No Money to Cultivate Immortality?

The Spiritual Realm.

A mental plane jointly constructed by the Ten Major Sects.

The moment the exam officially began, Zhang Yu felt his consciousness being yanked out of his body, cast into another world.

A breeze lightly ruffled his hair. There was a stiff sensation under his butt, like sitting on a chair.

When Zhang Yu opened his eyes, he found himself in a standard classroom.

Dozens of students from various high schools, all roughly his age, were seated around him.

This was the Spiritual Realm—a mental world distinct from reality.

It could be called a real world, or a false one.

It was real in that everything a person felt here—touch, sound, sight—was indistinguishable from the real world.

It was false in that nothing here physically existed. Everything was like a dream, an illusion. Everything one saw, heard, touched, or felt could be artificially manipulated.Zhang Yu knew his physical body remained back in his dorm bed at Songyang Advanced Immortal Arts High School. Only his consciousness had entered the Spiritual Realm.

Like the others here, he had been randomly assigned to this classroom from among all the students sitting the exam in Songyang City.

Looking around, Zhang Yu couldn’t spot a single difference between this and the real world.

He muttered to himself, “Please don’t let this turn into one of those scenarios where the whole city’s student body gets trapped in a VR nightmare…”

A place like a virtual network world—that was how Zhang Yu interpreted the Spiritual Realm based on what little information he had.

Kunxu had simply made it possible through Immortal Dao technology.

Of course, Zhang Yu understood his grasp of the Spiritual Realm was still shallow and likely one-sided. But for now, this level of understanding was enough.

At the front of the classroom stood a slender man wearing an owl-shaped mask, surveying the room from behind the podium.

Li Xingyu glanced over the examinees.

From his perspective, the name, school, and ID number of each student popped up over their heads like floating text.

“Sigh… Let’s just get this over with so I can clock out.”

As a Soul Cultivation Student from Mangshan High, Li Xingyu no longer had a physical body—just a soul. He was already used to life inside the Spiritual Realm.

Because of their unique nature, Soul Cultivation Students were exempt from the Dao Heart Exam. Instead, they were roped in to serve as proctors.

Thinking of the 45 hours of work left today, he couldn’t help but sigh again.

Suddenly, as his gaze swept the room, it paused—locking onto Zhang Yu.

“It’s him?”

He remembered that day at Li Xuelian’s art exhibit. This very security guard had stirred up a reaction in the Celestial Martial Diagram, drawing quite a bit of attention.

“From Songyang High, huh?”

“Interesting. I’d better record his exam process. Might fetch a good price as research data for the principal.”

Li Xingyu took a few steps forward. With each step, a copy of him split off.

By the time he had walked ten steps, a version of Li Xingyu stood before every single examinee.

This type of duplication was child’s play for a Soul Cultivation Student inside the Spiritual Realm.

Zhang Yu eyed the owl-masked proctor before him, speculation churning in his mind.

The strength of one’s willpower was the measure of their Dao Heart. To gauge it, you had to test the limits of that will.

So, the Dao Heart Exam mainly assessed willpower—at least for those in the Qi Refining Realm.

But the methods used to test willpower varied widely. To prevent examinees from training for specific scenarios, the contents of each Dao Heart Exam were different.

From what Zhang Yu knew, the higher the exam’s tier, the more resources were poured into the Dao Heart assessment, and the more complex the Spiritual Realm trials would be.

More variety, more layers of challenge—that was how you got a more accurate reading of someone’s true condition.

“This one’s just the monthly exam…” Zhang Yu thought to himself. “Shouldn’t be too complicated.”

At that moment, Li Xingyu extended his hand. Resting in his palm was a device that looked a lot like a smartphone.

“Take it.”

All the copies of Li Xingyu spoke in unison:

“Today’s Dao Heart Exam is very simple… pain.”

“For the next sixty minutes, the controller in your hand can be used to adjust your pain level at will.”

“The higher the pain level you maintain—and the longer you endure it—the better your ranking.”

The Dao Heart Exam was scored based on ranking. Your score depended not just on your own performance, but on how you measured up against other examinees.

For Songyang City’s monthly Dao Heart Exam, scores were ranked against all high school students in the city.

For the national university entrance exam, rankings would be calculated across the entire First Floor of Kunxu.

“One more thing—if your pain level exceeds your tolerance and causes you to pass out, your consciousness will immediately be ejected from the Spiritual Realm, and you’ll receive a score of zero.”

With that, Li Xingyu pointed toward the sky. A ten-second countdown appeared midair.

“Timing starts in ten seconds.”

Zhang Yu looked down at the controller in his hand. The screen displayed options: Pain Level 0, Pain Level 1, Pain Level 2, Pain Level 3…

The device had just two buttons—up and down—allowing for real-time adjustment of pain levels.

