The elemental dust inside the static experiment chamber slowly settled, marking the end of a multi-year joint experiment.

After helping Mentor Clark record the final batch of data streams, Jie Ming politely took his leave and activated his plane-transfer authority.

The familiar scent of sulfur mixed with an indescribable sense of order washed over him. Jie Ming had returned to his Infernal Sulfur plane.

The moment his feet touched solid ground, he did not rush to inspect the Black Titan legions’ expansion. Instead, he immediately sank his mind into the earth beneath him, carefully sensing the vast system that now covered the entire plane: the Incense Fire Divine Dao.

“Operation… everything normal.”

A few moments later, Jie Ming opened his eyes, a trace of relief in his voice.

This absence had not been long—only a mere decade or so.

For plane management that was measured in centuries, it was the blink of an eye.

The plane itself had changed little. The Black Titan population continued to grow steadily through the incubation pools, but there had been no qualitative leap.

The Incense Fire Divine Dao had only just completed its most basic framework; energy circulated stably and orderly within it—no collapse, no conflict. That alone already met Jie Ming’s minimum expectations.

As for anything more… given such a crude framework, he had never expected extra gains in so short a time.

Yet just as he prepared to withdraw his mind, a faint but exceptionally clear sensation made him freeze.

Concentrating fully, he sensed it again—and his eyes snapped open.

That was… Mortal Dust Qi?

Though the quantity was small, it was unmistakably genuine Mortal Dust Qi!

A gleam flashed in Jie Ming’s eyes as understanding dawned.

Of course. The successful construction of the Incense Fire Divine Dao framework was equivalent to registering the conceptual position of “God of Civilization” for him in this plane.

Even though the “civilization” consisted of Black Titans with limited intellect and virtually no cultural system, the nature of the connection between him and them had changed.

From the previous latent “herder and livestock,” it had shifted toward the true relationship of “protector and believer.”

The initial establishment of this relationship had broken the invisible barrier that previously prevented the birth of Mortal Dust Qi.

“Though the Black Titan population is still too small and they have no culture to speak of, so the total Mortal Dust Qi produced is limited… this is the breakthrough from zero to one!” The corners of Jie Ming’s mouth involuntarily curved upward.

This was an unexpected delight. It meant the first step of constructing the Incense Fire Divine Dao had not only been correct—it had already begun yielding tangible returns.

Even if the amount of Mortal Dust Qi was currently meager, it proved the path held infinite potential.

He carefully gathered the newborn Mortal Dust Qi and stored it safely in his inner space.

Having finished this, Jie Ming took a deep breath, sat down in the laboratory chair, and calmly began planning his next moves.

The top priority was naturally to continue perfect the Incense Fire Divine Dao.

The current framework only ensured energy circulation. The true core—systems to generate and store Incense Fire power—still urgently needed construction.

With his current technical reserves and energy, he roughly estimated another two or three mandatory recovery periods would be required to complete the initial phase.

“Still, now that stable Mortal Dust Qi production has begun, at least the baseline return is secured. No matter what, I won’t lose out.” Jie Ming’s mindset was steady.

Other wizards might worry about lifespan before Rank-6, but with his Nascent Soul cultivation, Jie Ming could live indefinitely as long as he didn’t court death.

Yet another pressing issue soon surfaced.

He… was probably about to reach Rank-4 wizard.

Ever since successfully constructing the Incense Fire Divine Dao framework, his mastery of the Spiritual Qi Law had skyrocketed, long surpassing the “1% law comprehension” threshold required for Rank-4.

Moreover, being erased by “Justice” in that plane—though he survived thanks to the Substitute Death Doll—had given him an utterly real experience of death. The terror went bone-deep, but it also triggered a violent upheaval in his mental sea.

That upheaval acted as a special catalyst, dramatically stimulating the growth of his mental power.

Even while staying in Mentor Clark’s laboratory, Jie Ming could clearly feel his mental-power ceiling rising rapidly.

At this rate, he had a high chance of reaching Rank-4 before this four-hundred-year recovery period ended.

The problem was… how long had it been since he advanced to Rank-3?

To put it bluntly, he hadn’t even warmed the Rank-3 seat yet!

Let alone Rank-4 knowledge—he hadn’t even systematically studied or accumulated much Rank-3 knowledge.

“Knowledge is power” was not an empty phrase in the wizard world; it was iron law.

Insufficient knowledge accumulation manifested directly as combat power failing to match rank—possessing realm without corresponding means.

Just like Senior Sister Viola: once an outstanding Rank-3, after leaping to Rank-6 she was probably the most mediocre among Rank-6 wizards even now.

“So…” Jie Ming rubbed his temples and helplessly concluded, “The long-awaited recovery period I finally earned… instead of relaxing or deepening research, I have to… frantically cram?”

