Immortality Starts With Face

The air in the designated "ritual chamber" – a seldom-used storage room I'd commandeered, its corners thick with old cobwebs that swayed like ghostly curtains in the faint drafts – hung thick and heavy with the cloying scent of dried herbs I'd had someone burn earlier. The pungent aroma, meant to suggest arcane preparations, mingled with the underlying mustiness of disuse.

It was all part of the intended ambiance, of course.

A way of… setting the stage.

Dominating the dusty wooden floor, illuminated by a single, sputtering oil lamp that cast more shadows than light, was the "formation."

It was a sprawling, intricate mess of chalk lines, concentric circles that wobbled slightly where my hand had slipped on the uneven wooden planks of the floor, and what I hoped looked like indecipherable (but profound) arcane symbols – which I had pilfered from a dozen different, half-remembered sources. The overall impression of complex, esoteric power was – I thought – rather effective, especially to the uninitiated.

Lin Ruolan stood rigidly in the center of that impromptu modern art installation, her usually immaculate hair, the color of polished ebony, slightly disheveled, a few stray strands clinging to her damp forehead. Her bare back and torso – slightly moist, pale skin looking luminous and vulnerable in the dim, flickering light – were a canvas of meticulously placed acupuncture needles.

The little points gleamed like tiny silver thorns, each one inserted by me with a meticulous precision of a true expert.

In her cupped hands, she held a small, unadorned wooden box containing the remnants of the recently consumed "Spirit Harmonizing Pills" – which were, in reality, carefully rolled balls of common flour and water, drenched in herbs and spices, then dried to a convincingly "medicinal" hardness.

Her posture was a testament to a servant's unwavering obedience, a discipline ingrained through years of service… yet the slight, almost imperceptible tremor in her shoulders and the way her gaze steadfastly avoided direct eye contact with me, fixing instead on a crack in the floorboards, spoke volumes of her profound discomfort.

"Master,"

-- her voice was a low murmur, barely audible, tinged with an undeniable skepticism that even her disciplined training couldn't entirely mask, --

"will this… ritual… truly help me advance my cultivation? It feels rather... unorthodox. And a little… exposed."

I allowed a moment of silence to hang in the air, a silence thick with unspoken questions and the scent of burnt herbs, cultivating an aura of profound wisdom I was far from possessing.

Unorthodox is the name of the game, my dear Ruolan, I thought, an internal smirk playing on my mental lips. All of this is for show, of course. All to build expectation, to prime the mind for wonders… and, with the System, a mere expectation may be enough!

The idea had taken root after yesterday's conversation with Big Sis Yue, a remark she made that had blossomed into a full-blown strategic consideration. Big Sis was right: the townsfolk were indeed starting to whisper – wondering if the Young Master Jiang might be able to teach others just as he had with Shadow…

Which begged the question.

Could I?

Could the System extend its effects beyond the bounds of my own person?

Could it enhance my servants?

And crucially, the billion-spirit-stone question: would the System even recognize other people as "my property," in a way that was enough for the process to work?

The System, I knew from yesterday's reports, did indeed work that way on my businesses – but the exact extent of the concept of "ownership" in the System's lexicon was still uncertain.

It was time to do some testing!

But, how to go about doing so? Manifesting more Xue Qi "geniuses" like Shadow was definitively out of the question for now. That would lead to too much heat, too many awkward inquiries, too much potential for the kind of attention from powerful entities that I – at least at present – wanted to avoid.

But what about enhancing Ling Qi instead?

A subtle, plausibly-deniable boost to a highly-ranked loyal retainer's spiritual cultivation?

That was a different beast altogether.

Potentially manageable.

Possibly even attributable to conventional, if rare, methods.

Ruolan, a trusted member of my mother's staff assigned to my courtyard, known for her diligence and respectable existing cultivation base, was the perfect test subject. A breakthrough of a couple of minor realms for someone of her standing might raise an eyebrow or two from those few who were intimately familiar with her progress – but to the wider world, it should not seem too strange.

Less of an outright miracle and more the case of a skilled family servant being rewarded with greater cultivation aids.