Just looking at it made Zhang Yu feel phantom aches all over his body.

Who the hell designed this exam? What kind of twisted mind…?

Don’t tell me these pain levels go all the way up to things like “flaming execution,” “chicken-limb chopping,” or “death by a thousand cuts…”

Is this Songyang City’s own low-budget Saw reboot?

Zhang Yu hated hardship more than anything. The only thing worse was being forced to suffer against his will.

Yet ever since arriving in Kunxu and stepping onto the path of cultivation, all he had done was suffer. He was gulping down pain like soup.

Right now, he felt downright nauseated. Every cell of his being resisted.

But sensing this, Zhang Yu’s eyes sharpened.

“Then again,” he thought, “as a high school cultivator, studying, cultivating, and taking exams is literally my job. If I suffer now, I’ll earn more later.”

“I love studying. I love exams!”

Giving himself a mental pep talk, Zhang Yu straightened his back. Even the pain controller in his hand started to look slightly more bearable.

What is willpower? What is mindset? What is a Dao Heart?

The Dao Heart teacher had explained it many ways. Since ancient times, people had worshipped gods, demons, even other humans…

Each system of belief created a unique ideology that, when paired with the right heart-forging technique, strengthened the Dao Heart and enhanced willpower.

Zhang Yu’s understanding was simple: willpower was just the ability to endure suffering. The stronger your will, the more suffering you could take.

A “mindset” was a way of thinking that helped you rationalize that suffering was beneficial—making it easier to bear.

Right now, Zhang Yu was drawing on a few of these small mindsets to psych himself up and do better on the exam.

Everyone had their own small mantras like these.

But a long-term, structured mindset—something integrated with one’s techniques and life experience—that, Zhang Yu had yet to find. Nor had the Dao Heart classes managed to teach it to him.

A cultivator’s willpower could be scored as a Dao Heart level.

Their mindset, combined with the proper technique, could enhance their Dao Heart and further boost their will.

Mindset as the core, willpower as the expression, technique as the method—this triad formed a cultivator’s complete Dao Heart.

The countdown hit zero.

Around him, students began pressing their controllers. Some screamed. Some grimaced. Some gasped in shock…

When Zhang Yu raised the pain level to 1, it felt like a steel needle had pierced his palm.

He quickly activated the Basic Heart-Forging Method, Level 1—the one taught in Dao Heart class—to steady his mind.

Emptiness… nothingness… selflessness… The technique was designed to calm the emotions, clear the mind, and guide the user into a meditative state.

With enough practice, one’s Dao Heart level and willpower would steadily grow.

This Level 1 Basic Heart-Forging Method was something the original Zhang Yu had already learned before Zhang Yu’s soul arrived in this body.

But he’d always been too busy improving his mana, body strength, Zhou Tian Qi-Gathering Technique, Body-Refining Thirty-Six Forms, and Scattered Hand to advance this technique.

Now, as he channeled it, he felt a measure of peace. His pain tolerance seemed to rise.

He bumped the pain level up to 2.

Hiss!

It now felt like another steel needle had pierced his other hand.

Still bearable.

So Zhang Yu kept increasing the pain, step by step. By the time he reached Pain Level 37, it felt like 37 steel needles were stabbing through his arms and legs.

His face twisted in agony. No matter how he tried to channel the Basic Heart-Forging Method, he couldn’t find any peace.

“Calm the mind! Calm the mind! Calm the mind!”

Steady focus. Silent endurance. Persistent effort. Drip after drip, water wears down stone…

The Basic Heart-Forging Method worked best when paired with that kind of ideology.

That was the norm for Dao Heart improvement. Only when mindset and technique aligned could the results reach their peak.

But that whole “calm, steady endurance” thing? That didn’t fit Zhang Yu at all.

At this moment, all he wanted was to find the sadist who wrote this exam and beat them into a groveling apology.

Just as Zhang Yu hit his limit, something flared in his mind: the Celestial Martial Heart-Forging Technique.

Fist, palm, leg, spear, blade, sword…

A parade of figures erupted in his thoughts—each brimming with killing intent, unyielding courage, and indomitable spirit.

That—that—was a mindset that resonated with him.

Though Zhang Yu lacked the Dao Heart level to truly master the Celestial Martial Heart-Forging Technique, just recalling its essence lifted his spirits.

It felt like marching behind a mighty general—his courage swelling just by witnessing that strength.

The pain stabbing into his limbs suddenly felt a little easier to endure.

He cracked a twisted grin.

“Once I make it out of this, I’m going to hunt down whoever wrote this exam and beat them till they beg for mercy.”