You ever walk into a library and feel like you're about to loot a treasure dungeon? That's exactly the vibe I got stepping into Wuhun Academy's massive library for the first time. With my perfect recall, going through books was literally like taking screenshots with my brain. Flip a page, click. Flip another, click. No cap—by the time I finished breakfast on my second day, I'd already absorbed an entire entry-level martial spirit theory textbook like it was a Wikipedia binge session.
So yeah, absolutely zero surprise that I became a library regular within the first week.
The academy had different student archetypes, and honestly? They were pretty predictable. Some people trained until they literally couldn't move anymore, grinding cultivation like they were speedrunning a souls game. Others spent all day sparring in the courtyard, throwing hands like they were auditioning for some underground fight tournament. A few brown-nosers sucked up to instructors, hoping to get special treatment or advanced techniques.
Me? I chose violence against books instead.
I practically lived in that library, and the librarian—this ancient soul master with a beard longer than my entire body—started giving me concerned looks. Like, dude thought I was about to set up a sleeping bag between the cultivation technique section and the soul beast encyclopedias.
Initially, I stuck to the absolute basics. Cultivation methods for beginners, martial spirit classification systems, soul ring compatibility charts—you know, the starter pack content that every new soul master needed to know. But once I'd demolished those fundamentals, I found myself deep-diving into way more interesting stuff.
Soul beast ecology? Straight fire.
These creatures were basically fantasy monsters on steroids. We're talking about a Phoenix-class spirit beast that literally nests inside active volcanoes and can resurrect itself from its own ashes. A Leviathan-type water serpent that controls entire ocean currents and can summon tsunamis for fun. A Shadow Panther that moves between shadows like it has teleportation hacks enabled. It was like reading the most overpowered bestiary ever written, and I was absolutely here for it.
With perfect recall, reading wasn't just studying—it was straight-up data mining. I was essentially taking mental screenshots of every single page, building this massive digital archive in my head that expanded every second. Martial spirit theory, cultivation frameworks, soul ring mechanics, advanced spirit beast lore, political structures, economic systems—check, check, and triple check.
The more I read, the more fascinated I became. But also... the more uncomfortable.
Here's the thing that started bothering me: We study these incredible creatures, learn about their intelligence, their complex social structures, their unique abilities and beauty... and then the entire cultivation system is like, "Cool story bro, now go murder one and steal its life essence."
And it's not just any kill either. You have to personally land the final blow. Like, actual last-hit mechanics straight out of a MOBA. If someone else finishes off the spirit beast, you get nothing. No spirit ring, no power increase, no progress. Just a dead magical creature and wasted time.
I kept asking myself: Is this really the only way? Couldn't there be some alternative method? Maybe a symbiotic relationship system? Peaceful contracts? Literally anything that didn't involve beating a sentient magical tiger to death with your bare hands?
But nope. That's just how this world works. Want to grow stronger? Hunt a spirit beast. Kill it yourself. Claim the ring. Rinse and repeat until you're either dead or godlike.
It's either them or us, and questioning that logic apparently made people think I was weird. Several classmates gave me strange looks when I brought up these ethical concerns during discussion sessions. Like, sorry for having a conscience, I guess?
Anyway, while I was spiraling down this whole "soul beast ethics" rabbit hole and questioning the fundamental morality of our power system, something major hit the academy gossip network.
A new student had arrived.
Not just any transfer student either—word was spreading that she was an absolute unit. Innate full spirit power. Level 10 from birth. And here's the absolutely broken part: twin martial spirits.
Twin. Martial. Spirits.
I literally stopped mid-page when I overheard upperclassmen discussing this. Twin martial spirits? What kind of cheat code was that? Could she potentially get eighteen spirit rings total? Could she dual-wield martial spirits like weapons in an action game? Was she basically two soul masters compressed into one person? My brain immediately started cooking with questions.
From what I gathered through academy gossip (which moved faster than sound in this place), she was some kind of once-in-a-millennium prodigy. The instructors were apparently losing their minds trying to figure out how to properly train someone with her potential.
Still, I had my own grind going. While everyone else was chasing raw power and trying to peek at the new genius student, I was focused on building options for my future. Multiple income streams, diverse skill sets, long-term planning—basically everything my previous life had taught me about financial security.
And one of those options? Starting a business.
Yeah, I know it sounds weird. Like, who thinks about entrepreneurship at age six in a world of magical martial arts? But I had this idea stuck in my head that wouldn't leave me alone. A simple product I could manufacture, market, and potentially scale into something bigger.
A yoyo.
Classic design with modern execution. Polished hardwood body, perfectly balanced weight distribution, high-quality string that wouldn't snap after five minutes of use. Later versions could include customization options—soul beast insignias carved into the wood, elemental color schemes, maybe even mild soul energy enhancements once I figured out if that was possible.
I'd already settled on a brand name: SpiritSpin. It sounded catchy, marketable, and had that perfect blend of traditional and mystical that this world seemed to love.
