Dawn meditation in the temporal scar chamber had become routine. What wasn't routine was Zǔ Zhòu's latest experimental apparatus.
Seven servants knelt in a ritual circle, each positioned at precise mathematical intervals around the scar. Silver needles pierced their major acupoints, connected by threads of spiritual copper. Their souls, while still anchored to their bodies, had been partially loosened—enough to serve as storage vessels without killing them.
"Living batteries," Zǔ Zhòu explained to his temporal anchor servant. "The paradox energy is too dense for my current dantian. Direct absorption would shatter my meridians. But if I filter it through expendable souls first..."
The anchor servant nodded, his fractured time perception letting him see the technique's endpoint before it began. "Their souls will corrode. Possibly explode."
"Ideally both. Corrosion provides data, explosion provides entertainment."
He began the extraction process, settling into meditation at the optimal 1.7-meter distance. But instead of drawing energy directly into himself, he redirected it through the formation. The paradox energy hit the first servant like a sledgehammer made of impossibility.
The man screamed, then laughed, then forgot what sounds were.
"Subject One experiencing temporal psychosis," Zǔ Zhòu noted calmly. "Soul expansion rate acceptable. Continue flow."
The energy passed through the first servant, who aged and de-aged rapidly, his soul stretching to accommodate concepts it was never meant to contain. By the time it reached the second servant, the paradox had been partially metabolized—still lethal, but less immediately destructive.
Each servant in the chain processed and refined the energy further. Their souls swelled with stolen time, borrowed causality, fragments of laws that Body Tempering cultivators shouldn't know existed. By the seventh servant, the energy had been diluted to something Zǔ Zhòu could safely absorb.
"Efficiency rate: 23%," he calculated. "Acceptable losses for prototype system."
He drew the refined energy from the seventh servant, feeling it flow into his dantian like molten gold. Where raw paradox would have destroyed him, this filtered version integrated smoothly. His Body Tempering cultivation didn't just advance—it evolved.
Muscles remembered strength from futures that might never happen. Bones drew density from alternate timelines. Blood carried oxygen more efficiently by borrowing from moments when it had already delivered its payload.
"Ten times normal cultivation speed confirmed," he said, watching the first servant's soul finally fragment. "No, closer to twelve times. The temporal energy doesn't just accelerate—it allows parallel processing."
The servant collapsed, eyes reflecting infinite fractured moments. Still breathing, technically alive, but his soul had been stretched across so many timestreams that coherent thought became impossible.
"Servant battery duration: forty-three minutes." Zǔ Zhòu made notes. "Consciousness fragmentation begins at minute thirty. Optimal replacement schedule: every half hour."
He continued the extraction, rotating new servants into the formation as the previous ones broke. The temporal anchor servant handled disposal, dragging the soul-shattered husks to a corner where they whispered in languages that wouldn't be invented for centuries.
Hour by hour, the refined paradox energy transformed his cultivation base. What should have taken months of dedicated training compressed into a single session. His Body Tempering Third Stage solidified toward Fourth, then Fifth.
But the energy density was becoming a problem.
"Meridian strain at 70%," he noted, feeling channels burn with temporal fire. "Body struggling to contain accelerated advancement. Need secondary storage method."
He paused the extraction, examining the broken servants. Their souls were ruined, but the soul fragments themselves still contained processed paradox energy. Waste not, want not.
"New experiment," he announced. "Soul fragment crystallization."
Using techniques that wouldn't be discovered for millennia, he compressed the scattered soul pieces into dense crystals. Each fragment became a tiny battery, storing the paradox energy in solid form. The crystals pulsed with unnatural light—some aging decades in seconds, others frozen in temporal loops.
"Temporal energy storage successful. Each crystal contains approximately three days of accelerated cultivation." He held one up, admiring how it refracted light from next week. "Portable, stable, and only moderately likely to cause reality hemorrhaging if broken."
The anchor servant collected the crystals carefully. His fractured existence made him immune to their worst effects—a useful trait Zǔ Zhòu was already planning to replicate in others.
"Young Master," the servant said, existing in three tenses simultaneously, "your body shows signs of temporal oversaturation. The energy density exceeds safe parameters."
Zǔ Zhòu felt it too—a burning in his cells as accelerated time tried to age him decades in minutes. His Body Tempering cultivation was advancing too quickly, creating dangerous instabilities.
"First taste of true power since my fall," he said, cycling the energy carefully. "This body is pathetically weak, but it's adapting. The burning means growth."
He pushed harder, drawing more refined paradox through the servant chain. Sixth Stage approached rapidly—impossible advancement for someone who'd been Third Stage mere days ago. The pain intensified, cells screaming as they were forced to evolve.
"Cellular mutation risk acknowledged," he gritted out. "Acceptable. Perfection is stagnation."
The energy hit critical mass. His body couldn't contain any more temporal acceleration without fundamental transformation. For a moment, he teetered on the edge of explosion—too much power, too weak a vessel.
Then his comprehension kicked in. Fifty thousand years of experience crystallized into a single insight: if the vessel was too small, reshape it.
He redirected the excess energy into restructuring his meridians. Not widening them—that would come with higher cultivation. Instead, he created spiral patterns, temporal loops within his own channels. Energy that couldn't be contained could be recycled, experiencing the same moment repeatedly until processed.
"Temporal circulation method: Ouroboros Pattern." He laughed as the technique stabilized. "The snake eats its tail, and time becomes circular rather than linear."
The burning ceased. His body had adapted, creating a unique circulation method that turned weakness into strength. He couldn't hold more power, but he could experience the same power multiple times.
Body Tempering Sixth Stage solidified with an almost audible click.
"Advancement confirmed," he said, standing smoothly. "Three major stages in one session. Sustainable pace: one stage per week without arousing suspicion."
He surveyed the meditation chamber. Twelve servants had been consumed, their soul fragments crystallized into twenty-three temporal batteries. The formation could be refined, made more efficient. With proper optimization, he calculated a 40% energy retention rate was achievable.
"Temporal power is addictive," he told the anchor servant. "I can feel my cells craving more acceleration. This body wants to skip ahead, to achieve without earning."
"Isn't that what you're doing?"
"No. I'm earning through innovation. There's a difference between clever cheating and lazy shortcuts." He collected the temporal crystals carefully. "These will supplement regular cultivation. Maintain the addiction without feeding it fully."
The anchor servant began cleanup while Zǔ Zhòu planned refinements. The extraction method worked but remained crude. He needed specialized tools, formations designed for paradox manipulation, servants with particular soul configurations.
"Shopping list," he said, creating a mental inventory. "Soul-division needles, reality-anchor stones, servants with spiritual mutations, texts on temporal theory—"
He paused. This world wouldn't have texts on temporal theory. He'd have to write them himself, create an entire scholarly framework to justify his innovations.
"Sustainable evil requires infrastructure," he reminded himself. "Can't have advancement without explanation."
As they prepared to leave, he took one last look at the temporal scar. It pulsed steadily, an inexhaustible fountain of impossible energy. With careful harvesting, it would fuel his rise back to godhood.
"My past self left quite the gift," he said. "Wounds that bleed power instead of weakness."
The anchor servant sealed the chamber as they departed. Behind them, soul-shattered servants whispered prophecies in temporal glossolalia, their broken minds touching truths that linear thought couldn't process.
By the time anyone discovered them, they'd be speaking next century's tragedies with yesterday's vocabulary.
Time had become Zǔ Zhòu's ally once more.