Chapter Fifty-Three: The Mark

In the study, a thick, thread-bound book lay open on the pale gray desk. At the top of the exposed page, a line of small characters read: "The Principles of Meditation—Chapter Two."

Fan Bei lowered his head, gazing downward. Yet the focus of his eyes was not on the opened book, but rather on the illusory white tome before him, emanating a faint, ethereal glow.

He was deep in thought.

When Dabai bound the system, he could ignore the mental corruption inflicted by evil spirits; Old He, through his sacrificial offerings to Xiaobai, bore a spiritual imprint left by the other in his soul, granting him a similar effect.

He had encountered the concept of "spiritual imprint" when reviewing the "butler" system's log earlier.

At that time, there was such a line:
"The butler system has expelled the spiritual imprint within the host's soul—The Hillside of Kulene."

Now, it seemed that the reason both could ignore the threat of evil spirits was the same: a higher, mysterious existence had left a spiritual imprint within their souls.

Yet, this "Father of Systems" book before him was, by every measure, several orders higher than both the system and Xiaobai.

And yet, he found himself incapable—even unable to freely communicate with Xiaobai. The other had merely snorted at him, and he’d instantly felt a wave of dizziness, his ears ringing incessantly.

With this in mind, he turned to the table of contents in "The Principles of Meditation," selecting key chapters to review in detail, hoping to find an answer.

On the somewhat damp pages, lines of bold characters seemed poised to unveil the deepest secrets of the world.

"Chapter Seven: Soul and Consciousness?"

"Ordinary people do not have souls. No, more accurately, their mental strength is so low that consciousness cannot coalesce into a true soul; it is merely a mist dispersed throughout the body. When a person dies, the mist dissipates and the soul vanishes."

"Through meditation, and by employing certain techniques... one can sense where the soul resides in its illusory state; as mental strength increases, the soul can be gathered and take form."

"The elementary stage is the ability to project oneself into the world of consciousness, much like playing a virtual reality game."

"The intermediate stage is being able to leave the body and exist briefly in reality."

"The advanced stage, roughly, is transforming into a state like an evil spirit, able to exist in the spiritual realm for extended periods."

"For even higher stages, there is insufficient data to deduce any further."

He pondered these words carefully, then closed his eyes, began practicing the meditation technique, and sought to perceive the location of his own soul.

At first, it was difficult. He would subconsciously see the sandy beach by the sea in the world of consciousness.

Before long, following the techniques described in the book, he relaxed his mind, gently sensing with his will, and finally perceived the presence of his soul.

The book’s descriptions were vivid, clearly drawn from many people’s experiences.

Indeed, he felt a layer of mist permeating his body—head, limbs, every cell, everywhere.

His consciousness meticulously swept through every inch of the mist, finally finding that aside from its density, there was nothing unusual, nor did he sense any spiritual imprint.

Wait?

A thought flashed through his mind: "binding equipment."

He looked again at the illusory white book emitting its faint glow, and suddenly understood—could it be that this book was not actually bound to his soul?

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than, for the first time, a prompt appeared on the cover of the ethereal white book:

"The creator of the system attempted to bind this book—mental strength insufficient, at least Bronze rank required."

Fan Bei immediately felt relieved, letting out a long sigh.

It seemed that once he truly bound the "Father of Systems," not to mention evil spirits—even Xiaobai would be helpless against him.

Of course, this only applied in the spiritual realm. If the other decided to shoot him with a gun in reality, that would still be the end for him.

Having clarified the reason, he shed his doubts, returned to his bedroom, sat cross-legged on his bed, and began cultivating.

Bit by bit, spiritual energy was continuously drawn from the illusory white book, transforming into streams of warmth within his mind, then into countless droplets, nourishing the world of consciousness, expanding the beach by the sea.

Now, with three "hosts" supplying him with spiritual energy, he had no worries about cultivation resources.

...

Two days passed in a flash. By the morning of July 18th, the evil tide that had persisted for three days had completely dissipated.

During those two days, Fan Bei spent his time eating, cultivating, and left all patrol duties to Dabai and Chef He. No mechanical malfunctions occurred that required his attention.

