Tokyo: Proving one's position from behind the scenes

In his previous life, every cultivator would inquire about whether there were other cultivators preparing for a breakthrough or whether a war might occur around his secluded cultivation location before attempting one.

Because the death and breakthrough of a cultivator will cause changes in the surrounding spiritual atmosphere, which may harm or benefit the cultivator, they are respectively called "returning the Dao to Heaven" and "merging with the Dao."

Take Nagayama Akira himself as an example. In his previous life, when he broke through from Foundation Establishment to Purple Mansion, he was trapped in the final step of "Contemplation of the Mind" and was close to death. However, a Water Virtue Golden Elixir True Lord ascended to the throne, and the spiritual atmosphere of the world was very favorable to the Water Virtue. Only by using water to generate metal was he able to advance to Purple Mansion.

As Nagayama Akira thought about this, he suddenly felt that many of his doubts from his past life had become clear.

Why do those powerful cultivators, who clearly regard those with lower cultivation levels as worthless, still willingly pass on their cultivation methods? Why do the major sects turn a blind eye to the lowly rogue cultivators, and even intentionally protect mortal kingdoms, preventing cultivators from wantonly slaughtering people? He originally thought that this was because the upper cultivators still had a bottom line, but now it seems that there is no bottom line at all, only self-interest.

From the moment a cultivator draws Qi into their body to the moment they establish their foundation, except for those with profound wisdom, reincarnations, or those destined for greatness, it usually takes anywhere from ten to several decades. During this time, each breath they take disturbs the spiritual atmosphere of heaven and earth. When this disturbance accumulates to a certain degree, it will trigger a qualitative change—just as a pebble thrown into a stream will not cause much of a ripple, but if millions of pebbles are thrown in, the stream will change course, and the spiritual atmosphere will also change accordingly.

Not to mention the sudden changes in spiritual energy caused by a cultivator's breakthrough or death, which will produce spiritual objects of different grades in the surrounding area.

The Wood element cultivator uses the imagery of "gathering trees to form a forest," meaning that a single tree has negligible influence on the soil and water, but if hundreds or thousands of trees gather to form a forest, they can change the climate and weather of a region. The Water element cultivator uses the imagery of "gathering water to form a sea," meaning that a single drop of water is insignificant, but if billions of drops of water converge to form a sea, they can create towering waves.

The more cultivators there are, the faster and more complex the flow of spiritual energy becomes. And this is exactly the kind of change that those with great supernatural powers need—they seek opportunities in the violent fluctuations of spiritual energy, and seize a sliver of heavenly secret in the tides of "returning to the Dao" and "merging with the Dao." Lower-level cultivators are the stones they throw in, the firewood they nurture, and the tools they use to stir up the spiritual energy of heaven and earth.

As for mortals, this is even more true. Although mortals do not cultivate, wars, plagues, harvests, and famines in mortal kingdoms can still cause slight fluctuations in the spiritual atmosphere.

Taking the Jinde dynasty as an example, if a mortal dynasty were to wage war, the spiritual atmosphere would be favorable to the Jinde dynasty.

The reason why those Golden Core True Monarchs and Dao Embryo Great Powers in the past protected mortal kingdoms and forbade cultivators from wantonly slaughtering was not out of compassion, but because mortals were also one of the sources of spiritual energy and were indispensable pieces on their chessboard.

Akira Nagayama took a deep breath and suppressed these thoughts.

His past life is gone. Now he alone occupies a world, the sole superior cultivator in this world. Although the spiritual atmosphere is desolate, this world has no superior cultivators entrenched, no sects oppressing him, and no powerful beings who see inferior cultivators as waste.

It's true that the spiritual atmosphere of Fangtiandi is stagnant, but there are no fish in this stagnant water. He can slowly find a way to revitalize it.

Moreover, since an increase in the number of cultivators can disturb the spiritual atmosphere, he can create such "disturbance" himself.

Akira Nagayama's gaze fell on the row of small porcelain bottles on the table.

Besides the [Six Heavens Ancient Qi], he also collected several other types of true qi. Among them was a bottle labeled with the character "water," which contained [Intertidal Mudflat Qi], a second-grade water virtue true qi, specifically [Zhen Water], taken from the mudflats between tides. In his previous life, Yongshan Ming had explored secret realms with a [Zhen Water] cultivator, and had some understanding of water virtue cultivation methods. Although he couldn't be considered an expert, he knew some basic techniques.

The virtue of water is derived from the image of "gathering water to form the sea," emphasizing the concept of "gathering." Furthermore, the "Zhen Water" radical represents the proper position of water, signifying the vast ocean. Since a single drop of water is unlikely to disturb stagnant water, he introduces several more drops to see if they can create ripples in the still atmosphere.

Akira Nagayama picked up the bottle of "Intertidal Mudflat Qi" and got up to leave the apartment.

Akira Nagayama lived some distance from the station, about a twenty-minute walk from the Arakawa River. Instead of taking the train, he strolled slowly along the streets of Adachi Ward, looking around as he went.

