Warning: Very slow-paced chapter (might rewrite eventually)
Unlike my original plan to spend the day refining a Qi Condensation Pill, I decided instead to dedicate the entire day to cultivation. Reaching the third stage of Qi Condensation, the Meridian Opening stage, was my priority. It had been just over two weeks since I reached the second stage. Though the transition from a mortal to the second stage had taken only two weeks, each subsequent breakthrough required more effort, energy, and resources.
Thankfully, my business had provided me with the resources to sustain this accelerated progress. The wealth of Spirit Stones I possessed meant I could cultivate without hesitation, plunging into the effort with everything at my disposal. Over the past two weeks, I have felt the energy within me grow denser, stronger, and more refined. The third stage was within reach. Perhaps I would even reach it today.
Seated cross-legged in my quarters, I retrieved a sizable pile of Spirit Stones. Their faint glow illuminated the room, and their concentrated energy filled the air with a soft, steady hum. Closing my eyes, I activated the Umbral Absorption Technique and began to cultivate.
With each cycle, the energy grew denser and more refined, pooling within my dantian. The hours slipped away in silence. The Spirit Stones gradually dimmed as their energy was consumed, their once-crystalline forms crumbling into fine dust. By the time the sun set, and the room was bathed in moonlight, the small mountain of stones had nearly vanished.
As the last remnants of energy poured into me, the barrier to the third stage finally gave way. A tremor ran through my body, and I felt a shift deep within. My meridians fully opened, allowing Qi to flow unhindered throughout my system. The transformation was profound. The energy no longer moved with resistance or inefficiency, but it coursed through me as naturally.
With my meridians fully opened, my Qi flow became more efficient, and I gained improved control over its application. This stage also marked the beginning of a longer process: the purification of impurities within the body.
Most cultivators would spend the entirety of this stage gradually purging these impurities. The process wasn't immediate or simple, and it required dedication, time, and continuous cultivation. Yet, as I guided the Qi through my body, I noticed something unusual. The impurities within me were almost nonexistent.
Frowning slightly, I paused my cultivation to analyze this anomaly. The absence of impurities wasn't normal. Even the most gifted cultivators needed to spend months to years cleansing their bodies to reach the next stage. Yet my body felt unnaturally pure, as though it had skipped this fundamental step entirely.
Then, the answer dawned on me.
This body wasn't born into the world the normal way. It had been created from thin air only three months ago. Unlike those who had spent years as mortals accumulating impurities through life, my body had no such history. The short time I spent as a mortal before starting cultivation simply hadn't been enough for impurities to take root.
While others at my level would need to dedicate time and effort to this cleansing process, I could focus solely on strengthening my Qi and progressing further. It was a unique advantage and one I fully intended to exploit.
The last of the Spirit Stones crumbled into dust, their energy completely consumed. Opening my eyes, I flexed my fingers experimentally, channeling a thread of Qi through my meridians. The response was immediate and fluid, the energy flowing with precision and ease.
This enhanced control allowed me to perform basic techniques with newfound efficiency. The strength coursing through my body was palpable.
Rising to my feet, I took a moment to sweep the remnants of the Spirit Stones into a corner. The moonlight streamed softly through the window, casting long shadows across the room. My body felt lighter, my movements more fluid, as though every part of me had been refined.
Surprisingly, I felt neither fatigue nor hunger, despite the hours spent in cultivation. The advancement to the third stage had not only bolstered my strength but also brought a newfound efficiency to my body's internal processes. My dantian brimmed with energy, the sheer abundance of Qi erasing any lingering weariness or need for sustenance for the moment.
Curious to test my new limits, I raised my hand and channeled Qi through my meridians. It surged with a responsiveness that I hadn't experienced before, flowing smoothly to my fingertips. With a sharp motion, I released a burst of Qi.
A concentrated pulse of energy shot forward, far more potent than the weak, erratic bursts I had produced at the second stage. I restrained myself, careful not to unleash my full strength within the confines of my quarters. Even at this restrained output, the difference was staggering.
This was a significant milestone. The third stage was the threshold where cultivators could truly begin to utilize techniques. The improved control over Qi allowed for precise manipulation, a foundation upon which countless methods and skills could be built.
As I stood there, the memory of the battle with the bandit's uncle surfaced. At the time, I had been a mortal, completely reliant on physical prowess and strategic execution to overcome an opponent who was far superior in raw strength. The difference between a mortal and a cultivator, even one at the fourth stage of Qi Condensation, was like the difference between heaven and earth.
Reflecting on that encounter, the reasons for my victory became clearer. The man, despite his cultivation, was a rogue cultivator. His technique was crude, inefficient, and lacked the refinement that came from proper instruction. His reliance on brute force and a small repertoire of basic techniques had been his undoing.
I recalled his two primary attacks vividly. The first was a Qi Blade, a focused channeling of Qi to the tips of his pointer and middle fingers to form a sharp, cutting edge. The second was a burst technique, releasing a wave of energy from his fist to destabilize opponents. Both were rudimentary techniques, effective in their simplicity but limited in their potential.
With my current abilities, I could replicate both techniques easily, perhaps even execute them better. The man's lack of emotional discipline had further sealed his fate. His frustration and overconfidence had clouded his judgment, leaving him vulnerable to calculated counterattacks.
I stood by the window, the moonlight spilling across the floor of my quarters in pale streaks. The night was quiet, the sect grounds shrouded in serene stillness. Yet, despite the calm, my mind was restless. Sitting idle was never my preference, and the allure of progress pulled at me.
Making my decision, I grabbed the Veil of Eternal Night manual and tucked it into my robes. If sleep wouldn't come easily, I could at least make the night productive. The Hall of Resonance was always open to disciples for training, and the techniques within the manual needed more than theoretical study to master.
Aside from the Veil of Eternal Night, I also grabbed the Shadow of Whisper manual and my Tang Dao that hang on the wall. I had not used it for a long time, I thought quietly.
The sect grounds, typically bustling during the day, were now silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves. The moonlight bathed the sect grounds in a pale, ethereal glow, and the cool night air carried a faint crispness that settled against my skin. My steps were calm as I approached the Hall of Resonance.
