Zhao Zhiyu returned to his room and tried to practice the Shadow Stalking Technique again. After several attempts, he quickly realized the problem.
When he trained alone, the progress was painfully slow.
The technique relied on following a living target, synchronizing with their presence and movement, and empty corridors and walls simply did not provide that stimulus.
After thinking it through, he left his room and went to find Xi Sheng.
When he explained his request, Xi Sheng stared at him with an expression that looked genuinely lost, as if his mind had failed to process the words properly.
"You want to… stalk me?" Xi Sheng asked slowly.
Zhao Zhiyu nodded. "For training. I need a moving target. I won't harm you."
Xi Sheng hesitated for a moment, clearly uncomfortable with the idea, but eventually sighed.
"Fine. If it helps. Just… don't do anything strange."
That was how it started.
For the next eight hours, Zhao Zhiyu stayed within Xi Sheng's shadow almost without interruption.
His presence faded again and again, his footsteps dissolving into silence as he adjusted his breathing, posture, and pace to perfectly match Xi Sheng's movements.
The corridor lights shifted as they walked, stretching and shrinking shadows, and Zhao Zhiyu adapted to each change, forcing himself to stay attached no matter how awkward the angle became.
'Focus and follow. Become background.'
Each step demanded concentration. Whenever Xi Sheng slowed, Zhao Zhiyu slowed. When he stopped, Zhao Zhiyu froze. When he turned suddenly, Zhao Zhiyu adjusted instantly, feeling the strain crawl through his legs and spine.
Xi Sheng, on the other hand, suffered in a different way.
At first, he only felt uneasy, like someone was standing too close behind him. After a few hours, the sensation grew sharper.
His instincts screamed that something was wrong.
Even when he turned his head, he could still see Zhao Zhiyu there, walking normally, yet the absence of sound and the unnatural closeness of his shadow made his skin crawl.
'This is disturbing!' Xi Sheng thought, forcing himself to remain calm. 'It feels like he's testing how long my nerves can hold! Please leave me alone already!'
By the sixth hour, Xi Sheng's shoulders were tense, and sweat formed along his back despite the cool air.
Zhao Zhiyu's presence would vanish for brief moments, only to reattach seamlessly, as if his shadow itself had grown heavier.
For Zhao Zhiyu, the effort was exhausting but productive. His mind sharpened, his body learned efficiency, and his control over the technique slowly improved.
'This really is the fastest way,' he thought grimly. 'Even if it feels cruel.'
When the eighth hour finally passed, Zhao Zhiyu released the technique and stepped back, his presence fully returning.
Xi Sheng stopped walking and exhaled deeply, rubbing his arms. "Next time," he said stiffly, "warn me in advance."
Zhao Zhiyu nodded, genuinely appreciative.
"Thank you. This helped."
As he walked away, his body ached and his mind felt stretched thin, but he knew the training had been worth it.
Ever since his endurance had doubled, Zhao Zhiyu realized that his limits had quietly shifted. Eight hours of continuous Shadow Stalking no longer pushed him to collapse.
With the Perfected level of the Tampering Body, Tampering Soul Technique, his control over his muscles, breathing, and posture was unnervingly precise.
He could make micro-adjustments instinctively, correcting balance and tension.
Stalking Xi Sheng for eight uninterrupted hours earned him three hundred and forty-two points of experience. When the panel confirmed it, he let out a slow sigh.
'Slow… but reliable. This really is the only way.'
Afterward, he returned to his room and rested for four hours. As an immortal, sleep had become less of a necessity and more of a maintenance ritual.
His breathing stabilized quickly, his muscles loosened, and the lingering soreness faded faster than it ever could have in his previous life.
Once he felt steady again, he opened the book he had been both anticipating and dreading: Soul Manipulation and Soul Puppets.
The opening explanation was simple, almost deceptively so.
One must have expert understanding of one's own soul.
The book described the soul with an analogy that stayed with him. The soul was like water cupped in one's hands. If the grip was too loose, it would spill.
If the hands trembled, it would leak through the gaps. If the water was lost, the person would die.
Zhao Zhiyu swallowed.
'So even a mistake can kill me. How terrifying...'
The first exercise was not about controlling others, nor about puppets. It was about separation.
The book instructed him to attempt to divide a tiny fragment of his own soul, detach it briefly, then return it to its original place.
He tried.
The moment he attempted to isolate that fragment, a sharp pain tore through his consciousness.
It was not physical pain, but something deeper, as if a needle had been pushed directly into his thoughts. His vision blurred, and his breath hitched.
"Uurrhk!"
He failed.
He rested, steadied himself, and tried again.
The pain returned, stronger this time. His hands clenched against the stone floor, and a hoarse sound escaped his throat before he could stop it.
Sweat soaked his back as if he had been submerged in water.
