She grinned beneath the spider mask and clapped her hands again.
Zhao Zhiyu recognized the feeling instantly. The pressure crashed down on him before he could react.
His knees gave out, his vision darkened, and his thoughts cut off mid-sentence as his body hit the ground.
...
He woke up with an odd sensation on his back.
It itched.
Not the kind of itch you could scratch away, but a deep, crawling irritation beneath the skin. He groaned softly and pushed himself up, head heavy, limbs slow to respond.
Around him, others were waking at the same time. Groggy breaths, low curses, the sound of bodies shifting against stone.
He realized his upper clothes were gone.
His heart skipped.
He looked around and spotted a dull metal mirror leaning against the wall. He stood unsteadily and turned his back to it.
There it was.
A tattoo ran along his spine. A centipede, long and pale, its segmented body coiled downward, legs spread outward in fine detail. It looked disturbingly alive.
The itch worsened the longer he stared at it, and he felt Hun energy subtly drawn toward it, as if the mark itself was breathing.
'That looks... quite insane,' he thought.
He glanced at the others. Some were already checking themselves. Xi Sheng had pulled his shirt aside, revealing a claw-shaped tattoo carved across his chest, sharp and aggressive.
Others had marks on their arms, ribs, or backs.
Different shapes and different beasts.
But the pattern was obvious.
'It's tied to the first soul beast we consumed?,' Zhao Zhiyu realized. 'That's what made us immortal… what does these even mean?'
Then he noticed something else.
Near the left shoulder of everyone's neck was another tattoo. Smaller and identical.
A black crescent moon intersected by a cross.
He could not see his own without a mirror angled just right, but he did not need to. Seeing it on everyone else was enough.
'Do they accept us one of them now?' he thought.
Before anyone could speak, footsteps echoed from the corridor.
The spider mask woman entered again, hands clasped behind her back, posture relaxed. She looked at the group, clearly pleased with the confusion and fear spreading through them.
"All of you," she said brightly, "are now slaves! Let's celebrate!"
No one laughed.
She tilted her head. "If you ever betray the group, your tattoo will explode."
Her tone was light, almost playful.
"Do you really think that wouldn't be possible?"
Her voice dropped at the end, turning cold and sharp. The room fell completely silent.
She waved a hand as if brushing away their fear.
"Now, now, don't be too sad," the spider mask woman said lightly.
"The other tattoo? That one's just a reminder of the first soul you ever consumed."
She stepped closer and tapped her own chest where the crescent moon lay, then traced an invisible shape along her spine.
"It's kind of a tradition for you guys," she continued. "A mark of origin, you could say."
Zhao Zhiyu did not feel comforted. The centipede on his back still itched, still pulled faintly at his Hun, as if it were waiting for something.
She clapped her hands again, her tone turning lively.
"The reason for all this is simple," she said.
"We want your first assassination to go smoothly."
A few people stiffened.
"All of you will work together," she continued, smiling beneath the mask, "to kill a spy within the sect."
She let the words hang in the air.
"Isn't that fun?"
No one responded.
She laughed softly. "Now, now. I'll give you the details later."
With that, she turned and walked out, leaving the room filled with silence, fear, and the faint, crawling itch of shackles burned into their skin.
...
She returned not long after and tossed several parchments onto the stone table.
"Read," she said.
Zhao Zhiyu picked one up. The name written at the top made his eyes pause for a second.
Liu Qiang.
Below it were brief but precise details. An Anointed Realm cultivator. Seventh Layer.
The room went quiet.
She spoke before anyone could ask. "Just so you know, the difference between layers is large. Very large."
Someone swallowed audibly.
"You have one month," she continued casually.
"Find a way to kill him. If you fail, all of you will die. Along with him."
A ripple of panic spread through the room.
Breathing quickened. Faces tightened.
She clapped her hands. "Now, now. Calm down."
Her tone shifted, almost kind. "I won't just throw you to death. I'll give you techniques again."
She waved her hand, and a stack of books appeared, landing heavily on the table. Eleven in total.
"The ones you learned before?" she said. "Those were trash. Mostly mortal techniques and mostly can't be used properly, or it's just that it not suitable for most people."
She tapped the first five books. "These are cultivation techniques. Used to cultivate Hun, the energy of this world."
Then she tapped the remaining six. "These are techniques. One for each of you. You only get one, so choose carefully."
Her gaze drifted briefly to Zhao Zhiyu. Just a glance.
"Pick," she said. "Everyone."
Zhao Zhiyu looked at the parchments again, then at the books.
An Anointed Realm Seventh Layer.
'A month,' he thought. 'I haven't even killed anyone yet!' He wondered how can he even kill someone.
His fingers tightened slightly.
'Their training seems to be flawed, they have to train us and expose us to killing but why is this so weird than I thought?'
One by one, they chose.
No one argued. No one hesitated for long. Each of them reached for what felt closest to survival. A blade-focused technique. A movement art. A mind-disrupting method.
The books disappeared quickly from the table.
Zhao Zhiyu was last.
[ Soul Manipulation and Soul Puppets. ]
He picked it up.
'It seems this technique isn't appealing to anyone, after all it's a hassle to create a puppet and this doesn't really help much with assassination...'
The cover felt cold in his hands, heavier than it should have been. No one commented.
The spider mask woman only watched for a brief moment before turning away.
The gathering ended soon after.
When Zhao Zhiyu stepped out of the room, he released a breath he did not realize he had been holding.
His shoulders relaxed slightly as the pressure faded.
