Data-Driven Cultivation: I Defy Heaven and Overthrow Interstellar Domestication

The duel three days ago was like someone throwing a giant boulder into the stagnant pool of Qingyun Sect. The waves are still surging and haven't subsided yet, splashing all over the mountain.

The name Xie Yanchen has caused a huge uproar in the Qingyun Sect.

The outer disciples' walking posture had changed; their backs were ramrod straight, and their voices were three points louder than usual. Before, they would have to bow their heads and walk around the inner disciples, but now? Now, the inner disciples would avoid their gazes. That pent-up resentment of many years had been dispelled by Xie Yanchen's punches and kicks.

The inner sect has completely quieted down. No one dares to utter any more nonsense about "taking shortcuts" or "using unorthodox methods." Lin Qinghan has publicly bowed and admitted defeat; who would dare to gossip? That would be courting death.

But at this critical juncture, Xie Yanchen himself was squatting on the stone steps in his dilapidated courtyard, holding a chipped rough earthenware bowl, slowly drinking cold water.

He paid no attention to the rumors circulating outside.

The awakening of ancient spiritual roots and the reincarnation of reclusive great beings are all nonsense.

His true trump card lies hidden in his mind. That Terminal Zero from an extraterrestrial civilization, capable of analyzing everything and predicting trajectories, is his greatest secret, and also a ticking time bomb that could kill him at any moment. If even a tiny bit of this were to be revealed, not only the Qingyun Sect, but the entire cultivation world would treat him like an outcast and tear him apart.

So no matter what's said outside, his mouth is like an iron gate, impossible to pry open or break through.

He thought the commotion would die down in a few days, but unexpectedly, someone knocked on the gate in the evening.

The person knocking on the door was an inner disciple, whose attitude was excessively respectful, almost bowing to his knees. He spoke cautiously in a high-pitched voice: "Senior Brother Xie, the sect leader has ordered you to come to the main hall of the main peak immediately for a private talk."

The word "alone" was emphasized very heavily.

Xie Yanchen paused for a moment, the rim of the bowl of water in his hand tapping against his knee with a slight crack. Then, he steadily placed the bowl back on the stone steps.

This day was bound to come sooner or later. The commotion he had caused these past few days had been far too great—refuting the elders, crushing the inner disciples, and completely defeating Lin Qinghan. Each and every one of these actions was enough to arouse the sect leader's suspicion.

What's meant to come will come.

He straightened his faded outer sect uniform, brushed off the wall dust from his cuffs, and nodded to the messenger disciple: "Let's go."

  

The path from the outer sect to the main peak was steep and long, shrouded in mist, with spiritual energy so dense it almost condensed into water droplets that sprayed onto people's faces. The disciples he encountered along the way, whether from the outer or inner sect, all stopped in their tracks, bowed respectfully, and dared not meet his eyes directly.

Just a few days ago, he was a piece of trash that everyone hated, but now wherever he goes, he is met with deathly respect.

Xie Yanchen ignored all of this, walking slowly and calmly, his face expressionless, not even bothering to lift his eyelids.

The main hall stood deep in the clouds, its black tiles and blue bricks exuding an ancient and somewhat oppressive atmosphere. There wasn't even a guard at the entrance; all that could be heard was the wind whistling through the eaves, carrying a low, mournful sound, as if something was stuck in its throat.

He stopped outside the hall, took a deep breath, and felt the cool scent of aged incense ash and damp wood seep into his lungs. He then stepped inside.

The main hall was eerily empty. Only one person sat in the very center.

He was an old Taoist priest with white hair, wearing a worn-out Taoist robe, and a gentle face. At first glance, he looked like an old man next door. But his eyes were as deep as two ancient wells that had been sitting for thousands of years, and you could not see the bottom of them. You felt as if he could see right through you.

It was none other than the head of the Qingyun Sect, True Person Xuanqing.

Xie Yanchen walked into the hall and bowed respectfully according to the rules, his movements meticulous: "Disciple Xie Yanchen greets the Sect Leader."

Master Xuanqing neither told him to get up nor made him continue kneeling; he simply watched him.

