Chapter 4: Inventory and Peace of Mind

Holding the same mirror from before in her hand, Song Yeqing gave it a thought, and the mirror disappeared. While the children were still asleep, she decided to take inventory of her supplies.

As a celestial master (天师), Song Yeqing possessed a personal dimensional space—an artifact left to her by her father, who was also a celestial master.

The space was bound by a spell, which would manifest as a small red cup-shaped mark behind her ear.

Upon waking, the first thing she did was attempt to circulate her spiritual energy—but it was completely ineffective. This world was eerily clean and lacked a key component for cultivation: spiritual energy.

She then tried connecting with her spatial dimension and was surprised to find it still intact. Technically speaking, her bond with the space was tied to her modern body, so it shouldn’t have remained.

Yet the red mark behind her ear had disappeared. Could it mean…?

No matter. For her, the fact that the space still existed was the greatest stroke of luck.

So she immediately took out the mirror to examine her condition—hence the earlier scene of staring into it but being unable to bear what she saw.

The internal space was about the size of a basketball court, with a height of three meters—remarkable even within the celestial arts.

It had been refined over three hundred years ago by a genius celestial master of the Song family, passed down to her great-grandfather, then to her father Song Mingjing—who had the most potential in his generation—and eventually to her.

Nowadays, even the best celestial masters couldn’t create a space this large. At most, they could manage a room the size of a few dozen square meters.

When this space was refined, it was imbued with both a temporal stasis array and a light-enhancing array. As a result, anything placed inside would remain unchanged, and the space would always remain bright.

As she took stock of her supplies, she thought back to the unlucky bystander who had died alongside her at the foot of Lingwu Mountain.

Lingwu Mountain was actually a range of three continuous peaks. Hundreds of years ago, it had belonged to the Song family, known for its abundant spiritual energy ideal for cultivation.

Later, when land was nationalized, the Song family paid a hefty price to reacquire usage rights specifically for their celestial masters’ training.

A winding mountain road had since been built at the base of Lingwu Mountain, perfect for scenic drives. Many people were drawn by the clean air and stunning views. However, ordinary visitors were always stopped at the only entry point.

A sign read: “Private property—no entry without permission.”

Some people had tried sneaking up on foot, but the area was surrounded by formations set by the Song family. No matter how they walked, they only circled the outer perimeter. The phenomenon even went viral online, labeled as a “supernatural experience” for laughs.

That day, she had been driving up to Lingwu Mountain for her annual three-month secluded training retreat.

Just before reaching the mountain’s base, she noticed a silver Maserati parked by the roadside—and a person lying next to it, already surrounded by a heavy, pitch-black aura of yin energy.

She immediately pulled over and rushed to help, but it was no use.

The malevolent spirit was over a thousand years old. Even after exchanging a dozen or so blows—using multiple spiritual tools—she was still killed in the end.

Sigh… Hopefully someone would come along and at least give them a proper burial.

As for how the malicious spirit was handled afterward, there was nothing she could do. She was already dead.

Now, as for taking stock of her supplies—Song Yeqing already had a rough idea.

Due to the nature of her work, she often traveled to remote areas with limited resources. As someone who practiced martial arts, she ate more than the average woman.

Since she couldn’t leave the mountain during her retreat and had to cook for herself, she had brought quite a bit.

Still, even so, the supplies in her spatial dimension would only last a normal person just over half a year.

Here was what she had:

• Two 100-jin bags of rice (different varieties for variety)
• Thirty jin of mixed grains (for making porridge occasionally)
• Thirty servings each of buns and dumplings (for breakfast variety)
• Twenty jin of flour, glutinous rice flour, and cornstarch, etc.
• Twenty liters total of peanut oil and olive oil
• Thirty large bags of salt—bought in bulk thinking space wouldn’t be a problem, but now it might not be enough
• Thirty jin of sugar—necessary for the energy demands of martial arts
• About 150 jin of assorted vegetables for healthy meals—unfortunately, most didn’t have seeds
• 200 jin of assorted fruits—for herself and to feed the small animals on Lingwu Mountain—these had seeds
• 150 jin of meats and processed meat products—no need to explain for a meat lover
• Two boxes of seasonings and soup bases—though she’d need to ration them
• Two boxes of eggs—convenient and tasty
• Various outdoor cooking utensils—gotta eat well, even on the mountain
• Solid wood bed, tea table, mirrored wardrobe, dining table and chairs, waterproof mat—this was a complete set, usually placed in caves she’d used in past years
• Four sets of bedding (including mosquito nets)—because hygiene matters
• Laptop, tablet, camera, drone, satellite phone—since Lingwu Mountain had no network signal, she had pre-downloaded classic films and music to pass the time
• The camera and drone were used to document mountain wildlife and scenery. The satellite phone was for emergencies.
• Over 30 sets of clothing and shoes—she kept them there for convenience
• Feminine hygiene products and tissues—about a year’s supply
• A bathtub with a simple curtain and a set of toiletries, plus two water storage tanks—hygiene was still important on the mountain
• Two small water purifiers and some garbage bags—for protecting the mountain environment; wastewater was treated before disposal, and most trash was stored in the space to be taken out later
• Two low-noise outdoor generators (one large-capacity solar, one gasoline-powered), plus portable solar panels—Lingwu Mountain had no electrical grid, and she needed power for many things
• 400 liters of gasoline and diesel—commonly used
• A weapon rack containing several swords, Miao sabers, quarterstaffs, daggers, and more—all for personal use
• One Colt M2000 handgun with two loaded magazines (30 rounds of 9mm ammo total)—a gift from her grandfather after she obtained her special gun permit upon adulthood
• Two large bookshelves, filled with spiritual manuals, scriptures, cultivation theory books, medical texts, and some miscellaneous titles she enjoyed, plus paper and writing tools
• Numerous medicines and first aid supplies, including both Chinese and Western remedies, gauze, etc.—always kept in the space for emergencies
• Only two large jugs and a case and a half of bottled mineral water—most of her stock had been consumed before departure, because Lingwu Mountain’s spring water was exceptionally pure
• Tents, camping beds, and other outdoor gear—for exploring different parts of the mountain beyond the cave

Nineteen-year-old Song Yeqing might’ve always worn a cold face, but she still had her little girlish quirks—like loving food.

Before each retreat to Lingwu Mountain, she’d order a variety of takeout and store it in her space—mostly things like hotpot, milk tea, roast duck, which were too much trouble to make herself. Just one serving of each, usually eaten within the first few days.

Even though the space had preservation properties, time still passed in the outside world. For ready-to-eat food, Song Yeqing was picky and didn’t want to keep it too long.

She also had boxes of bread, pastries, milk, drinks, and other snacks—useful for when she didn’t feel like cooking.

As for instant noodles—none. She couldn’t stand them. If she had the means, why settle for that?

Lingwu Mountain’s chill could seep into one’s bones. Celestial masters weren’t so mystical as to be completely immune to hot and cold. Although she could use talismans to maintain body temperature, that would be too extravagant.

So, she also had heaters, electric blankets, and thicker clothing and quilts in the space.

There were even more things that she wouldn’t bother listing—rain gear, lanterns, thermoses, buckets, lighters, chargers, tea leaves, ropes, and so on.

All these little odds and ends added up to quite a bit. Many items were duplicated, just in case one broke—since she didn’t know how to repair them herself.

Because she planned to stay on the mountain for three full months, she packed thoroughly—it looked like she’d brought an entire household with her.

In the beginning, she didn’t bring this much.

It wasn’t until she was fifteen—when she had a rough, near-feral “survival experience” on Lingwu Mountain—that she happened to run into her second cousin from her uncle’s family and realized his setup was actually quite cozy.

From then on, Song Yeqing had an epiphany. Going into seclusion didn’t have to mean hardship. As time passed, her space became more and more well-equipped.

Unfortunately, there was one thing she really didn’t have—money.

She had some modern paper currency and bank cards, but not much in the way of actual gold or silver.

Most of her gold was stored in banks; antiques and valuables were either kept at the old family estate or in safes. The jewelry she wore were mostly spiritual tools made of copper or wood.

She did have two palm-sized pieces of vivid green spirit-nurturing jade, both of high quality. She originally had five but had destroyed three while fighting the malevolent spirit.

There were also three forearm-length white jade statues of the Three Pure Ones. If things truly became desperate, selling them probably wouldn’t be condemned.

So when it came down to it—after transmigrating into ancient times—aside from supplies, she didn’t really have any money.

(End of Chapter)