Progress attributable to my generosity with some rare spiritual resource I'd bestowed.

"Patience, Ruolan," I said, my voice calm and measured, projecting a confidence I didn't entirely feel.

"The unconventional routes I know of are a pathway to many abilities – some considered to be unnatural… This is an experimental technique I've been developing, one that draws upon ancient principles not widely understood today, designed for the possibility of rapid cultivation advancement. The needles are there to help open your meridians, making them more receptive. The formation is to focus and amplify ambient spiritual energy, and these pills..." I gestured to the box in her hands, "...they helped prepare your very essence, your dantian and spiritual channels, for the influx of purified energy."

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Ah, the classic placebo effect, I mused internally, savoring the irony. The cornerstone of any good charlatan's repertoire, a testament to the power of suggestion. If the current Young Master gig doesn't work out, perhaps I yet have a future as a travelling snake oil salesman?

I produced a small, intricately carved wooden talisman – a two-way communication device, its surface etched with delicate, almost invisible lines that pulsed with a faint internal light.

"I will attempt to activate the formation's energies remotely from another location," I explained, handing it to her. "Keep this talisman with you. You are to inform me immediately if you feel any change, any sensation, however slight. Warmth. Tingling. Shifts in perception. Any of these may mean the method is working."

Ruolan accepted the talisman with a respectful bow of her head, her expression still carefully neutral.

"Yes, Master. I understand."

With a final, encouraging nod that – I hoped – conveyed more certainty than I possessed, I turned and left the room, my footsteps echoing softly on the worn wooden floorboards as I made my way towards the secure, subterranean confines of the basement.

The air in the basement was noticeably cooler, carrying the faint, metallic tang of old iron, the damp, earthy smell of undisturbed stone, and a faint, lingering scent of dried blood. My boots crunched softly on the uneven flagstones as I descended the narrow, winding steps, the torchlight throwing my elongated shadow before me.

Feng was there, as expected, in the small, relatively dry chamber I'd assigned him.

He wasn't idle.

As I entered the main chamber, the single torch flickering fitfully in a rusted wall sconce, casting long, dancing, and somewhat menacing shadows that writhed across the rough-hewn walls… I saw him.

Feng was meticulously, almost reverently, practicing a simple horse stance. His new pair of legs – fully regenerated now, albeit still a little pale and unused-looking – were planted firmly on the stone floor. A look of profound concentration, mixed with a disbelief that hadn't quite faded from his eyes, was etched onto his weathered, scarred face.

He straightened as I approached, his movements still a touch stiff, betraying the newness of his limbs, but imbued with an immense, newfound dignity that had been absent a mere two days ago.

"Master," his voice was thick with an emotion that made it raspy, the sound catching in his throat, "they are truly whole. I... I never thought..." He gestured down at his legs, his eyes shining with unshed tears that traced clean paths through the grime on his cheeks. "…This was a mercy I never expected." He trailed off, visibly overwhelmed by a gratitude so profound it seemed to shake his entire frame, and made to kneel on his newly restored legs.

"Stay standing, Feng," I said, my tone neutral, though a flicker of something akin to satisfaction passed through me.

Internally, I nodded.

Regenerating body parts isn't unheard of in this world; any decent Grade 3 Alchemist with the right ingredients can manage it. The pills themselves aren't even particularly expensive compared to, say, high-grade Qi Gathering Pills let alone spiritual artifacts. For Feng here, the surprise wasn't the rarity of the cure, but the fact it was given at all – by me, his captor.

"'The Stump' no longer suits you," I declared, a faint smile touching my lips. "'Feng the Restored' seems more fitting… don't you think?"

A flicker of something – surprise at the unexpected address, then a deeper, more profound gratitude – crossed his face, briefly illuminating his grim features.

"Thank you, Master. It is… an honor."

Visibly embedded in the center of his chest, a stark, almost brutal contrast against his skin, was a newly-installed talisman: a spirit jade failsafe of my own design. It was a small, intricately inscribed tablet of dark green jade, cool to the touch, that seemed to hum with a barely perceptible, contained energy.

