Master of the System

“Venerable Vremya, recently, I’ve encountered a bottleneck in my cultivation,” a man said, bowing his head at Grandpa Vremya while looking at him with his eyes upturned. “Whenever I circulate my spiritual energy through the heel of my foot, it feels like I’m climbing a mountain. At night, I experience cold chills, and my nose swells to the size of a meat bun.”

Albert’s expression darkened. Was this really a gathering of the cultivators? He might not have been born in time to attend the previous gathering, but he had heard rumors about how great they were supposed to be. Cultivators would pool their knowledge together, and the whole of society would take a giant step forward. However, why did the gathering turn into a question and answering session hosted by one person?

Evidently, Albert wasn’t the only person who was frustrated with the situation. A man slammed his palm against the table and pointed at the cultivator who had explained his issues. “If you’re having trouble with your body, go to a doctor! These kinds of questions aren’t what the gathering was meant for.”

The cultivator with the faulty heel snorted. “Then what is it meant for?” he asked, shooting a glance at Albert. “Is it meant for people to challenge others under the guise of seeking guidance? I already know my knowledge isn’t enough to earn myself a phoegon egg. In that case, I should do what’s best for myself. Everyone has a chance to speak, and I’ll use my turn to resolve one of my longstanding problems.” He cupped his hands at Grandpa Vremya. “You’ll definitely have my vote for greatest contribution if you can help me with my issue.”

Grandpa Vremya stroked his beard. “Let me see you circulate your spiritual energy,” he said. He wasn’t a doctor, and his godly self hadn’t crammed any medical knowledge inside of his head. However, he did know everything about properly circulating spiritual energy. Although the cultivator’s technique wasn’t the one Grandpa Vremya cultivated, he had confidence in resolving the man’s problem.

The man with the faulty heel sat down and crossed his legs. “I’m starting.”

Grandpa Vremya watched the man, using his own spiritual energy to follow along. Normally, that wouldn’t have been easy to do, but the man allowed it to happen. At the heel, Grandpa Vremya observed as the man’s spiritual energy slowed to a crawl, barely squeezing through. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with the man’s meridians, but for some inexplicable reason, the spiritual energy acted as if it was charging into a very narrow opening. The man stood up and gave Grandpa Vremya an inquisitive gaze. “Well?”

Grandpa Vremya frowned. “Have you tried turning it off and turning it back on again?”

The man with the faulty heel froze. “What?”

“Let me show you,” Grandpa Vremya said and waved his hand. A group of battlesuit golems appeared in front of him, and before anyone could react, the golems pinned the man down and ripped off his foot with one clean pull. Surprisingly, it separated as if it had been cut with a sword. The man screamed, and the surrounding cultivators shot to their feet.

“What are you doing!?”

“Seize him!”

“Stop!”

Grandpa Vremya glanced around. It made sense people were upset with him. He had answered question after question, resolved problem after problem. Everyone knew one of the top spots was reserved for him. However, there were still some rational ones who realized his golems were capable of defeating everyone in the room. If he really fell out with them, who knew who’d be on the losing side. After beating everyone, wouldn’t all five phoegon eggs belong to him? However, Grandpa Vremya wouldn’t do that; it would give him quite a bit of negative karma. As for obtaining negative karma for ripping off a man’s foot, Grandpa Vremya wasn’t worried about that. He took a bit of titan flesh out of his interspatial ring and used his spiritual energy to compress it into a bead. He rolled it around between his thumb and his index finger while applying pressure, breaking it into a clump of powder. He approached the missing-foot cultivator and applied the powder to the man’s leg stump, unconcerned about the flames of hatred burning within his eyes; after all, the golems were holding him back.

After applying the powder, Grandpa Vremya pressed the man’s severed foot against his leg stump. A few seconds passed with the man unable to do a single thing about his predicament. Even his mouth was covered by one of the golems. A strong tingling sensation assaulted the man’s ankle, and he felt an unbearable urge to scratch his leg. Unfortunately for him, he was restrained. “It should be done now,” Grandpa Vremya said and nodded. He retreated and recalled his golems. “Try circulating your spiritual energy now.”

The man glared at Grandpa Vremya, but upon recalling the terrifying strength of the battlesuits, he could only stifle his anger and sit down, crossing his legs. He circulated his spiritual energy once more. Perhaps his issue had really been solved. When his spiritual energy reached his heel, it gushed through his meridians completely unimpeded. The seemingly barbaric act was actually a medical miracle! His eyes widened, and his spiritual energy nearly went wild within his body from the shock. He forced himself to calm down and finish circulating his energy before standing up. His face betrayed no signs of anger. He cupped his hands towards Grandpa Vremya and bowed. “I won’t forget your kindness!”

“I too have an issue I haven’t been able to resolve,” an old man said from the corner of the room. His voice was soft, but it thundered inside of everyone’s heads. Everyone turned to look at him as he climbed to his feet. He reached into his interspatial ring and pulled out a whiteboard. A dense layer of writing covered it, leaving the surface more black than white. “I wonder if any of you recognize this. Ever since I reached the limit of my body, I turned towards external sources of strength instead. However, this equation right here, it’s stopped me from progressing any further.”

“Isn’t that Fisch’s unprovable hypothesis?”

“So, one of you recognizes it,” the old man said and nodded. He glanced at Grandpa Vremya. “Seeing as you’ve been able to resolve every single problem thrown at you, can you solve this one as well? Prove that these two expressions are equal to each other.”

Grandpa Vremya approached the whiteboard and raised an eyebrow. He stroked his beard while his eyes roamed over the dense forest of equations. After a while, he nodded. The most difficult part about proving the unprovable hypothesis was reading the old man’s handwriting. Because of how sloppy the symbols were, he had to use twice the amount of time to decipher the characters. “It’s easy enough to solve, but I’ll need a lot more whiteboards than just this.”

The old man recoiled, his head jerking back. “What? Easy enough to solve?” His eyes narrowed as he straightened his hunched back. “I’ve spent the last one hundred and fifty years of my life working on this proof, and you claim it’s easy? If you can’t solve it, I expect a humble apology from you.” He waved his hand, and dozens of whiteboards appeared in the space around him.

Azalea stood up and helped Grandpa Vremya organize the whiteboards. While doing so, she got close to him and asked, “Can you really solve it? According to the online encyclopedia, it’s one of the hypotheses that’s been troubling mathematicians for centuries.”

“Why can’t I solve it?” Grandpa Vremya asked. “It’s just knowledge required for higher levels of spiritual engineering.” He picked up the marker and wrote on the whiteboard. Fifteen minutes later, he paused, causing everyone to gossip as they watched. Grandpa Vremya turned his head towards the old man. “You’re giving me your vote if I resolve this for you, right?”

“Of course, mathematician’s honor.”

Grandpa Vremya nodded and continued writing. Thirty minutes later, he scribbled down the last line of the proof. “See? It isn’t very difficult; it’s just tedious to write it all down.”

The old man stared at the series of whiteboards with his hands trembling. Would he have spent the last one hundred and fifty years trying to prove the hypothesis if he knew someone would lackadaisically tell him the answer in the future? Probably not. It felt like the last years of his life had been a complete waste of time. He thought he’d die satisfied if he ever figured it out, but all he got was a sense of desolation instead. Blood spurted out of his mouth, and his vitality rapidly drained, his body shrinking down into a wrinkled husk.

Grandpa Vremya watched as the old man collapsed and died. What was that all about? He glanced around at the shocked crowd. “I don't care if he's dead. I still get his vote.”