Blossoming Path

The vial of blood sat still on my desk, but I knew better.

It wasn’t still at all.

I rotated the glass slowly between my fingers, watching the thick liquid shift within. It was darker than normal blood, darker than it had any right to be. Not just red, but blackened at the edges, thick like ink. I had studied medicine long enough to recognize when something was wrong with a person’s blood. Weakness, poisoning, poor circulation—I could usually tell at a glance.

But this…

This was something else.

I held it up to the light, tilting it slightly. The way it moved wasn’t natural. There was a sluggishness to it, but more than that, a… resistance. It didn’t just flow like liquid; it pulsed. It shifted. Almost as though it was aware.

A chill crept down my spine.

I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to focus.

This was a mental and physical affliction. That much was clear. But was it the blood itself that caused it, or did it simply reveal what was already happening to them? The human body was a delicate balance, blood vessels intertwined with qi pathways. One could affect the other in ways even the most advanced alchemists struggled to explain.

It behaved too similarly to something I had seen before. The Bloodsoul Bloom.

I turned my gaze toward the shelf where I had stored a vial of extracted Bloodsoul Bloom essence, sitting right beside my usual alchemical ingredients. I remembered how it struggled like a living being when I first extracted it's essence.

And now, staring at the blood in my hand, the connection was undeniable.

They had ingested it.

I clenched my jaw, my thoughts racing. If the converts had been force-fed Bloodsoul Bloom, their meridians and blood vessels would have gradually adapted to its influence, reshaping them into something inhuman. A slow, deliberate process.

It explained why they were already wreathed in demonic qi, but clearly didn't possess any sort of martial training.

It explained why they were called converts, and only used as a last resort.

And it explained why… the cultists we had killed never begged for their lives.

By the time they reached that stage, they were too far gone.

I thought back to the ones we fought. How they moved with precision, but their eyes had been mad, empty of anything resembling self-awareness. They hadn’t even flinched when we cut them down.

A sick feeling curled in my gut.

Even the ones I was trying to save… could I even save them? If the process had already reached too deep, was there even a way back?

I didn’t realize how heavy my body felt until a yawn crept up my throat, the exhaustion of the day settling into my bones. I rubbed my temples, looking away from the vial, suddenly weary.

I needed sleep.

I stood, stretching, and glanced outside my window.

Tianyi and Windy were fighting.

Their figures danced against the backdrop of the night, illuminated by the silver glow of the full moon. But this time, they weren’t grounded.

They floated.

Windy twisted through the air, his body moving with liquid grace, fangs flashing as he struck, clinging to her like a stubborn scarf. He was just beyond her reach, as she tried to throw him off, darting like a phantom through the night sky.

I watched them for a long moment before shaking my head. That was a problem for another day.

I drifted off the moment my head hit the pillow. But as darkness swallowed me whole, the comforting void twisted.

I was no longer in my bed, but submerged.

Not in water. This was thick, viscous, clinging to me like a shroud. The stench hit first – iron and rot, so pungent it burned my nostrils and coated my tongue with a metallic tang. I was waist-deep in blood. An ocean of it, stretching in every direction, a vast crimson expanse under a starless sky.

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Then the voice began.

Not an echo, not a sound carried on air. This was something deeper. A vibration that resonated through the blood itself, through my bones, into the very core of my being. It bypassed my ears entirely, slamming directly into my mind.

YOU TRESPASS.

The words weren't spoken in any language I knew, yet their meaning was brutally, instantly clear. A raw, territorial snarl of pure intent.

You stray into depths forbidden. Turn back, mortal, before you are lost.

The crimson tide churned. Not with wind, but as if something vast was stirring beneath the surface. A pressure built, a sense of immense weight descending. From the blood, a shape began to coalesce, not a silhouette exactly, but a distortion of the very darkness itself. A presence.

It was formless, yet it was there, looming. And it was reaching. Not with hands, but with an unseen force that felt like a crushing weight, a suffocating dread. It was reaching for me.

A heavy weight pressed down on me.

I sucked in a sharp breath, my vision snapping back into focus.

Windy and Tianyi were both on top of me.

Tianyi’s antennae twitched, her glowing eyes peering into mine. “You were shaking.”

Windy, coiled along my side, flicked his tongue in concern.

I swallowed thickly, my pulse too fast. My clothes were damp with sweat. Even awake, I could still feel it. The phantom weight pressing against my bones, the stench of iron clinging to my breath. My muscles were tense, my heartbeat hammering as if I had barely escaped something real.

“It was just a nightmare,” I said, my voice hoarse.

I exhaled slowly, rubbing my face. My hands were cold.