As I neared a stone courtyard just off the path, a faint melody drifted through the air—haunting and cold, its notes sharp yet delicate. The sound was unlike anything I had heard before, drawing my attention immediately.
Rounding the corner, I saw a woman. She sat beneath a solitary lantern, her figure framed by its soft glow. Her robe, a greenish-white hue, shimmered faintly in the light, the color accentuating the icy aura that seemed to radiate from her.
Her beauty was striking, a regal elegance that exuded cold indifference, like a snow queen presiding over her frozen realm. She played a guqin resting across her lap, her hands moving with effortless grace. The melody she wove was as frigid as her demeanor, each note cutting through the silence like shards of ice.
I slowed my steps, my gaze briefly lingering on her. Her aura was suppressed to the point of near invisibility. I wouldn't have noticed her at all if not for the music. The precision with which she controlled her presence was a skill in itself, suggesting a level of mastery far beyond that of a mere disciple.
Her eyes flicked toward me as I approached, dark and sharp, but the glance was fleeting. She turned her attention back to her guqin almost immediately, as though I weren't worth her notice.
Seeing her disregard, I took that as my cue to continue. There was no point in lingering or attempting to engage someone whose status and abilities were likely far beyond my comprehension. Her attire alone—customized robes rather than the standard sect wear—was a clear mark of her rank. Only those beyond core disciples had the privilege to wear clothes of their choosing. Whether she was a True Disciple, an elder, or something even greater, I had no intention of finding out.
Without pausing, I resumed my path, passing by her without so much as a second glance. Interacting with someone of her stature was unnecessary and unwise.
The notes of her melody continued to drift through the air as I moved further away. My focus quickly returned to the Hall of Resonance and the training that awaited. The solitude of the night was mine once more, and with it, the chance to refine my techniques.
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As Ayanokoji disappeared into the Hall of Resonance, the faint sound of his footsteps fading into the distance, the woman's delicate fingers came to rest on the guqin's strings, silencing the final notes of her melody. The lantern above her flickered, casting fleeting shadows over her greenish-white robes. Her icy aura seemed to seep into the stillness of the courtyard, intensifying the chill in the air.
Her sharp, frost-like gaze lingered on the entrance to the Hall, where he had vanished moments before. Her lips parted slightly, and she muttered, "Interesting."
"So this is the new disciple Elder Sun Min mentioned."
Leaning back slightly, her elegant fingers trailed absentmindedly over the smooth surface of her guqin as her mind turned to the young man. "Third Stage of Qi Condensation," she murmured, her words laced with intrigue. "In just over a month... and yet, his cultivation shows none of the impurities typical of those at this stage. Almost as though..."
She paused, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly as she considered the implications. "...As though his body was untouched by the mortal filth most must endure."
Her lips curved into the faintest trace of a smile, though it held no warmth. "A prodigy? No," she muttered, shaking her head. "He doesn't have the air of those naive talents who rise quickly only to fall just as fast."
Her gaze turned back to the strings of her guqin, her fingers lightly plucking a single note that hung in the still air. The sound was cold and piercing, much like her thoughts.
"This will be worth watching," she mused, her voice almost inaudible as she rose to her feet with a graceful motion. Her robes shifted around her like drifting snow, the faint green hues blending seamlessly with the moonlit courtyard.
As she turned to leave, her frosty aura left the lanterns dimmed and the air colder than before. The Hall of Resonance loomed in the distance, where Ayanokoji had begun his training, unaware of the gaze that had followed him or the interest he had piqued in someone who rarely took notice of those beneath her status.
"Let's see how far you'll rise, Ayanokoji Kiyotaka," she whispered to the night, her voice carried away by the wind as her figure melted into the shadows.
▬▬ι═══════ﺤ
The heavy wooden door of the Hall of Resonance closed behind me with a dull thud, sealing out the crisp night air. Inside, the atmosphere was warm but subdued, the flickering lanterns along the stone walls casting faint golden light over the space. A faint hum of lingering energy, likely residual from countless hours of cultivation, filled the air.
Ahead of me, a male student sat slouched behind a polished counter, his robes slightly askew and his posture speaking of someone well acquainted with monotony. He looked to be a few years older than me, his tired eyes flicking upward briefly as I approached.
"Training room?" he asked flatly, his tone devoid of enthusiasm.
"Yes," I replied, placing five mid-grade Spirit Stones on the counter. The rate for one hour was 100 Spirit Stones, a steep price for most disciples, but well within my means now.
The student's eyes flicked briefly to the insignia on my robe, noting the black flame of a Novice Alchemist, though his expression remained indifferent. With a quick motion, he swept the stones into a drawer beneath the desk and retrieved a small wooden token.
"Room seven," he said, sliding the token across the counter toward me. "Five hours. Don't damage anything you can't afford to replace, and don't overstay your time."
I inclined my head slightly in acknowledgment, picking up the token without a word. He seemed content to return to his slouched position, uninterested in prolonging the interaction.
The hallway beyond the counter stretched ahead, dimly lit and lined with plaques marking the chamber numbers. I made my way to room seven. The plaque beside the door was dark, indicating the chamber was unoccupied. Sliding the token into the slot below the plaque, I felt a faint pulse of Qi as the formation recognized my access.
The door creaked open, revealing a large room designed solely for cultivation and training. Reinforced walls etched with inscriptions, probably meant to absorb and contain Qi, a low platform at the center for meditation, and a faint glow emanating from the ceiling, providing soft illumination.
I stepped inside, closing the door behind me. As the latch clicked, the chamber's protective formations activated, enclosing the room in an almost tangible stillness. Placing the token on a small ledge near the door, I moved toward the platform, the manual for the Veil of Eternal Night tucked securely under my arm.
Sitting cross-legged, I opened the manual, scanning the script detailing the first steps. A faint scent of old paper mingled with the cool hush of the chamber.
Despite my recent breakthrough to the third stage of Qi Condensation, I knew better than to allow pride to cloud my thoughts. Cultivation was an unending pursuit, and each step forward revealed new things. To stagnate at any stage, consumed by arrogance, was to doom one's path to mediocrity. I needed to master these shadow techniques swiftly and cleanly, making the most of my newly opened meridians and the nearly impurity-free state of my body.