'Haaaah... I didn't die,' he thought. 'That's good enough... I guess.'
As he walked back to his room, he became more aware of the spider mask woman's presence.
Now that he was immortal, the feeling was clearer. Her aura was not just strong. It was oppressive. Dense and twisted. Like something sharp hidden behind silk.
'She's way beyond us,' he thought. 'Not even close.'
The thought made his skin crawl.
Back in his room, he closed the metal door and sat down immediately. He opened the book and began reading.
The first pages were not techniques.
They were warnings.
Soul manipulation required extreme precision. A mistake could damage the soul permanently. Puppets were not tools. They were extensions of the user's will, formed by separating and anchoring fragments of the soul.
His eyes narrowed.
'So that's why she glanced at me,' he thought.
He continued reading.
Slowly and carefully.
This time, he did not rush.
Zhao Zhiyu did not rush into Soul Manipulation and Soul Puppets.
The moment he finished the introductory chapters, he closed the book and sat still.
'If I force this now,' he thought calmly, 'I'll cripple myself before I ever touch a puppet.'
He had learned that lesson already.
Instead, he returned to what he understood best.
Tampering Body, Tampering Soul.
He entered the familiar posture, spine straight, breathing slow and deliberate. His awareness sank inward, not toward power, but toward structure.
Muscles, bones, organs... then deeper, where the sensation shifted into something intangible.
His soul.
It was no longer vague.
After reaching Major Achievement, he could sense its outline clearly: how it sat within his body, where it anchored, where it resisted, and where it moved freely. Each breath caused faint ripples, like silk brushing against water.
'This technique isn't about strength,' he realized. 'It's about knowing myself.'
The panel floated before his vision.
He focused on the entry.
The experience requirement was there.
2500 EXP to advance.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
'That's a lot,' he thought. 'But… it should be worth it.'
As he continued cultivating, the numbers ticked upward faster than expected. Faster than Po. Faster than Shadow Stalking. Even faster than Hun cultivation when he first started.
He felt it.
The smooth progression.
'So that's it,' he thought. 'Compatibility...'
His soul did not reject this process.
The realization settled quietly in his mind.
'I'm suited for soul-related techniques.'
Not because he was talented.
But because his soul had already been different from the start... separated, distinct, and unusually responsive.
He opened the Soul Manipulation and Soul Puppets book again, rereading the earlier warnings. This time, they did not frighten him as much.
'Foundation first,' he reminded himself. 'If I perfect this… everything else will be easier.'
He resumed cultivation.
Seven days disappeared without meaning.
Zhao Zhiyu did not eat properly, did not rest properly, and barely noticed the passage of time.
Every breath, every heartbeat, every flicker of awareness was poured into a single thing.
Tampering Body, Tampering Soul.
Again.
And again.
And again.
The process stopped being painful in the usual sense.
His awareness was forced to scrape across every imperfection in his body and soul.
Cracks.
Imbalances.
Hidden resistance.
Nothing was allowed to remain unseen.
On the seventh day, the panel changed.
The moment he focused on it, the world seemed to fold inward.
Information flooded his mind... dense, precise, merciless. His brain screamed as if it were being overclocked, nerves firing too fast. Pain tore through his body from the inside out, not like injury, but like correction.
Bones subtly realigned.
Muscles adjusted their tension.
Organs shifted into optimal positions.
And deeper still—
His soul.
He felt it fully for the first time. Not as a vague presence, but as a defined structure with weight, orientation, and balance.
He could see where it was thin, where it was dense, where it clung too tightly to flesh and where it floated too freely.
He endured it all without moving.
When the pain finally receded, he gasped sharply and slumped forward, sweat dripping from his chin onto the floor.
The panel hovered before him.
[ Tampering Body, Tampering Soul Technique: Perfected ]
Zhao Zhiyu closed his eyes.
'So this is… perfected.'
He tested it instinctively.
A thought formed and his body responded immediately.
His fingers curled with absolute obedience. His breathing adjusted without delay. Even subtle things like blood flow, muscle tension, posture—shifted exactly as he intended.
There was no resistance.
For the first time in his life and his past life, his body felt like it truly belonged to him.
His soul, too, had changed. It was still not powerful—he could feel its limits clearly, but it was no longer unstable. It sat within him like a properly seated core, responsive and under control.
'Weak,' he admitted calmly. 'But it should be stable.'
A quiet, exhausted joy rose in his chest.
He laughed softly under his breath, the sound hoarse.
'This should be worth it...'
Once his breathing steadied, he picked up the book he had been avoiding.
Soul Manipulation and Soul Puppets.
The pages felt heavier than before.
A week ago, reading this had filled him with unease. Now, with his soul perfected in structure and control, the words no longer felt like a death sentence.
Still dangerous.
But no longer suicidal.
He began reading carefully, slowly, dismantling each concept and comparing it to his own internal sensations.
'Good thing I didn't touch this earlier,' he thought grimly. 'I would've died.'
Just as he turned a page—
Knock. Knock.
The sound echoed sharply in the quiet room.
Zhao Zhiyu froze.
"…Brother," a familiar voice came from the other side. "It's me again."
Xi Sheng.
Zhao Zhiyu exhaled through his nose, a tired sigh escaping him.
'Bad timing,' he thought, though there was no real annoyance.
He stood, movements smooth and controlled, walked to the metal door, and opened it.
Xi Sheng stood there, as usual... but Zhao Zhiyu saw him differently now.
Every movement, breath, and subtle tension.
Nothing escaped his perception.
"…Come in," Zhao Zhiyu said quietly.