The world opened up by the twistless bronze lamp, though still within the great universe, forms a separate realm with its own boundaries, completely cut off from the outside.

“This bronze lamp was something I acquired by chance. I’ve already explored this place twice before, but there are still many things I haven’t figured out.” With this single sentence, George Baker blocked the barrage of questions James Smith was about to blurt out.

At that moment, James Smith suddenly heard a strange “slurping” sound coming from behind him. Turning around, he saw that just several yards away, there was actually another person.

A skinny, shriveled, disheveled old Daoist, sitting cross-legged on the ground, holding a medium-sized porcelain bowl, was noisily slurping noodles.

The filthy old Daoist didn’t spare so much as a glance at James Smith or George Baker, focusing all his attention on his bowl of noodles, eating until sweat poured down his face.

George Baker appeared fairly relaxed. “He was eating noodles the last time I came, too. He pays no attention to anything else and shouldn’t bother us. This man is unfathomable—you must never provoke him. As long as we leave each other alone, that’s for the best.”

James Smith nodded in agreement, but his keen mind and sharp eyes soon noticed something odd:

Though the Daoist was small and thin, his mouth opened astonishingly wide as he ate. Normally, at that rate, he’d finish the bowl in just a few bites. Yet the noodles in the bowl remained heaped and full, no matter how quickly he ate.

James Smith whispered, “Why can’t he finish the noodles?”

George Baker replied blandly, “That’s a Cornucopia. The Daoist uses it to hold his noodles—he could eat for ten thousand years and never empty it.”

Under the red sky, upon the white earth, a filthy old Daoist clutched his Cornucopia and ate noodles. No one knew how long he’d been eating, nor how much longer he would continue.

A mortal youth, suddenly exposed to the bizarre world of cultivation, was filled with curiosity. George Baker, clearly growing impatient, said, “Come with me.” With that, he summoned a blue light, took James Smith with him, and flew more than ten miles away. Only after leaving the noodle-eating Daoist far behind did they land again, the old and the young sitting face to face.

Within the realm of the blue lamp, the land was flat, with hardly any undulation. Only in the far distance stood a solitary, towering mountain, stubborn and alone. A bleak mist pervaded the world, and James Smith could barely make out the mountain’s outline.

Without any preamble, George Baker said directly to James Smith, “In cultivation, from bottom to top, there are twelve realms in total.”

Though abrupt, it was a rare opportunity to hear a master speak. James Smith immediately straightened up and listened intently. Who doesn’t long for immortality? Who doesn’t yearn for freedom? James Smith was no exception.

Seeing the earnest solemnity on James Smith’s face, tinged with a hint of longing, George Baker smiled slightly. “No need to be so formal. These are just some basics—related to cultivation, but not directly helpful. Just listen as you please. Once I’ve explained the realms, my own matters will be easier to discuss. Of these twelve realms, the first and lowest is called ‘Tongtian’—‘Connecting to Heaven.’”

As soon as he heard “Tongtian,” James Smith began to blink in surprise. The lowest realm is “Connecting to Heaven”? That’s already connecting to heaven? What’s left to cultivate after that?

Chapter 8: Three Tiers, Twelve Realms

George Baker could read the youth’s confusion. Back when they sought the Dao, they’d had the exact same thought. Still smiling, he shook his head and explained, “It’s the ‘connecting’ of communication. This ‘Tongtian’ refers to connecting with heaven and earth—using basic techniques to adjust and temper the body. Once mastered, the body becomes lighter and more agile, and you begin to sense things you couldn’t before: the fluctuations of spiritual energy in the world.”

Put another way, “Tongtian” is essentially cleansing the marrow and forging the body’s foundation.

Upon reaching the “Tongtian” realm, regardless of future cultivation, one’s lifespan increases by three years.

In ancient times, this first stage of cultivation was called “Spiritual Body.” By comparison, “Tongtian” is less accurate and even carries a misleading implication. Yet this very implication serves as encouragement for beginners, and embodies the grand ambitions of all cultivators.

The world imagines that mountain-dwelling cultivators are always solemn and humorless, but in truth, the path of cultivation is never short of lively minds. If all cultivators were rigid and rule-bound, how could today’s flourishing scene of countless wondrous arts and thriving sects have come to be?

Thus, the proper but dull “Spiritual Body” was gradually replaced by the livelier, more evocative “Tongtian.”

The first realm of cultivation—the first time a humble mortal lifts their head to glimpse the ethereal world of immortals: Tongtian.

Above the Tongtian realm is the “Ningqing” realm—“Tranquil Clarity.”

Once the body can sense the flow of spiritual energy, the world appears more vivid to the cultivator’s eyes and ears. Flowers seem more beautiful, birdsong more melodious, and the temptations of the world grow stronger. To succeed in cultivation, one must learn to quiet the mind and shut out distractions. This sounds simple, but to truly eliminate all disturbances and remain untroubled is no easy feat. It requires specialized techniques or special methods.

If one can complete the “Ningqing” stage, their lifespan increases by another nine years.