Although my mind remained calm and purposeful, a thin thread of anticipation coiled in my chest, urging me to begin. I gave in to that impulse, turning to the page that described Whisping Step, the foundation of movement arts in the Veil of Eternal Night. The manual's script flowed elegantly:
"Whisping Step harnesses the essence of Dark Qi to grant its practitioner unparalleled speed and evasion. By shaping bursts of Qi at one's feet, one may cross a battlefield in the blink of an eye. The trick lies in balance. Too much Qi, and you may lose all control; too little, and you move no faster than an ordinary mortal. Such is the delicate dance of shadows."
I closed the manual. The training room was large but not overly so, perhaps a hundred meters in length and half as wide. Rows of thick wooden targets and boulders had been arranged at the far end. It was the perfect environment to put both Whisping Step and Shadow Infusion to the test.
My eyes drifted to the manual once more. Standing calmly, I inhaled deeply, allowing Qi to flow smoothly from my dantian into my legs. My meridians responded with clarity. The shadow Qi spiraled toward my feet.
I felt a subtle chill along my soles, as though I had placed them in a shallow stream of icy water. Holding that image in mind, I carefully visualized the Qi forming swirling vortexes around my feet. This preliminary step was vital: compressing the Qi gently, not forcing or suffocating it. I needed it to be stable enough to listen to my command yet primed to detonate in a silent burst the moment I gave the signal.
Taking one step forward, I attempted a minor release of Qi, just to sense the tension, like tugging gently at a crossbow string before firing. My foot slid forward a few meters. The movement was quick but not disorienting. I came to a smooth stop, leaving a blur behind me.
I felt a slight confirmation that my approach was correct. There was no dizziness, no twisted ankles, and no painful feedback from the meridians. Good. That settled the question of whether I understood the theory. Now to push it further.
I exhaled slowly, re-centering. This time, I infused more Qi into each foot, building up the tension until the intangible swirl of dark energy felt almost tangible. My stance tensed, knees bending. In the next breath, I released the Qi.
The acceleration was immediate and violent. My vision smeared into a single blur of gray stone and dim light. The air tore at my robes, a faint whistle arising as the wind rushed past my ears at dizzying speed. Before my conscious mind could fully register it, I'd traversed nearly the entire length of the training chamber, somewhere close to a hundred meters, in a heartbeat.
Stopping was another matter entirely. My Qi flared in the opposite direction, forcing me to skid to a halt. A stinging pain lanced through my calves as muscles and bones struggled to absorb the momentum. My eyes could hardly process what had just happened. The distance was covered so quickly that it nearly defied reason. I stumbled forward, catching my balance a hair's breadth before slamming into the wall.
A wave of dizziness rippled through my senses. My head spun, and the walls seemed to tilt for an instant. Though I managed to remain on my feet, it was a delicate victory. With the acceleration so abrupt, my body was left reeling, unaccustomed to such violent motion. A mortal body might have collapsed outright. Even my physique could not escape the jolting aftermath of instant acceleration.
I pressed a hand against the cold stone wall, inhaling deeply. My heart hammered in my chest, but I forced the adrenaline to subside. Slowly, the chamber settled in my vision. The faint residual shadow Qi dissipated, leaving only the flickering glow of the formations carved into the walls. Across the training room, I could see the spot where I had started, a fair distance away, closer to a hundred meters. Ninety kilometers per hour or more, reached in an instant. It surpassed any mortal record, and the more remarkable aspect was that I'd started from a complete standstill.
An involuntary wave of satisfaction coursed through me. I straightened, controlling my breathing. Such speed, if honed, would be lethal in combat. I needed to refine my control to avoid the whiplash and dizziness. Once that was done, Whisping Step could be used like a dagger.
I pivoted on my heel and walked slowly back to the center of the chamber, giving my meridians time to recover from the violent surge. In my mind, I replayed the burst, analyzing every nuance: the ratio of Qi usage between my left and right feet, the angle of my body, and the moment I decided to stop. Soon enough, I would run the technique again, attempting a gentler deceleration. But first, a short respite.
Balance was key. The manual had described it perfectly: Put in too much Qi, and your body would rocket uncontrollably; put in too little, and you gained only minimal advantage. The optimum lay somewhere in between, where the Qi was explosive enough to catapult you to top speed but controlled enough for your senses and body to adapt. Brute force alone would never yield mastery over Whisping Step.
Once the dizziness dissipated, I tried again. This time, I held a fraction of Qi in reserve for deceleration. The result was far smoother, though still jarring. I managed to come to a stop several meters earlier, avoiding a near slam into the wall. The swirling shadows around my ankles grew more visible. My eyes, sharper now, detected how each wisp trailed behind me mid-dash.
Within an hour, I had performed upward of a dozen bursts, each refining the technique a little more. My body adapted swiftly, especially with no impurities clogging my meridians. The strain lessened each time, my vision recovering faster, my footsteps landing more quietly. In practical combat, an instant dash could confound most attackers. Better yet, with refinement, I could chain multiple bursts in quick succession, outmaneuvering an entire group.
Eventually, my legs began to protest from repeated abrupt stops, so I took a break, focusing on another hallmark skill from the Veil of Eternal Night manual: Shadow Infusion.
Where Whisping Step harnessed Qi for movement and evasion, Shadow Infusion turned it into a raw, destructive force. The manual described how to channel Qi into one's limbs and release it either as a condensed long-range projectile or as an explosive burst at close range.
I walked across the chamber to the far end, where a row of practice targets stood. Several thick wooden mannequins were arranged in a line, each roughly human-sized with sturdy frames, while behind them lay boulders of varying sizes. One of the medium-sized boulders was almost two meters tall, ringed by even larger stones. The caretaker of the Hall must have placed them there for disciples to test their destructive prowess.
I pulled out the manual again, quickly scanning the relevant lines:
"Shadow Infusion harnesses the essence of darkness not merely as force, but as a medium for concentrated Qi. At a distance, it may be launched as a projectile, though the further it travels, the more power is dispersed. In close range, however, it is devastating, impacting the target in a condensed, explosive form."
I closed the manual and placed it on the ground to the side, well away from where I intended to unleash any blasts.
