Maksym Pachesiuk
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Moon Cultivation [Book 2] - Chapter 131: Thousand Sparks of Migraine
🕑 Added 2025-08-26 23:36:01 +0000 UTCThe annual auction had ended. Breakthroughs came in waves.
The total number of breakthroughs reached three hundred out of nearly two and a half thousand first-years. About fifty had already been weeded out for one reason or another. Another four crippled their cultivation.
My hole-ridden memory told me the auction was supposed to be a grand affair — a gathering of powerful families flaunting their wealth to one another. An apotheosis of pomp and envy, with threats and backstabbing. With opponents being quite literally eliminated, and winners robbed by jealous rivals.
But none of that happened.
There was no gathering at all. The entire event took place online, on the auction's page. As a result, there were no passions, no personal insults, no active brawling.
At the end, lots were safely delivered to the winner’s storage chamber at their place of residence. After all, the four academies weren’t the only settlements on Verdis.
I couldn’t say I’d actively taken part in the auction, more like browsed the listings, looked through the lots, compared prices. I didn’t buy anything.
There were barely any techniques. Which made sense: few people stored them on cards, and those that did show up were mostly discounted gift options that hadn’t come in handy because the owner had found something better.
The world’s system also played a role here. In classic stories, high-grade techniques were rare commodities, but creating an electronic copy wasn’t all that difficult. Honestly, I never understood what stopped cultivators in those made-up tales from making their own copies. There were always a thousand and one unique divine-rank techniques, yet each existed only once. All of them ancient, with no one creating new ones.
Why?
At least in this world, techniques were actively studied and improved upon. That’s also why red copies were more expensive — more time and research went into their development.
I wouldn’t have minded picking up a discounted ultimate for Second Stage Fist, but none turned up. Or rather, I got picky and didn’t want to buy the one and only violet-ranked one available for half price.
Overall, the core of the auction consisted of cultivation resources like the Pure Thoughts, breakthrough materials such as a dozen Qi Purification Elixirs, and, of course, weapons. Armour was represented to a much lesser degree, since it was more often made to order, tailored to personal specifications. I didn’t have nearly enough expertise to seriously choose anything for myself from all that.
Novak had been right. I really did need to brush up on theory. Browsing through pretty pictures and numbers was one thing, but understanding what I actually needed was something else entirely.
I didn’t have much free time anyway. A mountain of work had fallen on me — I had to practise upgrades and learn new techniques.
Although now, I had far more opportunities.
Kate had granted me access to the private chat for Novak’s personal students. Eight people besides me, and I didn’t see Bulsara among them, so I suspected it only included those still in training.
I knew Kate, Adam, and Lina, and I’d recently met Artem. The other four I hadn’t interacted with yet. Or rather, I had crossed paths with one — the cadet who’d saved me from poisoning in the metro. B. Bat-Erdene. Still, I suspected I hadn’t seen his real face yet. The girls, M. O. da Costa and S. Tanaka, and the last member of the group, a man named M. K. Cheruiyot, were also unfamiliar to me. But I was allowed to absorb the wisdom of my seniors and reach out to them for help.
For now, Artem was my main source of wisdom. He was teaching me techniques for parallel processing and mental acceleration. Though not in person. Novak had insisted no one see us together, so Artem had come up with a rather creative solution.
He gave me a helmet similar to the one Adam had used when training me for Iron Head. The same kind with rollers gliding over my scalp, helping me feel the flow of qi.
But Adam had stuffed that one with all sorts of extra features — a scanner, a holoprojector wired into the interface... That meant I could sit on my bed while he was in his lab, and we could train as if we were in the same room. So I could take on a few extra shifts patrolling the block, and train my mental technique at the same time.
As long as Artem was free and my roommates weren’t home.
Since both techniques were needed to control the bugs, we started with acceleration.
"Without acceleration, your brain simply won’t handle two branches at once. And if it does, you'll just become twice as stupid and slow.”
The holographic Artem reached over the footboard of my bed to a holographic shelf, took a holographic tablet, opened a diagram of the human body, and highlighted the head and spine with glowing points.
“The core logic of Thousand Sparks is simple: you feed pure, unrefined qi into the cerebral cortex. It’s like pushing twice the voltage through a simple electric motor. The rotor spins faster. Even if you mess up and channel Fist Qi or any other modified type — the brain acts as a fuse before you do irreparable damage.”
I grimaced.
“That doesn’t sound very reassuring,” I said. “Don’t electric motors and fuses burn out?”
“Your ‘motor’ has a decent safety margin. It’s only running at about ten percent capacity. And technically, if we’re talking about fuses,” said holographic Artem, “they melt, not burn out.”
“You knew what I meant,” I said.
“That’ll be a nasty migraine, but you won’t die,” Artem said. “You won’t even be disabled. Unless, of course, you decide to actively scramble your own brain.”
“What about brain cells?”
“They’ll regenerate with time,” he waved it off.
“Do they even regenerate?”