No—calling it cramming wasn’t even accurate.

For many fields he would be starting from scratch—this was pure previewing!

Having accepted reality, Jie Ming sighed, resigned himself, and opened the Magic Net terminal he always carried.

A pale-blue screen unfolded before him, reflecting his slightly solemn face.

“Money is never enough when you need it—and the same goes for knowledge,” he muttered, then began browsing the internal Noren Workshop catalog and the Star Ring Federation shared knowledge base.

This time he would not pinch pennies as before—he was prepared to bleed heavily.

Not only would he spend the billions of low-tier merits in his account, he was also ready to pour in a large portion of the one million high-tier merits earned from the last expedition.

After all, core knowledge often represented cutting-edge achievements or proprietary techniques—hard currency not easily obtained with ordinary resources.

Yet Jie Ming did not let urgency cloud his judgment. “First use low-tier merits to purchase foundational and general knowledge modules, building a complete knowledge framework. Only after sufficient accumulation, once I’ve identified my specific weaknesses and research direction, will I spend high-tier merits on the crucial core technologies and theories I truly need.”

Having set his purchasing strategy, Jie Ming spent more time organizing the scattered knowledge fragments he had “sheared” during the last plane war.

Truth be told, aside from the one million high-tier merits, those fragments were his only harvest from that expedition.

“Pity the time was too short—there wasn’t much knowledge I could collect…”

While he organized, the knowledge packages he had just bought began arriving one after another.

After some thought, Jie Ming’s gaze settled on the “Spatial Studies” category.

Whether for plane travel, constructing more complex sigil-wizard artifact arrays in the future, or deeply understanding the ultra-long-distance energy transmission of the Incense Fire Divine Dao, spatial knowledge was an indispensable cornerstone.

“Looks like I’ll start gnawing on spatial studies.”

Decision made, Jie Ming tapped the screen. The first batch of knowledge packages—Foundations of Spatial Folding Theory and Introduction to Dimensional Anchor Positioning—was downloaded into his personal terminal.

He found a comfortable position, opened the terminal, and immersed himself in the ocean of knowledge before him.

…

…

Fifty years passed in the blink of an eye.

For fifty years Jie Ming lived almost like an ascetic monk, devouring knowledge.

The massive volumes purchased through the Magic Net—from spatial foundations to deep elemental applications to obscure derivative law theories—were force-fed into his mind at a frenzied pace.

The intensity even squeezed the time he had planned for perfecting the Incense Fire Divine Dao, slightly delaying its later stages. Yet Jie Ming considered it a necessary investment.

Until one day, a Magic Net communication request bearing an uncommon priority tag flashed, pulling him out of a sea of spatial dimension formulas.

He rubbed his dry, tired eyes and glanced at the source—Junior Brother Ang.

“Ang?” Jie Ming was mildly surprised.

As fellow disciples under Mentor Clark, Ang had joined later and had little interaction with Jie Ming; they had met only a handful of times and were little more than nodding acquaintances.

Still, he had promised Viola he would look after Ang.

For the sake of fellow discipleship, Jie Ming accepted without hesitation and authorized teleportation access to his Golden Garden laboratory in Noren Sector-147.

The teleportation array in the corner of the laboratory shimmered. Space rippled, and Ang’s figure appeared.

Compared to the slightly youthful apprentice in Jie Ming’s memory, the current Ang looked far more mature, with a trace of faint weariness between his brows.

Yet despite the fatigue, his aura was bold and unrestrained—he had clearly transformed completely after several plane wars.

When Ang saw Jie Ming, he too was momentarily stunned.

The Senior Brother Jie Ming before him had messy hair piled atop his head, eyes still sharp but bloodshot from chronic lack of rest.

His standard alchemist robe bore stains of unknown reagents, and he exuded the classic “do not disturb” aura of a research maniac.

“S-Senior Brother Jie Ming…” Ang recovered and quickly greeted.

“Ang, long time no see.”

Jie Ming also realized his appearance was unkempt, smiled nonchalantly, and swept a hand over his head.

A flash of alchemical light passed—his hair instantly became neat and tidy, the stains on his robe vanishing silently.

“Have you eaten? If not, let’s eat together.” His tone was casual, as though the disheveled man moments ago had been someone else.

Almost the instant he spoke, two exquisitely designed silver mechanical puppets glided in silently.

They pushed a dining cart laden with steaming, fragrant dishes.

Many were prepared from high-energy magical beast meat and rare magical plants; simply being near them caused waves of vital life energy to radiate outward.

Ang caught the aroma and couldn’t help swallowing. His throat bobbed.

He had attended Senior Brother Jie Ming’s banquets before when visiting with Viola, but back then his experience was limited, and he had assumed the extravagance was only for guests.