"Tsk!"
Again, failure.
He leaned against the wall, breathing slowly.
'Calm down. Don't rush. Don't tilt your hand.'
He tried again. And again.
Each attempt ended in sharp, tearing agony. The pain made it clear just how fragile the soul truly was.
Even with his Perfected control, even with his stabilized body, the act of touching his soul directly felt like handling something that was never meant to be touched carelessly.
At some point, he stopped counting the attempts.
His head throbbed, and his thoughts felt heavier, as if weighed down by invisible pressure. But he noticed something. With each failure, the pain lasted a fraction of a second less. The moment of separation, however brief, became slightly clearer.
'This is absurdly hard,' he thought grimly. 'I'm gonna die before I master this shit!'
Still, he did not stop.
As long as the pain did not damage his body or shatter his soul outright, he would continue. He understood now that this was not a technique meant to be learned quickly. It was a discipline that demanded endurance of a different kind—one that tested patience, restraint, and sanity.
Hours passed in silence, broken only by his uneven breathing and the occasional suppressed cry.
By the end of it, he leaned back against the wall, exhausted but lucid, his mind buzzing painfully.
Separating even a fragment of the soul was terrifyingly difficult.
And yet, he knew he had taken the first real step.
Zhao Zhiyu finally allowed himself to rest when the panel confirmed it.
Soul Manipulation and Soul Puppets: Entry Level.
He stared at the words for a long moment, then let out a slow breath.
'Finally… I can stop... This is killing me!'
His head still throbbed faintly, and his soul felt tender, like a muscle that had been stretched too far. Grinding experience for this technique was possible now, but he already understood one thing clearly... it would never be easy.
After stabilizing his breathing, he left his room and walked into the dark corridor. His destination was clear in his mind.
Mei Ling.
He did not bring any weapons with him. That alone showed how much he underestimated the situation.
As he moved through the corridor, his enhanced perception picked up faint fluctuations ahead.
When he slowed down, he spotted her at a distance. She was not inside her room. Instead, she was seated in a widened section of the corridor, legs crossed, back straight, eyes closed.
She was cultivating.
Zhao Zhiyu frowned slightly.
'Why here? She has a room like the rest of us.'
He approached carefully, suppressing his presence out of habit. When he reached a certain distance, a sharp chill ran down his spine.
!!
His instincts screamed!
In the next instant, Mei Ling vanished from her seated position.
Before Zhao Zhiyu could even finish reacting mentally, a sharp glint flashed in front of his vision.
Her hand... fingers extended, nails hardened and sharpened like blades—was already inches from his neck!
Swish!
Too fast!
But he saw it.
His eyes caught the motion, and his body reacted almost simultaneously.
He ducked hard, twisting his neck just enough for her strike to skim past where his throat had been a heartbeat ago.
He slid backward and dropped into a defensive stance, breath sharp, heart hammering against his ribs.
She did not give him time to speak.
A barrage of attacks followed immediately.
Swish! Swish! Swish!
Her movements were clean, ruthless, and efficient.
Every strike aimed for a vital point—his neck, eyes, solar plexus, inner thighs. There was no wasted motion, no hesitation.
Zhao Zhiyu abandoned the idea of counterattacking almost instantly. He focused entirely on survival.
He blocked.
'Ugh..!'
Pain exploded through his forearms as he intercepted one strike, then another. Even with his strengthened body, the impact was brutal. Bruises bloomed under his skin almost immediately, deep and dark.
'This hurts… damn it!'
He parried, twisted, and retreated. His Perfected body control kept him from panicking, but it did not make him faster than her.
Every time he tried to shift into offense, her response crushed the attempt before it could form.
He tried to attack once—just once.
Her hand snapped up and knocked his arm aside effortlessly, and her follow-up strike came straight for his stomach.
There was no time to dodge.
Instead, he twisted his torso at the last possible moment, tightening his muscles and shifting the angle to reduce the impact.
Boom!
The punch slammed into him like a hammer. The air was forced from his lungs as his body lifted off the ground and crashed backward. His vision blurred as he hit the stone floor, a metallic taste flooding his mouth.
Blood.
He coughed once and barely managed to roll to his side.
Mei Ling stood where she was, calm and composed, as if none of it had cost her anything. She smiled faintly.
"Not bad," she said.
Zhao Zhiyu lay there, chest rising and falling rapidly, pain radiating through his abdomen and arms.
'Not bad!?' he thought bitterly. 'You insane woman…'
A spark of resentment flared in his chest, hot and sharp.
'I'll remember this. When I get stronger… I'll pay this back.'
Still, beneath the frustration and pain, another thought surfaced, clear and undeniable.
He had learned a lot.
He had seen the difference between talent and experience. He had felt what real killing intent was like up close. And most importantly, he had survived.
That alone made the encounter worth it.