The hand resting on the rosewood armrest tapped idly with its index finger, the nail tracing the wood grain and making a very soft "tap, tap" sound. A few rays of sunlight filtered through the roof, falling on his white hair and making it appear somewhat withered.

"Yan Chen," he finally spoke, his voice not loud, but it resonated in the empty hall, "I have been in Qingyun for three years. For the first two and a half years, my spiritual root was inferior and my cultivation stagnated. No one in the entire sect cared about it."

"But in just a few days, you refuted the elder in charge, crushed thirty inner disciples, and even won Qinghan's respect on the arena."

The old Taoist paused, and suddenly two beams of light shot out from his deep, well-like eyes, but his tone remained unhurried: "Such rapid progress, like a completely different person, is truly—too unusual."

These four words, though not heavy, are like four hammers, striking the heart again and again.

"Tell me the truth," Master Xuanqing stared into his eyes, enunciating each word clearly, "Do you possess some ancient inheritance? A fortuitous encounter in a secret realm? Or—the lineage of some reclusive great master?"

Xie Yanchen felt a sudden tightness in his chest, but he didn't show it on his face.

He had long anticipated that someone would eventually bombard him with this question. He had meticulously crafted his answer in his mind countless times, ensuring that every word was carefully chosen, tackling a delicate balance without cutting himself.

He raised his head, his gaze clear, meeting the sect leader's scrutiny, his tone calm and composed: "Reporting to the sect leader, this disciple has no ancient inheritance, has never encountered any secret realm opportunities, and does not know any reclusive masters."

"So, did you acquire these skills from the sky?" Master Xuanqing's tone carried a barely perceptible hint of interrogation. An ordinary disciple would probably be kneeling on the ground by now.

Xie Yanchen merely shook his head slightly, his voice remaining impeccably steady: "In these three years, my spiritual root has been ruined, and my cultivation has not improved. But I have never been idle."

"Over the past three years, I have realized that my spiritual roots are inferior to others and that I cannot rely on the path of absorbing spiritual energy to forge ahead. So I have adopted a simpler method—watch."

"What are you looking at?" Master Xuanqing's eyebrows twitched slightly, and the fingers tapping on the armrest stopped.

"Watching people fight." Xie Yanchen spoke with utmost sincerity, even unconsciously raising his finger as if gesturing. "Outer disciples spar, inner disciples go to the arena, and elders occasionally demonstrate swordsmanship. Whenever someone makes a move, the disciples squat on the sidelines and watch. Every move, how to start, how to change moves, how to stop the force, where the weakness is, where the power is most easily exerted—I memorize it all, and go back and go through it in my mind again and again."

"After three years, I dare not say that I understand all the techniques and methods in the sect, but I can see the basics of eight or nine out of ten."

He paused, his tongue unconsciously licking his slightly dry lips, before continuing, "And those cultivation manuals, although I can't practice them, I've worn out several of them. For those I didn't understand, I just memorized them by rote. After memorizing so many, I gradually started to grasp their essence."

Master Xuanqing didn't interrupt; he just listened.

The young man spoke slowly, even somewhat flatly, as if reciting something unrelated to him. But the more he spoke like this, the deeper the wrinkles on the old Taoist's brow became.

—This kid wasn't lying.

It wasn't something you could see, it was something you could "hear." That deep, unwavering presence couldn't be faked. If someone had truly received some extraordinary inheritance, they would either be insecure or subconsciously showing off their skills; they would never casually describe three years as "sitting on the sidelines watching people fight."

But the problem is...

The old man raised his eyelids slightly, his gaze falling on Xie Yanchen's young face. Could mere "seeing" and "memorizing" hone one's combat instincts to this extent? This wasn't just about diligence compensating for lack of talent; it was about turning clumsiness into skill, and then refining skill into perfection.

He suddenly remembered something an old friend had said decades ago: "Some people are born to take the road to its limits and then bloom on the dead end."

The hall remained silent for a while. A breeze swept through the hall's high and spacious interior, creating an echo, as if someone had sighed from afar.

"I see."

