Chapter 115: One Hundred Twenty-Nine Thousand Six Hundred Years

In summary: cut your coat according to your cloth, or you’ll just end up like a decorative cup on a tea table—nothing but a tragedy.

"Two hundred eighty-four years of magic power, two hundred eighty-four mountain veins!" Thoughts raced through his mind, swirling and returning to the start. Zhou Yi looked at the mountain vein in his hand, lost in contemplation.

"The Art of Heavy Mountains is divided into three stages: First Mountain, Second Mountain, and Third Mountain!" Thoughts drifted across his mind: "The cultivation method for each is identical: build a mountain, use magic power to manifest a mountain!"

"Convert magic power into mountain veins, then arrange those veins into a mountain. It’s as simple as that."

At this thought, Zhou Yi suddenly paused. Looking at the mountain vein in his hand, he chuckled, "However, the most complex things in this world are often hidden within the simplest descriptions."

"To reach the First Mountain stage, one must combine 129,600 mountain veins in a specific rhythm. Each vein holds its own profound mystery; they must return to their proper places and combine naturally to form the Heavy Mountain."

It sounded simple enough, but when one thought about the details, a chill crept into his heart. If not for his current circumstances, he might have succumbed to despair.

129,600 mountain veins. Since each vein required a full year of magic power to forge, it meant that to reach the First Mountain stage, one first needed to possess 129,600 years of magic power.

129,600 years of magic power—that was the threshold for the Art of Heavy Mountains.

"Over 120,000 years of magic power..." Zhou Yi sighed, his mind complex. A sudden thought struck him: if this were converted to internal energy, it would be over a million years' worth. The sheer magnitude of that number made him shiver; it was terrifying.

Rumble!

A thunderous roar in his ears jolted him back to reality. Zhou Yi looked toward the vast, surging river of energy and let out a long, relieved breath, as if waking from a dream.

"Thank goodness for the River of Energy. Otherwise, I wouldn't have the slightest clue what to do with over 100,000 years of magic power."

The energy within the river was infinite, the very source of heaven and earth. If one had the capacity, one could draw upon it freely—provided one could withstand it.

Zhou Yi focused his mind, turning his gaze back to the mountain vein in his hand, then to the tributary of the River of Energy that was constantly converting into magic power.

"Twelve, nearly thirteen thousand years of magic power... according to the Acupoint Infusion Method, that’s at most the mid-stage of the second level of the False Pellet realm."

"But that is the Acupoint Infusion Method. I am determined to follow the Acupoint Growth Method, which means the requirement translates to... the fifth level of the False Pellet realm!"

Zhou Yi was stunned. What the hell? Was this requirement too insane? The Infusion Method only required the second level, while the Growth Method demanded the fifth!

He felt a sudden, disorienting panic.

If it had been the fourth level, he might have found a way, or perhaps even risked his life to achieve it. But the fifth level was so impossibly difficult that even with his talent and his "golden finger," he dared not claim he could reach it during his breakthrough.

"What do I do?" The situation had hit a deadlock. Zhou Yi stood frozen, his mind blank.

To cultivate the first stage of the Art of Heavy Mountains, he needed the 129,600-year threshold just to qualify to begin.

Zhou Yi was confident he could handle everything else, but he was stuck on the magic power. Without enough of it, even with heaven-defying abilities, he was powerless.

The cultivation of the Art of Heavy Mountains was completely stalled.

"Should I... try to break through the limit?" After a long silence, the thought flashed through his mind.

Magic power was restrained by one's cultivation level (Dao-hang); it could not exceed the limit that one's foundation could bear. It wasn't impossible to exceed it, but the consequences of losing control over that excess power were dire.

"No... that won't work!" He immediately dismissed the thought. It wasn't that he couldn't find a way to do it, but if the power exceeded his control, he couldn't manipulate it precisely. Even if he met the threshold, he couldn't guarantee he could continue the cultivation.

After all, the Art of Heavy Mountains required more than just the quantity of power; he had to convert it into veins, and each vein had to carry its specific mystery and fall into its exact place. He could ensure this with power he controlled, but he couldn't guarantee the same for power that had spiraled beyond his reach.

"What do I do?" The problem returned to square one, unresolved, leaving Zhou Yi feeling restless.

Without a solution, he couldn't cultivate the Art of Heavy Mountains. If he couldn't cultivate it, the surging energy in his mind's space would continue to accumulate. Once it reached a certain point, it would burst forth like a broken dam.

When that happened, his body would be like a levee crushed by a flood, shattering instantly.

Rumble! Rumble! Rumble!

The sound of the river, wave after wave, echoed in his ears like the tolling of a death knell—each strike urgent, each one terrifying.

In his confusion, Zhou Yi’s gaze fell upon his status panel, specifically his cultivation level. Seeing the black characters "One Thousand Years," a bitter taste rose in his throat.

A thousand years of Dao-hang meant a thousand years of magic power. He could only control what he possessed; not a drop more.

"Damn it, how am I supposed to handle this?" Frustrated, he couldn't help but curse.

A measly thousand years of cultivation was light-years away from the 129,600 years he required.

The cultivation of the Art of Heavy Mountains was like an assembly line with a broken part. Even if every other stage was perfect, the whole process had to grind to a halt for repairs.

But how could he repair this? He had found the problem, but he lacked the tools to fix it.