Chapter 8: The Cultivation technique

Chapter 8: The Cultivation techniqueUpon arriving at the estate, Lucas barely spared a glance at his surroundings, his mind weighed down by the day’s events. He felt drained, not just physically but mentally as well. Lira, the quiet and respectful servant who had fetched him, bowed once again before excusing herself. Without needing to be told, she hurried off in the direction of his quarters to prepare his bath.

Lucas, on the other hand, found himself standing in front of his father and mother. The hall was dimly lit with lanterns, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The physician had already left, but the faint scent of medicinal herbs still lingered, mixing with the scent of polished wood and incense that always seemed to be present in the estate.

His father, Elder Gideon Alden, stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his sharp eyes scrutinizing Lucas with the same intensity as before. Lady Mariana sat beside him, her face lined with concern. The table in front of them held neatly arranged vials of ointments and small packets of herbs—the ones prescribed for him.

"How are you feeling now, Xavier?" Gideon’s voice was deep, steady. It wasn’t just a casual question; there was an expectation behind it.

Lucas met his father’s gaze, trying to mask his inner turmoil. He had to play the part. "Feeling much better, Father."

"You’re sure?" His mother’s voice was softer, but the concern was heavier in her tone.

Lucas hesitated for a split second before nodding. "Yes, Mother. I’m good."

His father studied him for a moment longer, then spoke again. "What about your memories? What do you remember now?"

Lucas stiffened. He had been expecting this question, but that didn’t make it any easier to answer. He could see the hope in their faces, the anticipation, the desperate wish that their son—Xavier—was still in there somewhere.

It made him feel guilty.

He wasn’t their son. The real Xavier Alden was gone. But how could he say that? How could he look them in the eyes and tell them the truth?



So, instead, he exhaled quietly and lied.

"Just a few vague memories," he said carefully. "I’m sure I’ll recover them soon."

He saw the flicker of sadness in his mother’s eyes, the brief tightening of his father’s jaw. He was disappointing them, even if they tried not to show it. And yet, what else could he do?

For a brief moment, an unfamiliar feeling twisted in his chest. It wasn’t guilt, nor was it pity—it was something else entirely. A strange sense of obligation, perhaps. Even though he wasn’t really their son, he could see how much they cared.

And they had lost him once already.

Maybe... maybe he could at least try to be the son they wanted.

Before that thought could settle, he cleared his throat. "I’m leaving to have my bath now."

His mother sighed, trying to shake off her disappointment. "When you’re done with your bath, come have dinner with us."

Lucas shook his head. "No... please have the dinner brought to my room. I’ll eat there."

He didn’t wait for their response. He simply gave them a small bow out of respect and turned to leave. The heavy atmosphere in the room was suffocating, and he needed to get away from it.

As he walked through the halls toward his quarters, he could feel their eyes on his back.

Lady Mariana turned to her husband, her voice barely above a whisper. "He’s different."

Gideon said nothing for a long moment before replying. "His memories are gone. Perhaps... that is why."

But deep down, they both knew, something had changed in their son.

Lucas stepped into his room, and the difference from where he had first woken up was impossible to ignore. This was no sickroom—it was a chamber fit for nobility. The space was grand, yet it carried a warmth that made it feel lived-in. Rich tapestries of deep crimson and gold hung on the stone walls, depicting ancient battles and legends of cultivators from eras past. The flooring was polished wood, its surface gleaming under the soft glow of candle-lit chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling.

A large bed with intricately carved wooden posts sat against the far wall, layered with thick, luxurious sheets. Beside it, a finely crafted nightstand held a brass lantern and a small jade figurine of a dragon, its eyes seeming to glint under the candlelight. Across the room, a wooden desk stacked with neatly arranged scrolls and ink pots hinted at the scholarly duties expected of him—or, rather, of Xavier.

In one corner, a large, steaming bath was already prepared, the water infused with a milky-white mixture of herbs and oils that emitted a soft, soothing fragrance.

Lira was by the bed, smoothing out the sheets with careful precision. As soon as Lucas entered, she straightened up and gave a small bow.

"The bath is ready, my Lord," she said softly, her eyes still averted.

Lucas nodded, peeling off his clothes without hesitation before stepping into the bath. The moment he submerged himself, the warmth enveloped him, easing the lingering soreness in his body. The fragrance was intoxicating—a blend of jasmine, sandalwood, and something faintly medicinal.