Adachi Ward is ranked last among Tokyo's 23 wards. Nagayama Akira learned this from a novel he read when he was still a salaryman in his previous life. This ranking isn't the kind written on paper; it's something etched on everyone's face. Even the dogs in Minato Ward would shake their heads at the mention of Adachi Ward's name.

Nagayama Akira walked down a narrow alley. Several black garbage bags were piled up at the entrance; they were discarded cardboard boxes from some convenience store, soaked and rotten from the rain, and no one had bothered to collect them. A calico cat sat beside the garbage bags. Seeing him approach, it didn't run away, but lazily raised its eyelids to glance at him before lowering its head to lick its paws. Nagayama Akira glanced at the cat again, thinking that this cat certainly lived a more carefree life than humans.

He put his hands in his pockets, his fingertips touching the porcelain bottle of "Intertidal Mudflat Qi," the cool touch bringing his thoughts back to the question he had just asked.

Train monks.

This matter sounds simple, but it's fraught with pitfalls. Although he hadn't taken on any disciples in his previous life, he had witnessed far too many examples of masters and disciples turning against each other and the lineage being severed. There's an old saying in the cultivation world: "Passing on the Dharma is like handing someone a blade." What you teach, once in the other person's hands, might be the first person they use to cut you. Moreover, the spiritual atmosphere in this world is stagnant; he himself struggles to cultivate, so what can he possibly teach others?

I can't just pick anyone. Nagayama Akira drew the first line in his mind.

His past life experience told him that a cultivator's destiny and the true qi they cultivate must be compatible; otherwise, it would be a waste of effort and could even lead to qi deviation. He himself possessed the [Ghost Metal] destiny, which was why he dared to draw the [Six Heavens Ancient Qi] into his body. If it were someone else, they would probably have their soul torn apart the moment the qi entered their dantian by that feeling of being stripped away.

You can't choose someone who's too smart. Smart people learn quickly, but they're also suspicious. If you teach them three parts, they can figure out seven parts on their own, and then they'll be hard to control. But you can't choose someone who's too stupid either. Someone too stupid can't even draw Qi into their body, it's a pure waste of time and resources.

Nagayama Akira rubbed his temples, feeling that this matter was even more troublesome than deducing cultivation techniques in his previous life.

As he was thinking, he found himself walking near Ayase. The buildings in this area were noticeably more dilapidated than those in Senju. Many shops had graffiti sprayed on their roller shutters, and faded signs hung outside the windows on the second floor, with words like "Consultation Center," "Financial Consultation," and "Low-Interest Financing." They were not open during the day, and the roller shutters were tightly closed, making it impossible to tell what kind of business was being conducted inside.

Akira Nagayama stopped and glanced at the signs.

He had lived in Adachi Ward for eighteen years and knew the place inside and out. Eight out of ten places with signs advertising "finance" or "consultation" were loan sharks masquerading as legitimate companies. And if you traced back further, these loan sharks were often backed by a few small-time yakuza members who specialized in taking advantage of the lower classes—the kind where you borrow 30,000 yen and have to repay 300,000 yen.

Adachi Ward has one of the lowest average incomes in Tokyo, with many poor people. When the poor encounter difficulties, they easily run out of money, which leads them to resort to high-interest loans, which they can never repay. This industry chain has been deeply rooted in Adachi Ward for decades, more stable than the ward office building itself.

From afar, Akira Nagayama spotted a drab three-story building. The storefront on the first floor bore a sign that read "Ayase Financial Consultation Office," and two black vans were parked in front. The curtains on the second floor were drawn tightly, and several white shirts were hanging on the balcony on the third floor, suggesting that someone lived there.

He didn't approach it, but stopped in front of the vending machine across the street, bent down and bought a 100-yen can of coffee, then leaned against the vending machine, drinking it while subtly observing the building.

A man in his thirties, with short hair and a faint tattoo on the back of his neck, emerged from the building in a black suit. He lit a cigarette at the door, looked around, then took out his phone and started making a call. His voice was so low that it was impossible to hear what he was saying from across the street.

Akira Nagayama looked away and threw the empty coffee can into the trash can.

His senses quietly extended outwards from the faint wisp of magical power in his dantian, like a thin spider silk. The spiritual atmosphere remained deathly still, but the aura around this building was different from elsewhere—not because of spiritual energy, but because of people. When people do certain things, they generate special auras: fear, greed, despair. Although these emotions cannot be directly transformed into spiritual energy, they leave traces in the space.

In the past, some cultivators specializing in metal element would retreat to the vicinity of battlefields, using the imagery of metal as weapons to temper their magical power with the killing energy of swords. The spiritual atmosphere in such places was violent and fierce, naturally incomparable to the aura of this building, but the basic principle was the same.

The despair and fear that arise in places where gangs collect debts can perhaps be exploited.

Nagayama Akira didn't linger and turned back along the path he had come from. He needed to go back and think things through. Since he was going to throw stones into this stagnant pool, he needed to figure out where to throw the first stone, how big it should be, and how to throw it.

He stopped again, looked back at the building, and a plan came to mind.

Perhaps, really, we shouldn't just focus on training cultivators.