Master Xuanqing finally spoke, his voice lower and hoarse than before. He didn't nod immediately, but instead reached out his other hand and wiped it on his sleeve, as if it were dusty.

"Three years, just doing this." He seemed to be talking to himself, but also to Xie Yanchen. "No complaints, no giving up, no madness, no life."

These words didn't sound like a sect leader's evaluation of his disciple; they sounded more like the sentiments of a peer. After he finished speaking, he slowly raised his eyes. The frost of scrutiny in his eyes faded, but it didn't replace it with any "appreciation." Instead, it was a more complex light—as if he had seen a piece of uncut jade, or as if he had seen a piece of stubborn iron. For a moment, he was unsure of what to do.

"It was the sect's fault for being so blind, letting you waste three years in the outer sect." He paused, then added, his tone unusually gentle, "However... it might not be a bad thing. If we had promoted you three years ago and kept you in a greenhouse, you might not have developed such a calm and composed temperament today."

He didn't use clichés like "great things come from small beginnings," but looked at Xie Yanchen and suddenly smiled, a very faint smile that vanished in an instant: "Your temperament is somewhat like mine when I was young. But back then, I was much more impatient than you."

The old Taoist priest remained silent for a moment, then suddenly composed himself, his tone shifting to that of a sect leader giving a formal instruction to a disciple: "Your strength, temperament, and comprehension are all top-notch. I intend to cultivate you with special attention. There is something I need you to do right now."

"The abandoned mine behind the sect has been quite unsettled lately. A pack of demonic beasts suddenly appeared out of nowhere, biting anyone they see and injuring several disciples who went into the mountains to gather herbs. The terrain there is complex, with many forks in the road, making it like a maze. The demonic beasts are both ferocious and cunning, so we usually send a team of several inner disciples in to clear them out."

"I want you to go alone and wipe out that nest of monsters."

Master Xuanqing looked at him, his tone becoming more serious, no longer a test, but a heavy expectation: "This is a test, and also your chance to prove yourself to the entire sect. If you can accomplish this on your own, I will personally open up all the sect's resources and core cultivation techniques for you in the future."

Xie Yanchen felt a chill run down his spine.

The sect leader spoke eloquently, describing it as both a test and an opportunity. But he knew perfectly well that this was also a pledge of loyalty. To ensure the sect's focused training, simply winning against their own people on the arena wasn't enough; you had to demonstrate the ability to face danger alone and solve real-world problems.

Without a word, he bowed deeply and said in a clear voice, "This disciple obeys the order and will certainly not fail the sect's trust."

When we came out of the main hall, it was already getting dark.

When the mountain wind blows, it carries the dampness of the clouds and mist, seeping into people's collars, feeling cool and like a snake crawling up their spines.

Xie Yanchen stood on the steps and glanced back. The main hall door was closed, leaving only a dark crack, like a newly closed eye. Lights were already twinkling in the low houses outside the gate, while the inner gate was even more radiant, with a faint spiritual glow visible even across a mountain.

He didn't look at it for long, turned around and walked straight towards the back of the mountain.

The path beneath our feet grew narrower and more desolate. The trees on both sides grew denser, their branches and leaves completely blocking out the last bit of sunlight, leaving only the creaking sound of our feet crunching on the gravel and withered branches, which sounded particularly jarring in the deathly silence of the mountain forest.

The area ahead is the abandoned mine shaft area.

He stopped and looked up at the dark mountainside. A mountain breeze blew through the abandoned mine entrance, carrying a cool, fishy smell. The smell wasn't like that of wild animals, but rather like rust mixed with rotting leaves, sticky and cloying in his nostrils.

Xie Yanchen took a deep breath, suppressed the nausea, and continued walking forward.

The sect leader only said to exterminate the demonic beasts, but this mine has been abandoned for so many years, why are demonic beasts suddenly appearing now? Where did those demonic beasts come from? And what exactly is hidden deep within the mine?

he does not know.

But he had a vague feeling that the dark, gaping mine tunnel, sealed off for who knows how many years, was opening its mouth, waiting for him to walk in.