Today he realized Senior Brother Jie Ming’s daily meals were… this luxurious.

The two took seats in the small dining area partitioned off in the laboratory.

Jie Ming casually picked up a fruit glowing with soft green light—rich in life energy—and took a bite before getting straight to the point.

“Junior Brother Ang, what brings you here today?”

At the question, Ang’s face instantly flushed with embarrassment. His hands unconsciously clenched.

He hesitated for a long while before finally steeling himself and whispering, “Senior Brother… I heard from Senior Sister Viola that you possess technology to enhance wizard aptitude… so I wanted to boldly ask… if you could help improve one person’s aptitude?”

Jie Ming blinked, genuinely surprised.

He hadn’t expected Ang to come for this. Truthfully, if Ang hadn’t mentioned it, he might have forgotten he even had such technology.

“Improving aptitude? That’s possible. But I need to know the target’s specific circumstances—age, current aptitude level, physical condition, etc.” He maintained a rigorous attitude.

Ang’s face grew even redder; his voice dropped lower. “It’s… it’s a baby still in the womb…”

Jie Ming looked up from his food, instantly understanding. A hint of realization colored his tone. “Your child?”

Ang nodded vigorously, both shy and pleading.

Jie Ming was inwardly astonished. He hadn’t expected this quiet junior brother to have quietly surpassed him and Viola in life milestones—he already had offspring on the way.

But Jie Ming was not one for gossip; the surprise passed quickly, and his focus returned to the technical side.

He pondered briefly, rapidly calculating parameters and costs, then said, “If it’s still an embryo in the womb, the lifeform isn’t fully fixed yet—plasticity is high, so both difficulty and resource consumption for aptitude enhancement will be greatly reduced.”

Seeing Ang’s nervous expression, he added, “As for the fee—I can give you the fellow-disciple discount.”

Ang’s eyes lit up. “How much?”

“I’ll round down… ten million low-tier merits.” Jie Ming named the figure. “At this price, I can guarantee raising the embryo’s elemental affinity aptitude to Rank-10 standard. As for other aspects—mental growth potential, soul purity, etc.—limited by the embryo’s carrying capacity and technical boundaries, improvement won’t be dramatic; probably only average Rank-4 to Rank-5.”

Ten million low-tier merits was an astronomical sum for ordinary low-rank wizards.

But for someone at Jie Ming and Ang’s level, especially as an investment in offspring aptitude, it was genuinely a “friendship price.”

Ang clearly hesitated at the number, struggle flashing across his face.

Ten million low-tier merits was nearly all his savings.

But thinking of his child’s future starting line… he gritted his teeth, looked up, eyes resolute. “Deal! Senior Brother, I’ll take it! Please!”

Jie Ming smiled gently. “No problem. Once the timing is confirmed, contact me. The procedure requires a precise time window.”

After seeing off the relieved and expectant Ang, Jie Ming felt rather pleased.

Strictly speaking, his price was almost cost—mainly because enhancing a fetal embryo required only trace amounts of induction factors and energy substrates; the leftovers from his previous aptitude research would suffice.

“A good chance to clear inventory, earn a favor, and make some pocket money. Not bad.” Jie Ming thought contentedly.

Yet before he could enjoy the quiet for long, his Magic Net terminal rang urgently again. “Viola” flashed on the screen.

The moment he accepted, Viola’s face—bursting with excitement and gossip—practically filled the entire display.

“Jie Ming! Jie Ming! Did you see Ang?! He came to find you, right?! You know now—he has a kid on the way! Oh my god! Who’s the mother? Do we know her? Quick, give me details!”

Viola fired questions like a machine gun, curiosity practically spilling out.

Jie Ming sighed helplessly at his perpetually energetic senior sister—he had known she would call about this.

“Senior Sister, Junior Brother Ang did visit, asking about some technical matters. As for the rest…” He shrugged. “I didn’t pry.”

“What?! You didn’t ask?!” Viola’s brows shot up in righteous indignation. “Something this huge happened right in front of you and you—”

Her rant was cut short by Mentor Clark’s calm, indisputable voice from off-screen: “Viola, is your data model finished? You still have time to gossip?”

The screen shook. An invisible hand grabbed the back of Viola’s collar and, amid her panicked “Mentor I was wrong I’ll go right now!” dragged her bodily out of frame.

The call ended.

Jie Ming stared at the darkened terminal, blinked, and couldn’t help laughing.

Recalling Ang’s request, Viola’s still-girlish curiosity, and contrasting it with his own “weathered” fifty years buried in books, he suddenly felt a touch of melancholy.

Unknowingly, even his quiet junior brother had settled down and was about to welcome the next generation.

While he himself, on this long road of life and seeking the Dao… truly seemed to have become one of the “older generation.”