Cultivation is just so scientific!

The first touch is not holy at all.

Cold fingers press against his scalp, gathering loose hair into a tight topknot. A silver needle glints, the air smells faintly of sandalwood and ozone, and an Immortal’s palm lingers for a heartbeat too long. When the knot is tied, the verdict falls as casually as a comment on the weather: “From today, you do not die.”

He came to this cultivation world with nothing anyone here has a name for: a sealed space humming with an IBM z15—190 CPUs, 40 terabytes of memory, twelve‑point‑two billion transistors sleeping behind steel and light. To the sect elders, it’s a mysterious treasure. To him, it’s a familiar server room reborn as a portable sanctuary, its low, steady vibration the only sound that still belongs to his old life.

While others sit under waterfalls and guess at the Dao, he runs simulations. Where peers burn rare herbs, he debugs arrays and models meridian flow. His path to immortality is not incense and chanting, but algorithms, cooling fans, and a stubborn refusal to trust anything that can’t be measured.

Yet in a world ruled by intuition and tradition, a cultivator who treats ascension like an engineering problem is a threat. Every breakthrough logged in his data center draws eyes—greedy, fearful, devout. To hold on to this hard‑won eternity, he must balance one impossible equation: numbers against faith, silicon against spirit, a rational mind against the ancient hunger that drives all of them toward the same distant promise of never having to say goodbye.

All for the sake of immortality, he will quantify what others call destiny—and pay the price when the numbers are no longer on his side.