward, trying to look calm.
He failed.
“How does this work?” he asked. “Do I just put my hand here?”
I nodded once.
He inhaled and pressed his palm into the altar.
For a brief moment—
Nothing.
Then the jade beneath his hand cracked with blinding radiance.
The glow intensified — gold, then white, then an unbearable azure brilliance.
The air grew heavy.
Oppressive.
Above the altar, clouds formed from nothingness.
Not ordinary clouds.
Tribulation clouds.
Dense. Rotating. Charged with ancient authority.
Lucy instinctively stepped back. Harry shielded his eyes.
A low rumble echoed through the vault.
Then—
Thunder descended.
Not a single bolt.
Hundreds.
They spiralled together, compressing into a humanoid silhouette made entirely of heavenly lightning. Veins of plasma coursed through its frame like divine script.
The phantom figure raised its hand.
Two streaks of condensed lightning formed within its palm:
One — a crystalline Spirit Root.
The other — a blazing, skeletal outline of a body constitution.
Without warning—
They struck.
Directly into James’ lower dantian.
The chamber exploded with sound.
He did not scream.
He roared.
Every meridian in his body lit up like a circuit overloaded with power. His previously withered spirit root shattered—
And reformed.
Not repaired.
Rewritten.
His root no longer resembled a plant or branch.
It was a fork of pure lightning.
At the same time, thunder sank into his bones, marrow, muscles, organs. Each cell absorbed lightning and instead of burning—
They devoured it.
Heavenly law branded itself into his flesh.
The tribulation clouds above trembled.
Then dispersed.
Silence.
James stood upright.
Arcs of lightning crawled across his skin like playful serpents. His hair floated slightly from residual charge.
His eyes opened.
Gold streaked with blue.
The system unfolded before me.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
Disciple James – Confirmed
Spirit Root: Heavenly Thunder Spirit Root
Constitution: Heavenly Tribulation Body
The system paused before adding:
This constitution will not reappear within this era.
I exhaled slowly.
This wasn’t talent.
This was a walking tribulation.
James looked at his hands as lightning danced across his knuckles.
He flexed experimentally.
The arcs intensified — then vanished at his command.
Tears welled in his eyes.
“I… I really can cultivate now.”
He turned and ran toward me, wrapping his arms around my waist before I could react.
“I don’t know how to repay you.”
I rested a hand on his head.
“This isn’t repayment,” I said calmly. “This is your life beginning.”
He stepped back, still sniffling, but now standing straighter.
Lucy stared at him like he had grown wings.
“You look so cool,” she breathed.
Harry remained quiet — but his fists were clenched in anticipation.
I gestured to James. “Stand beside me.”
Lightning flickered faintly around him as he complied.
Lucy immediately began bouncing.
“Me next! Me next!”
Then Lucy stepped forward.
Despite her earlier bravado, her fingers trembled slightly.
“Place your hand here,” I said gently, guiding her toward the jade altar.
The chamber grew still.
She swallowed and pressed her palm into the indentation.
For a breath, nothing happened.
Then—
The entire vault darkened.
Not dimmed.
Darkened.
Light itself seemed to retreat from the chamber walls as a deep, velvety black spread outward from the altar like ink spilling into water.
The gold veins embedded in the floor flickered and went silent.
Above us, something opened.
A phantom sky.
Stars ignited one by one in a vast illusionary dome overhead. Not ordinary stars — these pulsed with cold silver radiance, distant and ancient.
At the centre of that sky—
A moon formed.
Not white.
Not gentle.
A deep abyssal violet, rimmed in argent flame.
Lucy gasped.
Her hair began to lift as if submerged in invisible water. A crescent sigil burned briefly between her brows before dissolving into her skin.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
Disciple Candidate Identified: Lucy — Age 13
Spirit Root Classification: Heavenly Grade
Root Type: Abyssal Lunar Spirit Root
Affinity: Heavenly Yin / Void-Moon
The moon above us deepened in colour.
A tide of cold, refined yin essence descended and wrapped around Lucy’s body — not violently, but reverently.
The altar pulsed.
The handprint glowed silver.
A thin thread of void-like energy extended from the phantom moon and sank into her dantian.
The air temperature plummeted.
Harry shivered. James instinctively stepped forward, protective.
Lucy’s eyes snapped open.
They were no longer simply brown.
A ring of faint silver shimmered around each pupil.
The phantom sky shattered into motes of light and collapsed inward.
Silence returned.
Lucy blinked.
“…Miss—Granny?”
Her voice sounded clearer.
Sharper.
The weak spiritual presence that had once clung to her like a faint ember was gone.
In its place—
A still, bottomless lake beneath a night sky.
I exhaled slowly.
“Heavenly Yin. Void-Moon affinity,” I murmured.
In cultivation terms, this was catastrophic in the best possible way.
Yin cultivators were rare.
Void-affinity was rarer.
A Lunar root tied to abyssal principles?