Mystic Eyes: My Eyes Steal the Laws of Cultivation

Chapter 448: Frustration

Three weeks passed. Twenty-one days. Twenty-one nights.

And, for the first time since arriving at the Caravan of Heaven, in fact, for the first time in his entire life, Kyrian felt something close to frustration.

It was not anger, not the hot fire that burned and demanded action. It was not irritation, the fleeting annoyance that came and went with circumstances. It was something stranger. A feeling of being trapped.

As if he were walking in circles inside a room with no doors. As if his legs moved, but the scenery around him never changed. As if every step brought him back to the same starting point. The same problem. The same questions. The same insufficient answers.

Sitting at the small wooden table in his rented courtyard, that table now covered in layers of scrolls and books, forming mountains of knowledge that threatened to collapse at any moment, Kyrian observed the countless volumes scattered throughout the room.

Open books, their pages marked with strips of red cloth, with notes written in black and red ink along the margins, with passages circled in bright red ink.

Unrolled scrolls, with meridian diagrams drawn in thin lines, with Qi flows sketched by hand in blue ink, with meticulous calculations that led nowhere.

Stacks of notes, on yellowed pieces of paper, on polished jade tablets, on any available surface that could hold ink.

Diagrams covering nearly the entire surface of the table, lines, circles, and arrows, all representing failed attempts, all leading to dead ends, all insufficient.

The morning sun streamed through the window, illuminating dust particles drifting slowly through the air, like tiny golden dots dancing in a beam of light, creating patterns that shifted with the sun’s position.

The room was silent, only the occasional sound of turning pages breaking the tranquility, the dry rustle of paper against paper, the soft whisper of knowledge being sought.

Kyrian sighed. It was a rare gesture. Very rare.

But lately, it had been happening often.

Because, for the first time in a very long time...

He was failing.

The first weeks had been productive. Extremely productive.

After returning from the market with fifteen new cultivation techniques and dozens of books about the human body, the Complete Atlas of Human Meridians, the Treatise of the Hundred Variations of the Body, and the Medical Manual of Spiritual Organs. All the others. Kyrian had immersed himself completely in his studies.

Days and nights. Without interruption. Without distractions. Without rest.

Most of the time.

The pills he refined himself replaced meals. He swallowed them without a second thought, feeling the medicinal energy spread through his meridians, keeping his body functioning while his mind focused on something else.

Other pills replaced sleep. They were less efficient than true rest, but sufficient to keep his mind functioning for a few more hours.

His body rarely left the courtyard, only when he needed to sell something or purchase new materials. The streets of the Caravan of Heaven, with their constant bustle and noisy markets, had become distant, as though they belonged to another world.

The rest of the time was spent there. Studying. Learning. Trying to understand.

The six basic techniques, those that only reached the Qi Release Realm, the first ones he had purchased, had already been completely understood.

Their internal structures, how Qi flowed, how the meridians were activated, how the dantian was nourished.

Their energetic flows, the paths the energy followed, the rotations it performed, and the transformations it underwent.

Their underlying philosophies, the principles governing each technique, the reasons behind every choice, the intentions that shaped them.

The two Core Formation Realm techniques as well.

He now understood how they created stable or abundant cores, how they balanced Qi or accumulated it, how they prepared the cultivator for the higher realms.

Even the two Spiritual Awakening Realm techniques had been analyzed.

Though their concepts were more complex, deeper, more difficult.

The technique that strengthened spiritual sense, expanding perception beyond normal limits.

The technique that explored the connection between body and element, merging the cultivator with their natural affinity.

Even so, his eyes allowed him to absorb their fundamental principles, to see through their complexities to their essences.

Then came the fifteen new techniques.

Flowing Current Technique, which made Qi flow like water, constant and uninterrupted.

Immovable Mountain Method, which built a solid foundation, unshakable as the earth itself.

Deep Breathing Art, which used air as a vehicle for Qi, synchronizing body and spirit.

Rising Sun Technique, which absorbed the energy of dawn, renewing the cultivator each day.

The Serene Moon Method, which nourished itself through the silence of the night, through calm and reflection.

...

One after another. Kyrian studied them all. Understood them all. Memorized them all.

If he wished... He could cultivate any of them immediately.

Without difficulty. Without mistakes. Without waste.

But that had never been the goal. The goal was something else. To create something new.

Something of his own. Something that belonged only to him. And that was exactly where the problem lay.

During these three weeks, Kyrian tried countless times.

Perhaps dozens. Perhaps hundreds. He had already lost count.

He would begin with an idea, a flash of inspiration, a connection between two different techniques, a feeling that something might work.

He would create a hypothesis, a theoretical framework explaining how the Qi flows would combine, how the meridians would connect, how the new path would take shape.

He would construct a theoretical model, with diagrams, calculations, and predictions of how the Qi would behave.

And then... Everything would collapse.

Some techniques worked only in theory, but in practice conflicted with the mutable nature of his eyes.

Others conflicted with his ocular cores, which were already saturated with energy from different paths.

Some simply made no sense, as though he were trying to force a solution that did not exist.

There was one occasion when he spent nearly two entire days developing a model based on three simultaneous Qi flows.

It seemed perfect, the flows complemented each other, balanced one another, creating a self-sustaining cycle.

Until he realized that the flows inevitably clashed after several rotations, creating turbulence that damaged the meridians.

Another attempt used the two ocular cores as a foundation, trying to create a technique nourished by both energies.

But the structure was unstable, like a building constructed on quicksand, ready to collapse at any moment.

Another used a central core, ignoring the ocular cores and focusing only on the new body he had built.

But he could not solve the problem of transforming different types of Qi, how could he cultivate a single path when his eyes demanded multiple ones?

Another tried to partially copy a technique from an ancient sect, adapting it to his eyes.

But he eventually realized that he was merely modifying something that already existed.

Not creating something new. Merely remixing what was already there.

Every time. Every single time. Some flaw appeared. Some detail had been overlooked. Some problem emerged. And everything had to begin again.

It bothered him. More than he cared to admit.

Because, for as long as he could remember... Things had always been simple for him.

Since childhood. Since he first became aware.

Learning? Easy.

He absorbed knowledge like a sponge, as though his eyes had been made for it.

Understanding? Easy.

He saw through superficial layers, reaching the essences that others missed.

Fighting? Easy.

He saw his enemies’ movements before they made them, anticipating every strike, every defense.

Alchemy? Easy.

He controlled fire with a precision that alchemists with decades of experience envied.

Formations? Easy.

He saw the connections between runes, the logic behind every pattern.

Others needed years. He needed months. Sometimes weeks. Sometimes days.

His eyes transformed obstacles into stepping stones. Difficulties into opportunities. The impossible into something attainable.

But now... It was different.

Creating a technique was not merely understanding something that already existed.

It was not studying. It was not copying. It was not improving.

It was creating. Something completely new. Something that had never existed before.

And for the first time...

His eyes did not possess a ready answer.