Abandoned Cultivation

Hearing those words, Gu Chengyin suddenly smiled with relief.

So his hypnosis had never been complete from start to finish. No wonder it felt so clunky to use.

This broken system hadn't fully unlocked itself to begin with—at least it had eventually opened up later. But it had never bothered to mention that the hypnosis was incomplete, leaving him to assume this was normal all along.

Because no one had ever told Gu Chengyin what complete hypnosis looked like.

Now he knew. It wasn't that he was dull-witted, or that his comprehension was lacking—the hypnosis itself was simply incomplete.

But things being what they were, even with the truth now known, Gu Chengyin felt no lingering fear.

Not because he was bold, but because fear served no purpose.

A road already walked was walked. A risk already taken was taken.

He'd simply gotten lucky—or rather, he'd been cautious enough.

Every time he hypnotized someone, he would repeatedly verify the effects.

Every command he issued left room for redundancy and contingency.

Every interaction with a subject, he observed their eyes, their tone, their micro-expressions.

Looking for any trace that they might be slipping free.

These habits, which others might have called paranoid obsessiveness, now looked back at him like a trail of lifesavers. Every single step had saved his life.

And from a rational perspective, the system really couldn't be blamed.

How could a system with defects of its own possibly issue warnings?

It couldn't even assemble its own parts, its most basic functions chugging along barely and haltingly.

Where would it find the spare capacity to pop up friendly notifications?

Managing to preserve even its core functions was already an achievement.

At the very least, it did deliver on cultivation.

But this information also served as a wake-up call to Gu Chengyin.

A wake-up call important enough to alter every plan he would make from this day forward.

Since Empress Lin also had a system, then what level of cultivation had she reached?

More precisely—what realm had she been at when she died?

Golden Core? Nascent Soul? Or even higher?

This question was too important.

Important enough that Gu Chengyin could make preparations in advance.

If Empress Lin had died at the Golden Core stage, then at least he'd know they possessed the ability to kill Golden Core cultivators.

If Empress Lin had died at the Nascent Soul stage, that meant even Nascent Soul couldn't withstand them.

If it was higher, then everything would need to be reassessed.

This wasn't paranoia—he simply had to know where the threshold lay.

Knowing the height of the threshold meant he could stack his steps in advance.

Not knowing where the threshold was meant that by the time he arrived at it, he'd discover a wall too high to climb, and it would be too late for anything.

Gu Chengyin turned to Gu Xiaoli and asked:

"Xiaoli, Empress Lin—what level of cultivation was she at?"

Gu Xiaoli's cat ears pressed back slightly, then she shook her head.

"Her Majesty... she had no cultivation."

"Or rather... she gave it up."

Gu Chengyin raised an eyebrow. A thought suddenly surfaced in his mind, like an air bubble rising from deep water, popping with a soft bloop, leaving ripples behind.

"Because she chose to be Empress rather than Empress Regnant?"

Gu Xiaoli's eyes flew open.

Her spiritual cat ears shot up as well, the fine fuzz at the tips bristling slightly.

As if to say: How did big brother know?

Though Gu Xiaoli made no verbal answer, every detail of her expression was speaking volumes.

Gu Chengyin saw the answer he was looking for in those wide, round eyes.

So that was it.

The system's rules were clear.

Realms and cultivation were directly tied to status and influence.

That rule meant Gu Chengyin had to climb higher, had to attain sufficient status and enough influence.

Not because he craved power, not because he had some obsession with holding office.

But because if he didn't climb, his strength would stagnate—or even regress.

And once his strength stalled, when those things came knocking...

He would die.

And if Empress Lin also possessed this system, then she had faced the same rule.

If she wanted to advance her cultivation, she likewise had to possess status and influence.

Only two paths could satisfy that condition.

One: rise to the pinnacle of officialdom.

Become a minister of supreme power—second only to the sovereign—with the court firmly in one's grasp.

Two: become Empress Regnant.

Walk the same path Luo Zhao was walking now, legitimately taking that seat of power.

Not through marriage, not through advising a ruler, but by becoming the source of power oneself.

Yet Empress Lin had chosen a third path.

Gu Chengyin let out a silent sigh.

The identity of Empress—that carried status, certainly.

Mother of the nation, above ten thousand, crowned and robed, receiving the bows of a hundred officials.

In all of Great Luo, the only person above the Empress was the Emperor himself.

But influence?

The harem shall not interfere in governance—this was an iron law carved into Great Luo's statutes.

Empress Lin could whisper words into Emperor Luo's ear, analyze court politics for him in the dead of night, and influence policy decisions behind the scenes.

But all of that was indirect, invisible, unrecognized.

Because all that influence resided within Emperor Luo himself.

That was why Gu Xiaoli said Empress Lin had given up her cultivation.

Not that she'd stopped halfway through her training, but from the very day she chose to become Empress, she had already forsaken it.

Empress Lin had chosen Emperor Luo, chosen to stand behind him rather than beside him.

From that moment on, the system could no longer provide her with cultivation.

Not because the system withheld it, but because she had blocked her own path.

This was the difference in how men and women thought.

For Gu Chengyin, no matter how cold and alluring Lin Qingyan was, how gentle and placid Shangguan Yunying, how aloof and proud Luo Zhao, how lawful and adorable a catgirl Gu Xiaoli was, how pure and lovable Cui Zilu was—

His determination to cultivate had been unwavering from start to finish.

No woman could ever change that.

He certainly wouldn't abandon cultivation that was already in hand.

Anyone who stood in the way of that path would die.

This had nothing to do with personal grudges, nothing to do with bonds of affection, nothing to do with morality.

No one gets a pass. No one.

But Empress Lin was different.

For Emperor Luo, she could give up the cultivation in her grasp—could give up the chance to ascend.

She could take the ladder the system had given her and dismantle it piece by piece, using the planks as firewood to warm Emperor Luo's realm.

Because Empress Lin didn't pursue those things. She didn't care about them.

What she wanted was never ascension, never immortality, never the elusive Great Dao.

What she wanted, from beginning to end, was Emperor Luo.

To stand by his side. To share his burdens. To light a lamp for him in the dead of night. That was enough.

The system? Merely a tool she used to assist him.

When Emperor Luo no longer needed her assistance, the tool lost its meaning.

And so Empress Lin set it down.

Gu Chengyin could understand that way of thinking.

He could understand a person giving up everything for another.

He could even understand that in the moment Empress Lin set down her cultivation, her heart might have been more peaceful and content than at any other time.

Because it was her own choice.

No one had forced her.

It was what she had wanted, willingly and completely.