At Greenland Villa.
Bertha had returned to the Martial Arts League. She had only been home for less than three days before duty called her back—leaving John with a sense of longing.
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to change the image his seventh sister had of him.
Maybe he'd have to drop by the Martial Arts League sometime soon… and personally correct her impression.
In the villa bedroom…
John sat cross-legged, calmly explaining to Alice what he had learned from the old Taoist priest about cultivators.
"The cultivation system is completely different from that of martial artists," he said. "To put it simply, cultivators operate on a higher plane."
He raised a hand, illustrating with his fingers.
"There are nine realms in the cultivator system. For instance, someone at the fifth level of the Energy Refining Stage would be equivalent to a martial artist in the Transformation Realm—but reaching that level is extremely difficult."
That, John explained, was the biggest obstacle facing cultivators—and the main reason they were so rare. The conditions were simply too demanding.
According to the old Taoist priest, the strongest cultivators today had only reached the Golden Core Stage—and those were ancient monsters who hadn't appeared in the world for a very long time.
John had once asked the old priest, "If the Golden Core is the highest level anyone's reached, how do you know there are realms beyond it?"
The old man had only laughed and said, "That's a secret. You'll understand in time."
Any time John pushed for deeper answers, the priest would smile enigmatically and say, "In time." That vagueness annoyed John so much, he once burned several of the old man's treasured painting albums in revenge—only to get brutally beaten for it.
After he finished explaining the basics, Alice blinked her beautiful eyes and asked, "Then what level are you at now?"
John gave her a thoughtful look—then smirked mischievously.
"You'll have to guess."
"Hmph, forget it. I don't want to know anymore."
Alice turned away, pouting.
Watching her, John finally understood why the old Taoist priest had always looked so pleased with himself. Teasing disciples is fun.
He chuckled. "Alice, come sit on the bed. I'll help you with your cultivation."
Her eyes lit up. "You can do that?"
"Of course. You and I share the same origin of vital energy. As long as I place my hand on your back and circulate my energy, I can guide yours. Don't worry—I'll control the flow. Your meridians are still weak. You wouldn't be able to handle anything too intense yet."
John spoke plainly, revealing the secret that their vital energies came from the same source.
Alice, unfamiliar with cultivation, didn't grasp the full significance—but John had no intention of absorbing any of her energy. She was still laying her foundation, and every wisp of vital energy she generated was precious.
Once she reached a more advanced stage—when her energy production became stable—he might be able to draw from it, but for now, he'd help her without taking anything in return.
"Alright, little bastard! Let's start now!"
John winced. "Hey, haven't you already accepted me as your teacher? Shouldn't you call me 'Master' from now on?"
This was entirely Bertha's fault. She had destroyed his image and saddled him with this ridiculous nickname.
Alice gave him a straight face. "Sure. I'm not unreasonable. Since you asked me not to call you little bastard… I won't call you little bastard again. So, what should I call you?"
"Master."
"Got it." She smiled slyly. "Thanks, little bastard."
"...Forget it. Call me whatever you want."
"You're so understanding," she said sweetly.
Alice then sat cross-legged on the bed, withdrawing her tiny fists with excitement. She tore a few holes in her black silk stockings as she adjusted her posture, revealing her pale, slender legs.
John raised an eyebrow. "We're just cultivating. Why tear your stockings?"
"It's none of your business," Alice shot back. "I wanted to. Stop being a nag."
With a resigned sigh, John sat down behind her, cross-legged, and gently placed his hand on her back.
But then he paused.
Huh?
"There's a white strap in the way. It's interfering with the energy flow."
John tugged at the strap—just as he heard a soft rustling sound in front of him.
Alice's top suddenly shifted forward.
His eyes widened slightly.
"...Maybe we should start with breathing exercises first."