First step was prototyping. I sketched out detailed designs, created comprehensive supply lists, and even scoped out the academy workshop schedule. If I could slip in during off-hours when most students were either sleeping or cultivating, I might be able to build my first batch by the end of the week.
Fortunately, I still had access to the inheritance fund my parents had left behind. Nothing life-changing—definitely not "buy a mansion" money—but enough to cover startup costs for a small business venture. I used some of it to purchase quality materials: premium hardwood, precision-machined metal spindles, durable string that could handle repeated use.
For the parts I couldn't craft myself, I hired a apprentice craftsman in the city's artisan district. Cost-efficient work, clean results, and the guy didn't ask weird questions about why a six-year-old was commissioning custom wooden toys. Worth every copper coin.
The prototypes turned out clean. Sleek design, perfect balance, smooth finish that felt good in your hand. They were functional and flashy—exactly what I was aiming for.
Time to test the market.
I walked into the academy courtyard during lunch break, confidence at maximum levels, holding up a yoyo and demonstrating a clean drop. The thing hummed slightly as it spun down the string, and I pulled off a sleeper, then transitioned into a fast loop combo.
"Pretty cool, right?" I announced to a group of fellow students who'd gathered to watch. "I'm calling it a SpiritSpin. Anyone want one? Five copper coins each. Cheap entertainment, good for hand-eye coordination training, might even help with martial spirit control practice. Who knows?"
The response was... not what I'd hoped for.
They stared at me like I'd just offered to sell them actual garbage. Dead silence for like ten seconds, which felt like an eternity.
Finally, one kid—this guy with perfectly slicked-back hair who definitely used more hair products than most girls—scoffed loudly. "You're seriously selling toys now? What is this, a merchant academy?"
Another student, lounging against a pillar like he owned the entire courtyard, muttered under his breath, "Freak orphan's at it again."
The young master energy was absolutely radiating off these guys. Like their daddies owned half the continent and their martial spirits were forged from pure privilege or something. The disdain was so thick you could cut it with a knife.
Okay, clearly I'd misread the room. Selling to other soul master trainees wasn't going to work. These kids were way too focused on cultivation and power to appreciate simple entertainment.
I packed up what remained of my dignity, thanked them politely for their time (because I'm not completely socially inept), and retreated to reassess my strategy.
If academy students weren't the target demographic, I needed to pivot. Regular kids in the city would probably be way more receptive. Kids who weren't obsessed with martial spirits and cultivation rankings 24/7.
So I shifted strategies: weekend sales at the main city plaza.
Every Saturday and Sunday morning, I'd show up early with my yoyos and put on a performance. Walk the dog, around the world, gravity drops, sleeper combos—I wasn't some professional yo-yo champion, but with perfect memory and dedicated practice sessions, I could pull off tricks that looked impressive to casual observers.
Initially, people just watched. A few kids laughed and pointed. Some parents said "maybe later" and kept walking. But I kept showing up, kept spinning, kept improving my routine.
Persistence pays off.
Eventually, a little girl tugged on her mother's sleeve and pointed at me. "Mom, can I have one of those spinning things?"
First sale. Five copper coins that felt like winning the lottery.
Then another kid wanted one. And another. Word started spreading among the local children that there was this cool new toy available at the plaza on weekends.
It wasn't explosive growth or anything dramatic. No overnight success story here. But it was steady progress, and that's exactly what I wanted.
Between weekend sales in the city, intensive library research sessions, prototype refinements in the workshop, and my nightly cultivation routine before bed, I'd established a solid rhythm. Learning, building, grinding—a perfect balance of intellectual development, practical skills, and power cultivation.
The other students at Wuhun Academy had started calling me "the weird orphan kid who sells toys." Not exactly the most flattering nickname, but honestly? I took it as a compliment. While they were all following the exact same path—train, cultivate, get stronger, repeat—I was building something unique.
Sure, I wasn't the strongest student in my year. Definitely not the most talented in terms of raw combat ability. My martial spirit was useful but not flashy, and my cultivation speed was decent but not remarkable.
But maybe I was the weirdest student they'd ever seen.
And you know what? I was completely cool with that.
Being different meant having options. While everyone else was putting all their eggs in the "become a powerful soul master" basket, I was diversifying. Knowledge, business skills, financial independence, practical crafting abilities—multiple paths to success instead of just one.
Plus, there was something satisfying about proving that you didn't need to be the strongest person in the room to be successful. Sometimes being smart, adaptable, and persistent was worth more than raw power.
The twin martial spirit genius could have her overpowered abilities. The young masters could have their family connections and inherited techniques. The hardcore grinders could have their endless training sessions.
I'd take my perfect memory, my growing business, my comprehensive knowledge base, and my slowly but steadily improving cultivation any day.
After all, in a world where everyone was trying to be the main character, sometimes the best strategy was being the guy who figured out how to profit from selling them the gear they needed along the way.