The talisman isn't just about safety, though that is its primary function, I mused internally, my gaze lingering on it for a moment, a silent, ever-present threat.

This jade is a constant, silent reminder of the new order of things, a guarantee against any lingering resentment or future betrayal. A very effective leash, designed to render Feng safe when supervised by those weaker than him – including mere unenhanced mortals. In fact, even a child who knows the right hand-seals could trigger the talisman at will – causing great pain, paralyzing, or even killing the subject outright… should the need arise.

Feng, sensing my gaze, touched a hand to his chest almost unconsciously, a fleeting shadow of his old fear in his eyes, before it was quickly replaced by a renewed, earnest commitment. His earlier fear, the terror of a helpless captive, was now heavily tinged with this unexpected, profound gratitude.

Oh, the joys of Stockholm Syndrome.

"My life is yours, Master. I will serve in any way you command."

"Yes, of course you will," I nodded nonchalantly, "I would have to motivate or kill you otherwise… but, enough pleasantries."

It was time to get straight to the point.

"I need your close and undivided attention for a minute, Feng. Listen carefully. I have a loyal and dedicated servant by the name of Lin Ruolan. She is a diligent cultivator who is currently at the Peak of the Qi Gathering stage."

Feng nodded, his expression earnest, his eyes fixed on mine with unwavering intensity.

"Yes, Master. If you say it is so, then it is so."

I closed my eyes, focusing on any feedback from the System.

[Qualified Belief Detected]

[Belief Source: Feng the Restored (Early Foundation Establishment); BQT 6 Met!]

[Analyzing Belief: Subject 'Lin Ruolan' is at the Peak of Qi Gathering.]

The familiar mental chime, crisp and clear, sounded in my mind.

[Threshold Met! Manifestation Initiated!]

Here we go… this should be it!

[SYSTEM ERROR: Subject 'Lin Ruolan' does not belong to User 'Jiang Li'. Manifestation ABORTED.]

My eyes snapped open.

A surge of disappointment, sharp and cold, washed through me, extinguishing the brief flicker of optimism.

Damn it!

I raised the communication talisman, schooling my features into an expression of calm neutrality, keeping any hint of frustration from my voice.

"Ruolan," I said, my voice even, "it appears the preliminary energetic alignments were not optimal. The experiment has failed for now. You may remove the needles and get dressed. Thank you for your patience and participation."

There was a brief pause, then her voice, clear but audibly disappointed, came through the talisman.

"As you command, Master. I understand. Perhaps my aptitude is… insufficient for this technique."

I ended the connection, lost in thought.

Doesn't 'belong' to me? What does that mean?

My mind raced, sifting through possibilities.

The System doesn't seem the type to get sentimental or concerned with the ethics of owning people. So, it's probably not about some progressive stance on human ownership. Then… it's about definitions?

Lines of authority?

Technically, Ruolan is my mother's servant – assigned to my courtyard, yes, but her primary contract, her foundational oath of service, still resides with Mother. She hasn't sworn a direct, personal oath of fealty to me. Not yet. Nor would she be able to – until my Mother released her, that is. Could it be that the System knows this and, in its logic, Ruolan still "belongs" to my Mother?

Or… is being a mere paid servant insufficient to trigger the System? Would my subject need to be… a slave in the truer sense for this to work?

There were ways to test these hypotheses… but they would have to wait. Ruolan would have to be released by my Mother before I could try "the ritual" with her again -- and I wasn't about to try empowering the ordinary servants, especially not the morally questionable likes of Jin Bao.

As for cultivators -- the only candidate who was both already a cultivator and, arguably, also my "slave," was Feng the Restored himself… I doubted his belief could be used to enhance his own cultivation – that concept would be like trying to fly by pulling yourself up by your bootstraps. But, even assuming I could empower him through conversations with City Lord Wei or Big Sis, implanted talisman failsafe or no, I just didn't believe making him stronger was a great idea.

So, the idea of enhancing my servants through the System would be shelved.

For now.