“You’re not just a mortal anymore, Jake. Yes, it’ll take a bit of time, but they’ll recover,” Artem reassured me. “Worst-case scenario, we’ll put you in a capsule for a week. Though you might experience memory lapses, temporary loss of coordination, and impaired cognitive function.”
I love local medicine! If only it didn’t mean I’d have to endure more pain…
“That’s exactly where we’ll start,” Artem said, “We’ll teach you to work with raw qi. Qi without intent. Just energy.”
Holographic Artem set the tablet aside and folded his hands, then spun in his chair. He began to explain.
“When you perform an offensive technique, you have an intent. Basically, the intent to hit, break, or damage. That intent automatically shapes your qi based on your understanding of that type of qi. Raw energy comes out of your core, but what leaves your fist is a projection formed from Fist Qi.
“The transformation of qi begins as the energy moves, but it finalises in the last moments, and your control over that process is about the same as your control over breathing while asleep.
“The problem is, all the qi you’ve used so far has been released outward aggressively. Our goal now is to teach you how to circulate it within the body, without triggering the transformation process.
“Forget your core. Don’t touch it. Imagine the energy enters with your inhale. With the breath, you draw it down to your navel. There — you collect it. With the exhale, you raise it up along your spine, as if through a channel. Once it reaches the base of your skull, disperse it in a circle, bring it across your forehead and back down. It’s a simple cycle, and it uses your imagination, not actual energy.”
I gave it a try. Slow breathing, inhale downwards, then a smooth rise along the spine.
Nothing happened.
“Close your eyes,” Artem advised.
I already knew what qi was. I knew how energy moved through the body — it had already carved dedicated channels in my arms and legs. And this whole performance was annoying me to no end.
Still, to avoid comments and not to question my trainer’s methods, I tried again.
And once again, I felt nothing but irritation. My inner focus followed the route he’d described, but it was empty, there was no energy.
"Now, with your next breath, take a drop of qi from your core and send it along the route," Artem said.
Finally!
I was so thrilled I overdid it. My core still refused to work at less than half power, and that was too much.
I immediately felt I’d overstepped. The qi surged forward like a mountain river that acknowledged no banks. But it was still qi, and I had experience in forging channels, so I began the cycle.
Only by the third full round, the qi had become harder, more unruly. It no longer flowed — it dropped like a stone. Instead of rising smoothly up my spine, it shoved sideways, slammed into bone, and tried to burst out into my arms and legs, where channels had already been carved.
My muscles twitched on their own, and I nearly fell off the bed despite sitting perfectly still.
I gritted my teeth and forced the flow to follow the path I was imagining. I pulled it up to the head, and the qi surged into the channels prepared for Iron Head.
Subduing and redirecting it was no easy feat.
"Let go," Artem instructed.
I let go, and a leaden heaviness spread through my head. My entire body felt heavy, but while it was just unpleasant in the muscles, something far more indecent was happening in my brain. The world began to spin.
“Whoa!”
I keeled over and banged the helmet against the wall.
“Worse than I thought!” Artem said. His hologram was holding the tablet again.
Fighting the sudden loss of control over my own body, I slowly pushed off the wall and, purely on instinct, did what I’d done countless times in the training hall — expelled the excess qi from my system.
I nearly threw up.
The world tilted again, and the mattress smacked into the front plate of my helmet.
“Don’t do that again,” Artem said. “Better to draw the energy back into the core.”
“You can do that?” I asked, trying to regain my balance.
“Of course! It’s your qi. Even if it’s slightly altered, it still belongs to your core.”
Damn it! Why didn’t Rene tell me that earlier?
“Let’s repeat the cycle. You managed four incomplete rounds. Now do three, and at the end, draw the energy back into your core.”
I closed my eyes and very, very carefully pulled a thread of qi from my core. The ‘thread’ turned out to be as thick as my thumb, but I cut it off in time, so the piece I had to work with wasn’t overwhelming.
Still, keeping it under control wasn’t easy. It kept lunging toward the channels, trying to leave the body entirely.
Last time, by the third full circle, the qi had hardened and grown wild, falling like a rock instead of flowing. This time, after the second round, I had nothing left to return to the core.
The qi had dispersed throughout my body. And it had hardened again.
But this time, I didn’t try to expel it. I started gathering it. That’s when I realised why Rene hadn’t told me about this option. The process of drawing the qi back in took far more time than simply pushing it out. Even more than circulating it in the first place.
Artem made a note on his tablet and smiled, summarising my modest, or rather lacking, progress.
“You’re not used to circulating qi within your body. You subconsciously transform it into Fist Qi.
“And I don’t have time to sit here with you until you get it right. So here’s your assignment — three cycles and retrieval. Each cycle along a new trajectory. Stick to torso and head, no arms or legs. Report back in a few hours.
“Deal?”
Like I had a choice?
I nodded, and Artem’s hologram vanished, leaving me alone.
Comments
Jonathan Griffith
Tyftc!
