Song Miaozhu searched for more videos related to handmade crafts.
In recent years, intangible cultural heritage had become a hot trend online, with no shortage of short-form videos showcasing various skills. As she scrolled through clip after clip, she discovered something unexpected—numerous examples where spiritual energy was clearly being drawn in.
A farmer weaving bamboo, an elderly Miao woman doing batik, a man crafting oil-paper umbrellas, and a grandfather sculpting clay figures...
Most of them were seasoned artisans, old masters in their own right.
Young creators were also producing similar content. More attuned to internet trends, they filmed in polished styles, their videos garnering high engagement and millions of views. Several creators had even amassed followings in the millions.
Yet despite the production quality, Song Miaozhu noticed that these newer videos lacked any trace of spiritual energy.
She figured it came down to skill.
While these younger creators could quickly learn and replicate traditional crafts—producing visually stunning pieces—their work lacked depth.
Superficially impressive, but spiritually hollow.
Spiritual energy didn't lie.
It seemed the rules of this spiritual revival were clear: cultivation was tied to craftsmanship.
The more refined the skill, the stronger the attraction to spiritual energy. That was why the first to show changes were the veteran artisans—masters who had dedicated their lives to a single craft, far surpassing any newcomer.
But there was still something puzzling.
Whether it was Grandpa Zhao, Master He Zhen, or the other older artisans she'd seen in the videos, their skills far surpassed her own. Compared to her—someone who had only returned to the art of paper crafting less than a month ago—their work was in another league. So it was only natural they attracted more spiritual qi.
Yet, nearly a month into the spiritual revival, none of them had awakened their Heavenly Eye. From their videos, it was clear they remained completely unaware of the spiritual energy around them. Most of the energy they attracted had been absorbed into their limbs and bodies—not their eyes.
Curious, Song Miaozhu compared their recent videos and hesitantly asked Zhao Mumu:
"Mumu, don't these artisans seem… younger in their latest videos?"
She pointed at the screen.
"This Miao grandma—her back used to be hunched, but now it's a bit straighter.
And this farmer who does bamboo weaving—he works in the fields every day, but his complexion looks a little brighter lately.
Look at this uncle who makes oil-paper umbrellas—he used to have white hair since his youth, but in the recent videos, there's noticeably less of it.
And here, this grandpa with the clay sculptures—he used to gasp for breath after kneading for a few minutes because of his asthma, but now, he kneads the clay smoothly without a hitch."
"You're right…" Zhao Mumu said thoughtfully. "My master's always been healthy, but even his hair's been changing. Could spiritual energy have rejuvenating effects?"
"Probably."
Song Miaozhu had a theory about why these masters, despite absorbing more spiritual energy, remained oblivious to its existence. Their bodies, worn by age and labor, likely required more energy for restoration before any could reach their eyes.
She recalled that when she first began absorbing spiritual energy, it too had initially flowed into her limbs. Only yesterday had it finally reached her eyes. With each particle that merged into her vision, her sight sharpened, her perception of spiritual energy growing clearer. She hadn't had a chance to test it further today.
After Zhao Mumu left, Song Miaozhu printed and organized the purchase request documents, placing them in the Ghost Shop before cutting gold paper to craft golden lotuses.
At first, the spiritual energy particles continued flowing into her eyes.
The texture of the paper beneath her fingers became impossibly vivid. As more energy merged with her vision, her sight transformed again. The golden lotus in her hand suddenly shimmered with a faint aura, like a wisp of firefly light—elusive and delicate.
Though still a first-rank product, it somehow looked... different.
A closer look revealed that its aura wasn't the same as the standard glow of a first-rank artifact. Instead, it resembled the soft, prismatic radiance of spiritual qi.
It wasn't just the lotus she'd just folded—all her previous creations had the same glow, whether they'd achieved rank or not.
The ranked ones glowed brighter; the unranked, dimmer.
Even the paper ingots she had crafted earlier in the Ghost Shop now carried this glow—the higher the quality, the more pronounced the halo.
Yet the ingots left by Great-Grandma showed no such aura. With their craftsmanship and rank, they should've emitted the glow—unless...
Unless this aura was a sign of spiritual qi's integration.
Stepping outside, Song Miaozhu examined the newly installed signboard above her shop. Sure enough, a faint glow clung to its surface, most concentrated around the golden ingot reliefs. She turned and looked at the neighboring escape room shop's signboard—no aura.
One was meticulously crafted by Grandpa Zhao; the other was a casual practice piece by Zhao Mumu.
She revisited the online videos, comparing the elderly artisans' works with those of the viral influencers.
One video had rough filming, cluttered backgrounds, but the objects made in it shimmered faintly with that same glow.
Another video was gorgeously shot—cinematic quality, flawless framing. The crafts looked beautiful... but they had no aura.
At this point, Song Miaozhu was nearly certain: this glow was proof that spiritual qi had fused with the object.
She decided to call it "Spiritual Qi Aura" for now.
And the difference was palpable—objects infused with that aura carried a subtle vitality, a charm beyond words, as if alive. She hadn't seen it before, likely because her eyes hadn't been refined enough.
She crouched down and checked the bin under the counter, filled with paper dolls—results of her recent practice in animated paper figurines.
They had no spiritual aura now.
These were made using ordinary white paper and moved only through yin energy. Without qi, they'd always lost animation quickly, going still in a matter of moments.
But she clearly remembered qi being drawn in when she made them.
She tried making another.
This time, she watched as the spiritual qi entered the paper doll—it shimmered faintly with the telltale aura.
She animated it with yin energy and let it wander around the shop.
As it moved, the aura gradually faded.
Once the doll stopped moving and returned to stillness, the glow vanished completely.
Only then did Song Miaozhu realize why her paper dolls always lost vitality faster than what was described in Secrets of Paper Crafting.
It wasn't the yin energy's fault—ordinary paper couldn't retain spiritual energy long enough.
The meager amount absorbed during folding simply couldn't transform plain paper into true spirit paper.