Starting with long-range practice, I extended my right palm toward one of the smaller boulders. My meridians responded fluidly as I guided Qi from my dantian to my arm. The sensation was akin to drawing water from a deep well, except it was cold and heavy. My forearm tingled, and my fingertips felt slightly numb from the concentrated dark energy pooling there.
With a single movement, I thrust my palm forward. A dark pulse shot from my hand, a swift projectile shaped like an elongated orb of swirling shadows. The motion was nearly soundless, like a muffled breeze. The boulder was about fifteen meters away, leaving the projectile only a split second of travel time before impact.
When it struck, a dull crack resounded. A visible dent marred the boulder's surface, accompanied by a spiderweb of thin cracks radiating outward. Pebbles loosened and dropped to the floor. It wasn't an earth-shattering blow, but it was potent enough to gouge into solid rock from a distance. My eyes flicked across the scattered fragments. Formidable, but not the technique's true potential.
Shadow Qi dispersed more readily over distance, which meant that the longer the projectile traveled, the weaker it got. This was consistent with the manual's warnings. If I had channeled more Qi, or had the boulder been closer, the damage would have been far more extensive.
I tried it again, unleashing a second pulse, this time from half the distance. The result was immediate: the projectile tore a ragged chunk from the boulder's surface, sending shards clattering across the stone floor. A haze of dust rose, and the crackling echo lingered in the training chamber. Shorter range, less dispersion equaled more power. Perfectly logical.
After refining this long-range method a few times, I felt confident enough to test the close-combat variant. That was, after all, how Shadow Infusion truly shone. Approaching one of the larger boulders, I sized it up. It was easily close to my own height, thick, and presumably quite heavy. Destroying something of that mass with a single strike would require a monstrous amount of force, comparable to siege weaponry. In short, it was a perfect test of my newly acquired stage and skill.
Stepping within arm's reach, I rested my palm lightly on the rugged surface of the stone. Its texture was cool and uneven. Closing my eyes, I guided Qi from my dantian, letting it pool in my right arm. This time, I visualized compressing it into an even smaller area, right at the cusp of my knuckles.
Time seemed to slow. My hearing tuned out everything but the deep throb of Qi. Then I struck. The moment my fist connected with the boulder, I unleashed the Qi in a single burst, letting it detonate outward.
An explosive force reverberated through the chamber. The boulder didn't just crack, but it fragmented like glass. Large chunks flew in all directions, some slamming against the walls with alarming velocity. The training chamber's protective inscriptions lit up in response, absorbing the brunt of the flying debris. Dust and grit whirled in a choking cloud around me, forcing me to shield my face with one sleeve.
Fortunately, anticipating the recoil, I had braced my stance and formed a thin Qi barrier over my body. Even so, my arms throbbed from the force of the strike. Had I miscalculated, the recoil could have shattered my bones, or the debris could have pelted me with lethal force.
When the dust settled, the central portion of the boulder was almost gone, leaving only a rugged stump of stone around the edges. The largest piece I could see was no larger than my fist. Looking at the mess, I ran a quick mental calculation. To break apart a hunk of solid rock that size in one blow would have required an enormous measure of force. Shadow Infusion had managed it with terrifying ease. A second wave of dust drifted through the air, lit faintly by the flickering runes on the walls.
I lowered my raised arm and let the Qi barrier dissipate. I felt no outward excitement or glee, but deep within, I was impressed. The efficiency and refinement of the third stage made such feats possible, especially with the synergy of shadow-path Qi.
Tilting my head, I stepped aside, letting the last bits of rubble settle. From range, Shadow Infusion was formidable, but it lost potency quickly. Up close, it was devastating, capable of obliterating obstacles or opponents in the blink of an eye. Combining that with Whisping Step's speed might create a lethal combination: dash in, strike, and vanish. Even the memory of how I overcame the rogue cultivator rose in my mind, though back then, I had only mortal means to rely on.
Unwilling to let a single demonstration suffice, I approached a smaller boulder for further trials. This time, I channeled Qi into my left palm, shaping it more gently. The burst upon contact was smaller, more controlled, but still enough to crack the rock in half, without the same cataclysmic explosion.
A few steps away, a wooden target beckoned as a final test. Wood was not as sturdy as stone, but it had a different type of resilience. I formed a short-range projectile by focusing Qi in my fingertips, then unleashed it with a quick thrust. The resulting impact skewered the wooden dummy, leaving a neat, smoldering hole in its center. Splinters flew out the back, pattering onto the ground. The smell of singed timber filled my nostrils.
I found a cleared section of the training chamber free of rubble and boulders and set up several wooden dummies at intervals. I wanted to practice chaining one Whisping Step into an immediate short-range Shadow Infusion. Arranging them in a makeshift obstacle course, I spaced them about five meters apart, each one offset slightly from the last to force me to pivot mid-sprint.
Taking a position at the far side, I breathed out. My Qi began to swirl around my feet. With a soft push, I vanished, reappearing almost instantly at the first target. My fist, infused with a moderate burst of Qi, struck its wooden frame, splintering it in half. Without pausing, I initiated a second Whisping Step, angling to the side to reach the next dummy. I loosed a smaller wave of shadow Qi at its midsection. Cracks spread across its torso. Completing the rotation, I pivoted behind the third dummy, unleashed a palm strike, and then used the remains of my momentum to retreat several meters in the blink of an eye.
Good, but not enough. The abrupt stops jarred my legs, and I had to force each transition to keep from toppling over or losing my aim.
I felt a flash of lightheadedness, a sign that my body couldn't quite handle the rapid shifts yet. It needed to get accustomed to quick repetitive changes in direction.
After a solid hour of repeated practice, my breathing grew slightly heavier. Though I felt physically taxed, it was nowhere near the catastrophic exhaustion I might have suffered at a lower stage. I paused, letting the Qi settle, and withdrew to a quiet corner of the chamber to reevaluate my progress.
