The Future Looks Promising
Overthinking was pointless. Passing judgment on Sheng Xin’s little clique now would only be prejudice. Li Chuan disliked wasting energy worrying about things that hadn’t happened yet. He decided to get some rest and deal with it later.
He stepped into Room 510, which had been cleaned until it gleamed, laid out his bedding, and collapsed onto the bed with a satisfied sigh.
It had been a long day, and Li Chuan was tired—but more than that, he felt comfortable.
Compared to the frail, sickly body he’d endured for the past three years, he was now agile and healthy. Even while lying in bed, weary from the day’s events, the sensation was a world apart from the past.
As he replayed everything that had happened, Li Chuan found himself too excited to sleep. So, he opened the Myriad Realms Ring and started examining it.
Inside the Ring, his basic information had undergone some changes.
His remaining lifespan now read “Unknown,” his physical fitness score was listed as 50, and his combat level had risen to “Juvenile Earth Dragon.”
Li Chuan didn’t know what the maximum fitness score was, but he was sure that he now far surpassed even elite national athletes. He could kill a cow with a single punch, jump three meters high, and his running speed was astonishing.
If this were a wuxia novel, he’d already qualify as a third-rate martial artist roaming the jianghu.
As for the combat rating, it likely changed because he’d used Earth Dragon Marrow Elixir, so it no longer followed human classifications.
Then again, the Ring’s evaluation system had always been casual at best. Previously, it had rated his combat ability as “Straw,” which didn’t fall into any normal human category either.
The one thing he couldn’t quite figure out was the “Unknown” lifespan. His body had clearly recovered—shouldn’t it estimate something like 50 or 70 years? Why couldn’t it even provide a ballpark figure?
The Ring had an intelligent AI interface that could answer reasonable questions. Li Chuan asked directly.
Ring: [Based on user Li Chuan’s physical condition, the Ring estimates he can live to age 120, with a remaining lifespan of 102 years. However, Li Chuan’s life expectancy is heavily influenced by his innate intelligence score. If his innate intelligence is maxed out in a single day, Li Chuan will die instantly—he will not survive even a moment. Because the Ring cannot predict how much of this intelligence will be used, the remaining lifespan is listed as “Unknown.”]
Li Chuan muttered, “I already know my limitations. It’s not like I’ll casually fill up my brain.”
Ring: [As long as Li Chuan remembers something, it becomes knowledge—and will occupy cognitive storage.]
Li Chuan replied, “But I can just keep converting more intelligence points if I run low, right? And I can sell the extra knowledge points to buy more energy elixirs.”
Ring: [Not necessarily.]
That made Li Chuan remember—his recovered 100 points of acquired knowledge were currently marked as unavailable.
He asked, “Why can’t I use the memory I recovered?”
Ring: [That knowledge has already been harvested by the Ring once. There is no need to collect it again.]
A sudden sense of crisis washed over him.
He only had 150 innate intelligence points, which allowed him to store 150 points of acquired knowledge. He’d previously kept 30 points in reserve, and after using “Mirror Replication,” recovered another 100—meaning he now had only 20 points left for new knowledge.
He had planned to sell off some low-priority knowledge again, but the Ring wouldn’t purchase anything it had already collected. His mental storage was on the brink once more.
It was said that after arriving in the Multiversal Realm, they would be learning new cultivation techniques—essentially new knowledge. That, too, would take up space.
If he didn’t solve this problem soon, his brain would overflow again.
Li Chuan immediately recalled the contents of Soulcraft Manual: Fragment I. He immediately began cultivating based on his earlier comprehension.
Hopefully, this would help expand his cognitive domain.
After completing one full cycle of the mysterious starry technique, his mind felt significantly clearer.
He quickly checked his intelligence stats. Unfortunately, his innate intelligence was still stuck at 150.
A bit disappointed, he noticed another change—his acquired knowledge was now 120 points, with 40 of them marked as exchangeable.
Previously, his acquired knowledge totaled 130, with only 30 exchangeable. What caused the shift?
Li Chuan had a guess, but wasn’t certain.
While his body could still take it, he ran through Soulcraft Manual once more.
This time, his total acquired knowledge dropped to 110, but the exchangeable portion rose to 50.
The change aligned with his theory.
Li Chuan surmised that while Fragment I of the Soulcraft Manual didn’t yet allow him to expand his brain’s storage capacity, it could compress already stored knowledge.
The idea of compressing knowledge sounded ridiculous—but then again, files on a computer could be zipped into compact packages. Why couldn’t the same logic apply to the brain?
The fact that the Ring accepted knowledge as a form of energy only supported the theory.
Energy could be compressed. In cultivation novels, true qi was often compressed into the dantian. Why couldn’t he compress energy into his brain?
His original knowledge required 130 points of storage. Now it only took 110. With continued training, it might take even less.
What puzzled him, though, was the increasing exchangeable portion. Was it due to new insights into the Soulcraft Manual, or had the previously discarded knowledge regained value through refinement?
To find out, Li Chuan continued his training.
