Chapter 16: Training the Mind

Casanova had left. Longyin stepped out of the small wooden cabin and circled around it several times, front and back. Only when he was certain that no high-level Card Beasts would visit this humble dwelling did he feel at ease. Still, being ever cautious, Longyin took some medicinal powder from his spatial storage and sprinkled it around the cabin’s perimeter. This powder was a favorite among Card Cultivators who traveled the jungles; a little sprinkled at night kept away poisonous insects, ants, and low-level Card Beasts. High-level Card Beasts, of course, would not be deterred.

Returning inside, Longyin took out several high-grade medicinal herbs from his bracelet’s space. His eyes sparkled at the array of ingredients on the table. He continued to retrieve a few special tools: a large marble mortar, a small pestle for grinding, and several specially made porcelain trays for holding materials.

He turned his wrist, and a Card Crafting Pen appeared in his hand. Placing it squarely on the table, Longyin smiled as the familiar sensation washed over him. Every tool on the table was arranged exactly as in his previous life—he had a habit, almost a compulsion, that his card crafting room and all its contents must be set out just so. If anything was out of place, he would feel deeply uncomfortable and could do nothing until order was restored. Though in this life his compulsion was less severe, some habits were hard to change.

He drew a deep breath and shifted the marble mortar in front of him. With the pestle in his left hand, excitement welled up in his chest. These were the tools he had grown used to in his past life, and holding them once again felt like grasping hold of the future.

As his left hand gripped the pestle, the fingers of his right hand twitched involuntarily, an eager restlessness stirring within him. Following his desire, his right hand swiftly picked up a herb and tossed it into the mortar. His left hand moved in smooth coordination, grinding the herbs with practiced ease. When one ingredient was nearly ground, Longyin would add another. At his level, there was no need to measure out juices—he could compound them directly in the mortar. Each time his hand touched a herb, he knew instinctively how many would be needed to achieve the concoction he desired.

He picked up another herb, this time plucking only the topmost stamen. As the juice in the mortar gradually darkened to an inky blue-green, Longyin continued at a steady pace, changing the direction of his grind only when a familiar fragrance rose to his nose. At last, a smile broke across his face. He poured the prepared four-star energy card potion into a waiting porcelain tray. Normally, such a potion’s efficacy would last only an hour, but these special trays would preserve it for twelve.

With one success, another followed. Longyin gradually rediscovered the feeling of his former life, and soon reached the same state: confident, at ease, and skillful. His small hands worked—sometimes fast, sometimes slow—turning herb after herb into tray after tray of potent liquid. The cabin filled with the rich aroma of medicine. Fully absorbed in his task, he still found the work taxing; his spirit was not yet at its former strength, and his body gradually lagged behind his mind. Sweat beaded densely on his forehead. At the moment the last potion was finished, he dropped the pestle with a thud. His left hand trembled from the exertion, aching and sore. Still, he managed to pour the final juice into a tray, then stumbled to the bed and collapsed. This was the most exhausting session he’d ever experienced, and though joy filled him at the sight of the transformed herbs, he was utterly drained.

With his last reserve of will, Longyin took a clock from his bracelet and set the alarm. As his eyelids, heavy as lead, finally dropped, he fell into a deep sleep.

As Longyin slept, a figure slowly emerged from a shadowy corner of the room. Dreamlike blue hair cascaded down to her ankles. Wisps of hair fluttered gently across her brow. Beneath thick, feathery lashes, her deep blue eyes were enigmatic. Her features were exquisite—high nose, perfectly shaped lips pressed together, expressionless. A long blue gauze gown wrapped her tall, elegant frame.

Since Casanova’s departure, Kalanen had remained invisible in the cabin, observing every move of the little one. Only after confirming he was truly asleep did she reveal herself. The scent of medicine hung in the air as Kalanen moved, her bare feet landing lightly on the wooden floor, her delicate toes touching down with a dancer’s grace—elegant and enchanting.

She approached Longyin, watching the exhaustion on his delicate, sleeping face. Tilting her head, her jade-like finger touched the center of Longyin’s brow. A blue droplet-shaped mark appeared on his forehead, glowing gently. The mark made his little face look even more innocent, like a holy water spirit. His previously strained expression relaxed and turned blissful. Seeing the faint smile at the corner of Longyin’s lips, Kalanen’s eyes flickered with amusement.