A deep silence settled over the Hall of Resonance as I leaned my back against the cold stone wall, letting a slow exhale escape my lips. My meridians still pulsed from the repeated bursts of Whisping Step and the explosive discharges of Shadow Infusion. The frigid shadow Qi within me had yet to fully subside, buzzing faintly under my skin. Despite the rest, my body felt like a taut wire, ready to snap under the right strain. In the past, I would have stopped here, satisfied with the day's progress. Yet now, curiosity beckoned me forward: the manual had contained far more secrets than the basic outlines of Whisping Step and Shadow Infusion. My breakthroughs to the third stage, combined with a body virtually devoid of impurities, might let me probe territory normally reserved for those two entire stages above me.
I found myself wondering how much more I could accomplish. The text in the Veil of Eternal Night manual described advanced skills that typically became feasible only at the fifth stage, where cultivators had shed their bodily impurities. It was an accepted guideline of cultivation. Only from stage five onward did one begin taking on higher-risk missions, often involving direct combat against beasts, rogue cultivators, or other sects. That was the threshold at which most cultivators were deemed truly battle-ready. Before that, stage four and below, one was still an initiate in many respects, too vulnerable to be risked on the battlefield, little more than cannon fodder in large-scale conflicts.
But the manual made it clear that the distinction wasn't only about raw strength. It was about control, the sort that let cultivators shape advanced techniques without causing a backlash or injuring themselves. Normally, that demanded time, effort, and repeated purifications. I, however, had skipped an enormous portion of that process. My body's origin meant I carried virtually no impurity, and as such, many of the advanced skills might not be as far-fetched for me as they would be for other third-stage cultivators.
That realization stirred an unspoken sense of urgency. The notion of testing those advanced techniques right here, right now, grew more appealing by the second. But I also knew Qi was a limited resource, and my reserves were running lower than usual after the extensive practice. If I wanted to push deeper, I'd need either a long period of rest or some form of immediate replenishment.
Stepping carefully across the rubble-filled floor, I retrieved my kit from a nearby bench. Inside was a small tube. It contained several Qi Replenishing Pills I'd concocted with my own alchemical skill. Each pill was about the size of my thumbnail, formed of pale, translucent material flecked with faint gold threads. Swallowing one, I felt a cool wave bloom in my abdomen, gradually filtering through my meridians, revitalizing them with an almost glacial clarity.
I waited a few minutes, letting the pill's effects settle. As my Qi stabilized, I opened the Whisper of Shadows manual.
The manual outlined a series of skills typically introduced to cultivators at the edge of the fifth stage. The text repeatedly cautioned that the body's tolerance and control at earlier stages might be insufficient to wield them effectively. Each technique was described in exquisite detail.
If I could partially grasp even just one or two of these advanced arts, it could dramatically expand my repertoire.
Yet I also recognized the risk. Overextending myself now could cause internal damage or Qi deviation, especially with so many techniques at once. It would be irrational to attempt them all in a single session.
One day is all I need, I told myself. I might master them all. But for this 24-hour window, I would systematically sample as many as feasible, identify those that felt most compatible with my current stage, and refine them to a workable level.
I rose from where I sat and made my way back to the door. The corridors of the Hall were quiet, the attendant from earlier half-dozing at his post. He barely glanced at me as I placed more Spirit Stones on the counter.
"Another day," I said, voice measured, my expression neutral. "Room seven again."
He gave a disinterested shrug. "If you've got the stones for it. That room's free for the next day if you're extending. Don't blow it up, and don't blame me if you cripple yourself."
I didn't bother to respond. Slipping back inside the training chamber, the door behind me closed once more. The knowledge that I now had a full day to devote to these arts gave me a sense of clarity. I found a spot near the center, sat cross-legged again, and consumed a second Qi Replenishing Pill, ensuring I would have enough reserves to begin my exploration of the advanced techniques.
...
START OF LONG PASSAGE
I started with Shadow Slip, enthralled by the concept of momentarily phasing into darkness. The manual's diagrams showed cultivators merging into the shadows. An extreme form of stealth that temporarily aligned the user with the yin element so fully that they were invisible to the enemy.
The instructions emphasized unwavering mental focus. One had to visualize the body dissolving into shadow, bit by bit, until only the faintest silhouette remained. Then, with a precise push of Qi, you completed the "slip," vanishing from the visible plane. The user would remain tangible, but it was enough to reposition unnoticed or confuse their enemies.
Practicing in the bright training room was suboptimal; better conditions might be found outside, perhaps in the gloom of Ebonspire Peak, where the manual suggested the technique was best refined. Still, I wanted to at least attempt the fundamentals now. I headed to a dim corner, cast partly into darkness by the overhead lamps. Standing there, I closed my eyes, letting my Qi flow outward. The feeling resembled what I'd done attempting to meld with shadows before. However, Shadow Slip demanded an actual shift in my "substance."
The first attempts yielded little success. Each time I tried to push my body into the darkness, I felt an intangible resistance, like pressing against a membrane that wouldn't yield. My Qi would swirl, half-form an intangible aura, then snap back into place. The frustration that might have surfaced in another cultivator didn't show on my face, but I noted the shortness of my breath as a sign of mental exertion. The technique felt partially out of reach as my Qi control, though excellent for a third-stage cultivator, wasn't at the refined threshold typically associated with stage five.
After an hour, I managed a half-second window in which my hand blurred, losing its physical edge. My palm sank an inch into the shadow cast by the corner of the wall, but the rest of my arm refused to follow. The feeling was profoundly disorienting, as if my hand had been submerged in cold water while my arm remained on land. Sweat trickled down my forehead. Eventually, I decided to stop. The manual was right... Shadow Slip was best practiced in an environment where the entire atmosphere was steeped in darkness. While my near-pure meridians gave me a small edge, the technique was simply too advanced to master on the spot.
Still, I've gleaned the initial sense of it. In a pitched battle, that momentary flicker might be enough to evade a strike. I made a mental note to refine it under better conditions. Gathering my breath, I turned to the next technique.
Far more promising as a skill I could use right away was Dark Veil, a defensive shield that harnessed shadow Qi to absorb incoming attacks. The text stressed that typical Qi shields at lower stages were often brittle, but shadow Qi had an odd resilience when compressed. It could form a fluid barrier that reacted dynamically to external strikes.