To his great joy, after lavishly expending resources and burning through ten thousand points of spiritual power in two days, the beach in his mind had grown into an island about an acre across.

According to the "Bronze Grade Meditation Manual," with such an expanse, he could now begin cultivating fields and planting spiritual plants upon it.

The first step was to nurture a bronze-grade plant, then use it to improve the soil, transforming the entire island into bronze-grade substance.

If he succeeded in cultivating this bronze plant, it would mean his spiritual cultivation had reached the bronze rank.

Once the plant was growing, meditation would become much easier thereafter. Simply by watering these plants with spiritual energy, they would automatically help him refine his spirit, increasing his mental strength.

As for which kind of plant to cultivate, Fan Bei needed to think carefully—there was no need to rush.

After some consideration, he decided to go to the control room and contact Lang Sheng via radio.

Though there was an elderly Xiaobai next to him, he could not fully trust the other, especially on matters concerning cultivation techniques.

Dabai was protected by the system; at present, he did not have such a privilege.

As he stepped out of his bedroom, he saw Chef He approaching.

"Uncle He, is something the matter?" he asked warmly.

"Oh, Mr. Fan, these are the spirit cores I collected over the past few days," Chef He said, pulling out a bulging cloth bag and offering it to him.

"Uh, that’s your own reward. You don’t need to hand it over," Fan Bei shook his head, declining.

Had this happened ten days ago, his eyes would have lit up. Now, though, he felt like someone stuffed from hunger, and did not wish to sully his image for such a thing.

Chef He’s mind stirred. In theory, he was not Fan Bei’s servant, but the servant of that mysterious being within the iron sphere.

Yet, residing within Fan Bei’s domain, working for him and eating his food—though he was unpaid for now—his lifelong contract with the Silver Guild still needed to be bought out by Fan Bei.

If his master were a harsher man, he would have every right to take all the fruits of Chef He’s recent labors for himself.

Mr. Fan truly was a man of dignity.

Chef He’s thoughts shifted, and he respectfully offered the bag again. "In that case, Mr. Fan, I would like to use these spirit cores to ask a favor: would you help redeem my friends and family from the Silver Guild’s contract, so that they, too, may receive the salvation of the Iron Sphere’s master? If this isn’t enough, I will continue to save up."

"Oh, so that’s how it is. Very well, I’ll accept them," Fan Bei nodded, looking at Chef He with newfound respect. He added, "Give me a list, I’ll make some inquiries for you."

"Thank you, Mr. Fan," Chef He said, suppressing his excitement as he handed over the bag, then produced a notepad from his jacket pocket for Fan Bei.

Fan Bei took the two items, offered a few words of reassurance, and left.

At that moment, by the dog’s bed in the living room, Dabai was playing gleefully with a new toy.

It was a wooden windmill Chef He had made for him yesterday during a break, as thanks for Dabai’s help during the evil tide.

An even grander toy was in the making—a spectacular wooden model train.

"Xiaobai, come play with us…" Dabai called, stretching out a paw to spin the windmill blades, which whirred merrily. "This new toy is way more fun than your iron egg."

"Leave me be, I want some peace and quiet," the iron sphere lay motionless in the dog bed.

"What’s wrong, are you sick? But if you’re sick, there’s no way Master can give you a shot…" Dabai scratched his head, perplexed.

Xiaobai gave no answer, only sulking in silence.

Over the past two days, Chef He had finally managed to obtain his first spirit core. Before Xiaobai could even come celebrate, Chef He had immediately made a request Xiaobai couldn’t refuse.

He wished for the merciful master of the iron sphere to let him use these spirit cores to ransom his family and friends.

What could Xiaobai do? He could only agree graciously.

If he refused such a reasonable request, he was certain the other’s loyalty would plummet into the negatives, and he would never again believe in Xiaobai’s kindness.

Thanks to the mischief of certain foolish peers, humanity was no longer utterly ignorant of their kind.

In the end, people were far harder to fool than dogs; one couldn’t simply switch targets on a whim...