“This little one is truly interesting,” she mused, sitting down beside him, resting her chin on her hand as she watched him sleep with a gentle smile—a smile so radiant that even “spring’s first bloom” could not do it justice.

From the moment she met Longyin, Kalanen had wondered about his abilities. When she saw him, her mood inexplicably lifted—something wholly irrational for a person as logical as Kalanen. She was even more astonished by her father’s attitude toward the boy. Casanova might not have noticed, but Kalanen did. A thought flashed through her mind, though she could not be certain.

Longyin’s power was clearly connected with the Card Beast race. He seemed to get along well with Card Beasts. Whether this ability affected all Card Beasts or just certain ones was unclear. What was clear was that she could not bring herself to dislike him, and her father adored him with all his heart, ready to give him anything.

Out of curiosity, Kalanen bestowed her Card Beast Soul upon him. The Card Beast Soul was a bridge between companions—through it, she could sense his location instantly and, if he were ever in danger, she could detect it and even shield him from harm once, even if she could not arrive in time to help.

The Card Beast Soul was supposed to be reserved for a future mate. Kalanen smiled sardonically at the thought—who cared about such things? If it had a use now, she would use it. After all, she didn’t believe she would ever meet anyone—human or Card Beast—worthy of being her partner.

In this respect, she and Longyin were surprisingly alike: both proud, both solitary.

Kalanen lingered at Longyin’s side, only leaving when the blue droplet mark on his brow faded. She wondered at his skill with medicinal herbs, but for a child of the Long family, it was not all that unusual. Satisfied, she had no further desire to observe.

No sooner had Kalanen left than the frog-shaped alarm clock at Longyin’s bedside began to jump and croak, “The early worm gets eaten by the bird, gets eaten by the bird…” The refrain grew louder and more insistent until Longyin, irritated, slapped it, sending it flying.

“Ribbit!” The poor frog clock shattered instantly.

Longyin sat up. He had been sleeping so comfortably, after all. Annoyed, but glancing at the trays of completed medicine, he stretched his small body, his joints crackling pleasantly. Feeling refreshed, he hopped out of bed, gathered up the battered remains of the frog clock, and pieced it back together. Soon it was leaping and croaking as before. Satisfied, he tossed it back into his spatial storage. That was the frog-brand alarm clock—tolerant of all abuse, eternally loyal!

Approaching the wooden table, Longyin retrieved more than two hundred blank white cards from his storage. He placed the first card before him, took a deep breath, and, grasping the Card Crafting Pen, dipped its tip into the potion. As the ink-darkened tip touched the card, his right hand began to move steadily. With each stroke, his spirit was gradually consumed, and an intricate pattern slowly formed on the card’s surface. With the final stroke, a blue light flashed—a four-star energy card was complete. He tossed it onto the bed, took up another blank card, and repeated the process—another four-star energy card, then another, and another. Longyin worked tirelessly, determined to exhaust his spiritual strength. His left hand gripped the table, his teeth clenched, as he fought through the splitting pain in his head to make the final stroke. The pain was so intense it felt as if his skull would split. He crouched, clutching his head, gasping for breath.

Draining one’s spiritual strength was a torment that Card Crafters avoided unless necessary. Deliberately exhausting it, as Longyin did, was unheard of. But he persisted, because every time he reached his limit, his spiritual training progressed best. Enduring the agony, he began his mental exercises to restore his strength.

Half an hour later, drenched in sweat, Longyin stood once more. Determination shone on his young face. Gripping his pen, he set about another round of exhausting his spiritual force, making yet more four-star energy cards. He chose not to craft anything else—for energy cards were always in demand and, more importantly, one’s crafting style was most apparent in other cards, but energy cards revealed nothing of the sort. In this life, Longyin was resolved: apart from his closest circle, he would only ever give away energy cards—never anything else. This was a form of self-protection. He dared not gamble that the old monsters from his past life wouldn’t notice clues in new card designs.

Though the Long family appeared powerful, Longyin was determined to keep a low profile until he had enough strength to protect himself.

Exhaust, train, repeat—cycle after cycle, this was his daily grind. At the end of the day, he gazed at the bed heaped with four-star energy cards, finally ending another day of tedious, painful, and spirit-devouring work.