To practice, I cleared a portion of the floor, pushing aside leftover debris, to have space for launching a few test blasts at myself. I began by channeling Qi across my arms and torso, visualizing a thin membrane of darkness forming just above my skin. I recalled the shield I'd briefly used to defend against boulder fragments earlier. It was an unrefined version of this principle.
The advanced instructions for Dark Veil demanded a layering approach, building multiple thin sheets of Qi stacked together, each with a slightly different vibrational frequency. The result would be a barrier that could disperse multiple layers of an attack, rather than fracturing under a single overwhelming blow.
I tested my initial efforts by projecting a weak Shadow Infusion projectile at my own chest. The flick of my wrist sent a small orb of swirling darkness at me. It struck with a sharp crack, but the barrier held, absorbing most of the impact. My robes fluttered, but the shock didn't penetrate to my torso. The veil dissipated in the aftermath, though.
Undeterred, I tried again, carefully building two layers. This time, I increased the projectile's power. It slammed against the layered veil with a deeper resonance. The first layer quivered and vanished, but the second cushion remained, fully stopping the remainder of the blast. I felt only a faint push against my body.
To push further, I conjured a bigger orb of shadow Qi, near to what I'd used to gouge large stones. Hurling it at my own shield demanded confidence. If it overwhelmed the veil, I risked severe injury. My logic was cold, but I trusted my capacity for control. Launching the orb, I braced. The collision rattled my teeth, but after a moment, my shield survived, barely.
My arms trembled from the backlash, though I remained unscathed. I exhaled, nodding to myself. Dark Veil was definitely within my reach at this stage. Achieving the higher-level multi-layer variants would require more practice, but I could already see how this skill could be a lifesaver.
Resting from the repeated impacts on my shield, I turned my attention to Silent Fang. This was an offensive art. The idea was to channel a razor-thin thread of shadow Qi at the moment of physical contact, infiltrating an enemy's meridians and disrupting them from within. Rather than obliterate with raw force, it neutralized the target by interfering with their Qi circulation at specific acupoints or meridian gates.
This is similar to how I defeated Shen Rong, I mused quietly.
In martial arts, I'd learned that precise blows to nerve clusters could paralyze a limb or cause extreme pain. Silent Fang leveraged that concept but took it deeper, injecting a spasm of Darkness Qi into the target's Qi channels. The manual provided anatomical diagrams overlaid with energy pathways, highlighting the ideal points of contact. A well-executed strike could incapacitate an opponent far stronger than oneself, provided the element of surprise was there.
Choosing a wooden dummy to practice on wouldn't replicate the effect on living meridians, but I could at least refine the physical strike and Qi release timing. In each attempt, I would extend two fingers or the edge of my palm and unleash a thread of Qi at the moment of impact.
At first, I overdid it, leaving significant cracks in the dummy's surface. That was more akin to Shadow Infusion's blunt force. I needed to scale back. Each new strike forced me to refine my Qi usage, compressing it to near-invisibility, focusing on minimal area. Slowly, I began to see small, needle-like punctures in the target's surface or thin hairline fractures that suggested an internal disruption rather than an external smash.
My arms burned from the repeated motions and the incessant channeling of Qi. And the mental strain was nontrivial: sustaining that level of fine control taxed my concentration. Time slipped by unnoticed; I lost track of how many times I struck the same target, leaving it riddled with stabs and cracks. In a real fight, a single properly timed blow to an opponent's Qi center might suffice. Here, it took hours of drilling to instill the muscle memory and internal mastery required. Yet, piece by piece, I made tangible progress.
After a short break that I spent swallowing another Qi Replenishing Pill and cycling my breath to steady my meridians, I turned to the technique called Gloomfang Edge, designed to infuse a blade with corrosive shadow Qi.
I retrieved the Tang Dao, which I haven't used since the confrontation with the uncle and nephew duo. The smith in that remote village had shown skill as the Tang Dao's blade was slender and sharp, balanced for swift, lethal strikes.
Raising the sword, I let my Qi flow into its steel, picturing how the Gloomfang Edge technique should envelop the blade like a sheath of swirling darkness. The Tang Dao's finer craftsmanship seemed to resonate with the shadow Qi, allowing me to weave the energy along its length more smoothly.
My first experiment produced a partial success—an uneven aura with flickers of black flame clinging to the edges. When I swung the sword at a battered wooden dummy, the cut carved deep, and a faint hiss arose as residual shadow Qi corroded the wood from within. Splinters crackled, leaving a charred-looking groove. Encouraged, I focused harder, intensifying the film of Qi until the sword's outline shimmered with dark luminescence. Each subsequent slash bit deeper, the corrosive effect widening the wound.
Though my Qi reserves were waning from hours of practice, this confirmed Gloomfang Edge's synergy with a refined blade. The Tang Dao, with its lethal balance, was a great conduit. A single slash against a lightly armored foe might prove decisive, turning their own defenses into liabilities as they slowly disintegrated under the sword's malevolent aura.
When I finally lowered my weapon, my arms trembled with fatigue. This method was not for protracted engagements; its Qi consumption outstripped simpler techniques. In a critical duel, though—especially against a skilled or heavily armored foe—an infused Tang Dao might deliver a critical attack.
Next, I turned to Shimmerstep, a skill bridging movement and illusion. The manual explained how stepping in and out of partial shadow while modulating one's Qi aura at precise intervals could generate afterimages in dimly lit environments. Each ephemeral duplicate would mirror the cultivator's posture for a moment, effectively confusing an observer about one's true position.
The training room was moderately lit by a handful of glowing arrays, and shadows pooled in corners or behind the scattered rubble. That might be enough to attempt Shimmerstep. I returned to the series of dummies I'd set up earlier for Whisping Step drills. This time, however, I wasn't looking to blitz from target to target with sheer speed. Rather, I wanted to create illusions mid-movement, giving the impression of multiple approaching silhouettes.
Remembering the instructions, I started by taking a single step while letting my Qi fluctuate. Each time my foot touched the ground, I conjured a fleeting swirl of shadow behind me, a half-image of my form. The effect was subtle, like a watery reflection. But it vanished too quickly to be an effective decoy. Realizing that I needed to sync my breath and Qi pulses more carefully, I slowed down. Each step became a deliberate dance: step forward, exhale, align Qi, and produce a flicker of shadow in my wake.