"I’ll be outside the door," Lira said, bowing again. "Call upon me if you need anything, my Lord."

"Have my dinner brought here," Lucas instructed.

"As you wish, my Lord." With that, she left hurriedly, yet her movements remained graceful, her light steps barely making a sound as she disappeared behind the door.

Lucas let out a slow breath, leaning back against the smooth wooden edges of the tub. His mind drifted, trying to process everything that had happened since he woke up in this strange body. He had been thrust into an era that was not his own, forced to play a role he had no choice in. But this wasn’t just about survival—this was about power. If he wanted to avoid suffering the same fate as Xavier, if he wanted to carve his own path in this world, he needed to grow stronger. Fast.



That was when the thought struck him.

The Dual Cultivation Technique.

His eyes snapped open, his fingers gripping the edge of the bath as the idea took root in his mind.

The technique was legendary—infamous, even. It had been banned in the future, declared too dangerous, too unpredictable. But in this era, it hadn’t even been discovered yet. That meant no restrictions, no laws forbidding it, and most importantly, no one to stop him from mastering it.

Unlike traditional cultivation, which required years of training, patience, and individual breakthroughs, Dual Cultivation allowed two practitioners to share and amplify their energies, accelerating their growth exponentially. It was a forbidden art not because it was ineffective, but because it was too effective. Those who practiced it gained power at unnatural speeds, often surpassing their peers by decades in mere years.

But there was a cost.

The technique required absolute synergy between both partners—mind, body, and spirit. A mismatch could lead to energy backlash, crippling the cultivators or even killing them. And worse still, if one partner was significantly stronger than the other, the weaker one risked being drained dry, reduced to nothing more than an empty husk.

Lucas frowned. He would have to be careful. But if he could master it... if he could refine the technique to avoid its dangers... he could rise faster than anyone else in this world.

His thoughts were interrupted by the soft creak of the door.

Lira entered, carrying a tray with careful precision. The scent of freshly prepared food filled the room, making Lucas realize just how hungry he was.

She moved silently, setting the tray down on a small table near the window before stepping back.

Lucas stood from the bath, water cascading down his skin. Lira immediately turned to face the wall, her posture rigid.

"Thank you, Lira," he said casually.

"I am here to serve, my Lord," she replied, her voice steady, though her hands were clenched at her sides. "You do not need to thank me."

Lucas smirked slightly but said nothing. He grabbed a robe and slipped it on before tying the sash loosely around his waist.

"You can look at me now," he told her.

Lira hesitated before turning, though her gaze remained fixed on the floor.

Lucas walked over to the table and uncovered the dishes. The aroma hit him instantly—roasted meat seasoned with fragrant herbs, steaming vegetables cooked in broth, fresh bread with a thick slab of butter melting into it. There was even a small bowl of fruits, glistening under the candlelight.

His stomach growled in response.

He picked up a piece of bread, tearing it apart, but as he was about to take a bite, he noticed Lira standing quietly by the side, her hands folded in front of her.

"Where’s your food?" he asked, pausing mid-bite.

Lira blinked. "I will eat when my Lord is asleep."

Lucas frowned. "Is that how servants are treated in this era?" he thought.

Lucas sighed, shaking his head. "Come join me, Lira. We eat together."

Her head shot up slightly, eyes wide. "No, my Lord... we are not allowed to do so."



"I insist," Lucas said firmly.

"It’s inappropriate, my Lord," she said, shifting uncomfortably.

Lucas arched a brow. "Are you going to disobey me, Lira?"

Lira stiffened, then quickly shook her head. "I dare not, my Lord."

Reluctantly, she moved to the other end of the table and sat down. Even as she reached for the food, she did so hesitantly, barely touching what was on her plate.

Lucas noticed but didn’t push her.

He took a bite of the roasted meat, savoring the rich flavors. The food here was different from what he was used to, but he couldn’t deny that it was good.

Lira ate quietly, keeping her movements small and controlled. Lucas could tell she was uneasy, but he let her be. He wasn’t going to treat her like a mere servant.

He had no intention of treating anyone like they were beneath him.

This world may have had

its rules, its rigid structures of status and power, but Lucas had never been one to follow tradition.

And he wasn’t about to start now.