At first, the illusions were faint and intangible. Any observer might have disregarded them as mere tricks of the eye. I spent another hour adjusting the precise timing of Qi surges, trying short sprints, sidesteps, and feints. Gradually, the ghostly afterimages lingered a fraction longer, enough to appear as distinct silhouettes, if only for a moment.
To test the effect, I angled my approach so I could see my own reflection in a polished patch of wall. When I dashed sideways, I caught glimpses of multiple me's overlapping in the reflection. The illusions hovered for less than a second before dissolving. In a frenetic battle, a second of confusion could be everything.
Yet Shimmerstep demanded not just Qi control, but also the confidence to move unpredictably. The manual suggested that advanced practitioners chain illusions in a swirling mass, confounding entire squads of foes. Achieving that seemed a distant goal, but the building blocks were here. By the time I finished, my muscles ached from the repeated footwork, and my mind throbbed from the intense concentration needed to produce illusions while controlling bodily momentum.
Farther into the manual, I arrived at a skill that made me pause in fascination: Nightcaller's Grasp. Instead of focusing on personal speed or weapon enhancement, it created external manifestations of shadow in the shape of writhing tendrils. These spectral limbs could ensnare multiple targets, restraining them or even wrenching weapons from their hands.
Implementing this was akin to conjuring Qi outside the body in a stable form. I set up three battered wooden dummies in a row. The text advised standing still, focusing on the area around the targets, and shaping one's Qi to coalesce out of the gloom.
My first attempt resulted in a whirling swirl of dark mist that dissipated without taking form. The second effort yielded something akin to wriggling lines of black smoke, but they had no substance. I realized I needed an anchor like an actual pool of darkness to shape. Dimming the overhead arrays might have helped, but I had no control over the training room's preset formation lighting. Instead, I simply poured more Qi into the swirling gloom, forcibly compacting it until it formed the semblance of tangible lines.
Finally, thin tentacles of darkness snaked out from the floor near the dummies' bases. I directed them with my mind, commanding them to coil around the wooden legs. Two latched on, causing the dummies to sway precariously before toppling. The third tentacle flickered out of existence. My Qi supply dipped as though I'd unleashed a high-level technique, a testament to how draining Nightcaller's Grasp could be for a lower-stage cultivator.
Encouraged, I kept refining the process. Over repeated attempts, I learned to produce four or five tendrils simultaneously, each about as thick as a man's wrist. Maintaining them for more than a few seconds taxed my reserves severely, but it was enough to imagine how, in a real skirmish, I might immobilize multiple adversaries just long enough to strike or flee. The technique required me to stand rooted in place. Unlike Whisping Step or Shimmerstep, there was no easy movement while controlling the tendrils. But as a crowd-control measure, the potential was undeniable.
The final advanced skill in the manual was Phantom Whispers. It was a purely psychological weapon. It had no direct destructive power or physical manifestation. Instead, it manipulated sound, generating illusory voices, echoes, or noises that could disorient foes, ruin their concentration, or drive them into panic.
Cults and assassins had historically prized this technique. In a direct confrontation, distracting an opponent's concentration for even a heartbeat might open them to a lethal strike.
Phantom Whispers involved sending out subtle pulses of Qi that vibrated the air. One had to shape these vibrations into patterns resembling whispers, footsteps, or other auditory cues. Typically, higher-level cultivators could craft entire symphonies of illusions. At my level, I'd be content with a few murmurs.
The room was still. I inhaled, focusing on the intangible currents in the air. I shaped a minuscule portion of Qi, projecting it outward in waves. My first attempt produced only a faint whoosh, akin to a gentle breeze. Encouraging, but not quite a whisper. Reconfiguring my approach, I tried to modulate the frequency. Then I listened, straining my ears for any hint of the illusions I was crafting.
Suddenly, I caught a faint, almost eerie echo drifting around the chamber. It was reminiscent of soft speech, though I couldn't make out words. My face remained impassive, but inside, I recognized the success. The illusions were ephemeral, more sensation than coherent sound. Over the next hour, I managed to produce something that might pass for hushed voices carrying from a distant hallway. If used on an unsuspecting target in a dark environment, it could easily sow confusion.
Yet it required intense concentration and stillness. Even a minor slip in Qi output caused the illusions to fade or turn garbled. I understood that perfecting Phantom Whispers was a matter of long practice in controlling the subtle aspects of Qi emission. For now, I was content to have glimpsed its potential.
END OF LONG PASSAGE
At that point, a look at the chamber's timing array told me only a few hours had passed since I extended my session. I had many more left, nearly an entire day. If I intended to truly integrate these newly explored techniques, I'd need all that time.
Time blurred. My only pauses came when my Qi dipped too low, forcing me to pop another Replenishing Pill. Sweat soaked my robes; dust and flecks of shredded wood clung to every fold.
As the hours drew on, I made sure to cycle my Qi properly, giving my meridians a chance to recover from the strain. Without impurities, my body handled the stress better than most, but I could still feel the mental fatigue accumulating. My vision grew fuzzy at times; my limbs trembled after certain heavy Qi bursts. At least half a dozen times, I caught myself about to lose control of a technique mid-execution, risking a disastrous Qi backlash.
But each time, I re-centered, forcibly wresting my Qi back in line. The training chamber, with its worn targets, shattered boulders, and scuffed floor, began to resemble a battlefield or a craftsman's workshop littered with half-finished products of my practice.
Near the twentieth hour, signs of exhaustion weighed on me more heavily than I'd ever experienced since starting cultivation. My mind felt as if it had participated in multiple triathlons, and my core thrummed with a dull ache. The reserves of my dantian were dangerously low, even with the pills. My meridians felt raw, as though each technique scraped them from the inside.
Another short break let me gather my breath, leaning against the wall, eyes half-lidded. I considered a final push that would be a concluding demonstration that would chain at least some of the newly acquired skills, proving to myself that the day's efforts were not in vain.
I set up the scenario: I'd attempt a quick Shimmerstep dash, conjure Gloomfang Edge on the Tang Dao mid-movement, then lash out with a series of illusions from Phantom Whispers. It was an impractical combination in a real fight, but it would test everything from footwork to Qi illusions. One last flourish before I accepted the toll on my body and retreated.
Drawing my Tang Dao, I steadied myself. My Qi sputtered in my dantian, barely enough for a strong infusion, but I forced it to comply. Then I darted forward. My footwork wove left, conjuring faint shadows behind me—one, two, three flickers of afterimages. The illusions lasted less than a second, but I caught a glimpse of multiple me's in the reflection of a broken stone chunk. Good. My arms raised the sword, now coated in a minimal film of black Qi, less potent than earlier in the day, but enough for a demonstration.
A wooden dummy loomed ahead. I let out a terse breath, slicing at an angle. The blade hissed, burying itself fully. Splinters exploded, and the dummy toppled. At the same time, I exhaled another tendril of Qi to produce a soft hiss in the air, an embryonic Phantom Whispers effect. My illusions were feeble, but the principle was there.
Satisfied, I let my arms drop, panting. My vision swam. The floor seemed to shift beneath me. I refused to collapse, though my legs threatened to buckle. Another minute ticked by before I willed my breath to steady. That was enough. I had tested my limit—no, perhaps even surpassed it. Any further, and I risked real damage. With that final demonstration, my 24 hours of training were nearly up.
▬▬ι═══════ﺤ
A dull beep from the chamber's control array announced that my extended time was nearing its conclusion. I glanced around, surveying the wreckage. The training room was in disarray as half of the wooden dummies lay scattered in pieces, several boulders were reduced to rubble, and the air was thick with dust and the lingering residue of shadow Qi. My own garments bore the grime of exhaustive work, speckled with sweat and debris.
Gathering what little energy I had left, I hobbled to collect the Veil of Eternal Night and the Whisper of Shadow manual from where I'd left them. I re-latched their cover carefully, verifying no pages had been torn in the chaos. My limbs shook slightly, and my spiritual sense felt dull like a blade used far too many times without being sharpened.
The door slid open at my approach, the protective formations disengaging with a soft hum. I stepped out of the training chamber, rubbing a layer of dust from my sleeve. It was impossible to tell how much time had passed solely by my inner sense—my body felt drained and disoriented, as if I'd been pushing its limits through multiple lifetimes of exertion.
In truth, I had arrived here in the Hall of Resonance the previous night. After five hours of rigorous practice with Whisping Step and Shadow Infusion, the sky had begun to lighten with the promise of dawn. That was when I made the decision to stay another full day to delve into the advanced techniques of the Veil of Eternal Night.
Now, as I emerged, nearly forty-eight hours had elapsed since I'd last slept. My first day was consumed by the breakthrough to the third stage of Qi Condensation, then an entire night was spent in the Hall, followed by an additional day and night of constant training. My body and Qi reserves both felt threadbare, as though the smallest misstep might send me toppling over.
I expected to see the same bored attendant who had barely glanced at me the night before, but the shift had apparently changed. Instead, a young girl in neatly pressed robes stood behind the counter, her face lit with a bright smile.
"Good morning!" she chirped, inclining her head politely. "How was your training session?"
I halted, trying to compose myself. Even so, the circles under my eyes and my disheveled appearance told the story plainly enough.
"It was...productive," I managed. My voice came out calm, betraying none of the bone-deep exhaustion gnawing at my core.
She nodded enthusiastically, either missing or choosing to ignore my ragged state. "I hope we'll see you again soon. Safe travels!"
Offering her a minimal nod in reply, I headed for the corridor that led toward the outer courtyard. My footsteps echoed softly off stone walls, and the crisp morning air rushed in through small archways, bringing me a slight jolt of clarity. Even that was fleeting as both my mind and body were on the verge of collapse.
By the time I emerged into the courtyard, the sky had faded from the deep blue of night to the gentle pastels of early dawn. A few disciples busied themselves in the distance, likely completing chores before breakfast. Though the bustle was faint, I felt strangely out of place, as though the rest of the world had been moving on a normal schedule while I was locked in my own relentless pursuit.
I took care to keep my presence subdued. After nearly two days without proper rest, my spirit felt frayed. Thoughts of the White Room flickered through my mind. At least I hadn't carried Qi back then. Now, I had to manage physical exhaustion and spiritual depletion, which suffused my entire being with a sort of leaden weariness.
Eventually, I reached the plain stone hall that housed the disciples' quarters. My own room lay at the far end, its simple door unadorned but comforting in its familiarity. Opening it, I stepped inside. The small lamp on the table had long since burned out, so the only illumination was the dim glow of morning spilling through the high window.
Setting the Veil of Eternal Night and the Whisper of Shadow manuals on my desk, a wave of dizziness swept over me, and I had to steady myself against the table to keep from sinking to my knees.
Hanging the Tang Dao back on the wall, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. My Qi still churned in my dantian, though it was alarmingly low, fluttering like a candle flame in a breeze.
Stripping off my outer robe, I sank to the floor, settling cross-legged but lacking the energy to fully assume a meditation pose. A quiet part of me wanted to do a proper Qi circulation to stabilize myself, but the toll pressed me down like a leaden blanket. My eyes slid half-shut, and I inhaled the still air of my quarters. The faint scent of herbs and old parchment wrapped me in a momentary comfort.
A day of rest would be wise, I reasoned. Even with my near-pure body, repeated abuse of Qi demanded recovery. My mind drifted to potential next steps: refining these advanced techniques under better conditions, seeking out Ebonspire Peak for Shadow Slip, or forging a proper Qi-imbued sword for Gloomfang Edge. Perhaps I'd need new alchemical brews to restore my exhausted meridians more efficiently.
Yet all such thoughts grew hazy as my weariness mounted. At last, I allowed my eyes to close, my posture relaxing until I was nearly slumped. A wave of real, tangible fatigue washed over me, deeper than any I'd felt since stepping onto the path of cultivation. So this was the price of training one's Qi as well as one's body, of pushing into advanced realms earlier than recommended.
I found myself quietly acknowledging the edges of pain in every muscle, every meridian, but no regret surfaced. The cost was high, and I would pay it willingly if it meant forging a path beyond the limitations of ordinary cultivators.
For now, sleep took me. The room melted into a haze of darkness, and my last coherent feeling was one of muted triumph.