Without another word, I reached toward the nightstand and grabbed a sleeping aid, uncorking it and downing the bitter liquid in a single gulp. Although I didn't use it for it's intended purpose, it was also good for stabilizing one's mind.

The tension eased slightly.

But the unease remained.

I turned my gaze toward the vial of convert blood on my desk, visible through the crack in my door.

Then to the Bloodsoul Bloom essence sitting beside it.

I shook my head. Whatever this was, it wasn’t a good sign.

I exhaled, steadying myself, then turned my gaze toward the window. The night was still deep, the sky an unbroken stretch of darkness, save for the faint glow of the moon. There was no point in trying to sleep again. Even if I did, the dream would still linger in the back of my mind, clawing at my thoughts like an itch I couldn’t quite reach.

Fine. If I couldn’t rest, then I would focus on something I could control.

I reached for the bundle of dried meat on my nightstand, tearing off a strip and chewing mechanically. The taste was alright, but it did little to ground me. I washed it down with a simple herbal tea.

My gaze flicked toward the stack of books Elder Zhi had copied for me.

Reading. That would help.

I shuffled through them, debating where to start. I still hadn’t fully digested the ones I had already read, but my mind needed something new to latch onto. Eventually, I settled on one near the top, a fresh volume I hadn’t yet opened.

I traced a finger over the cover before flipping it open. The script was neat and efficient, the pages filled with precise strokes. The title was simple: On Footwork and Balance.

It was a general text, not bound to any one school or style. The author remained unnamed, but from the very first passage, it was clear they had experience beyond simple theory. The words weren’t flowery or weighed down by philosophy, they were practical. Meant to be understood and applied.

"The body is only as fast as the feet allow. The hands can only strike where the legs have placed them. To master movement is to master combat itself."

I hummed in quiet approval. Even without specifics, this book held value.

The idea wasn’t new to me. I had felt it myself in battle; how a single step could determine the difference between victory and death. How the placement of my weight, the angle of my stance, could either open a strike or expose me to one.

I continued reading, letting my mind settle into the flow of the text. Page after page detailed principles rather than rigid techniques. The importance of shifting one’s center of gravity, of understanding momentum—not just one's own, but an opponent’s as well.

Then I hit a passage that forced me to stop and reread.

At first, the path is a path. A road walked is a road known. Feet move, and the body follows, simple as breath. The novice steps forward and believes he is moving.

Then, the path is no longer a path. The world moves, yet the feet stumble. The road shifts underfoot, no longer a simple thing. The air resists, the ground deceives. The master takes a step, yet the world sways, and where he treads, the path was never still.

Finally, the path is a path once more. The feet move, but not of their own will. The wind flows, and so too does the step. There is no thought of walking, yet one is already far away. The master does not walk, the world simply carries him.

The words struck something deep within me.

So far, the book had been filled with nothing but practical, straightforward advice. Yet this passage was different. Almost poetic.

I reread it, slowly this time. The path is a path. The path is no longer a path. The path is a path once more.

It reminded me of something.

The Dance of a Thousand Flames.

I had learned it from Elder Ming step by step at first, memorizing each motion, each transition, drilling them into my body. But the first time I attempted it on the bed of hot coals, everything I thought I understood had crumbled. My feet had faltered. My balance had wavered. The movement, so fluid in practice, had become foreign, unsteady.

It was only after enduring that pain, after burning myself countless times, that something clicked. I had stopped thinking about the steps and simply moved.

And in that moment, the dance became a dance again.

Mountains are mountains. Mountains are no longer mountains. Mountains are mountains once more.

I inhaled sharply.

It wasn’t just talking about footwork. It was talking about learning itself. The cycle of understanding.

A novice follows the form. A master leaves it behind. But in true mastery, form and freedom become one and the same.

I felt something shift in my mind.

A notification appeared before my eyes.

Accelerated Reading has reached level 10.

Your skill has reached the qualifications to evolve to the next stage, Mind's Eye Reading.

Mind's Eye Reading enhances your two abilities and grants you a third one.

Enhanced Comprehension - You can understand and assimilate complex texts and ancient scriptures at an accelerated pace, allowing for deeper insights and quicker learning. You have a minor chance to instantly grasp hidden meanings in texts.

Increased Reading Speed - Your ability to read and process information has significantly improved, enabling you to cover vast amounts of text in a fraction of the usual time without sacrificing retention or understanding. Your reading speed has been further amplified.

Akashic Understanding - Your ability to parse meaning has transcended written language. Concepts and intent are now understood even if the text is written in an unfamiliar language.

I blinked.

For a long moment, I simply stared at the words, absorbing their meaning.

This… this was something far beyond what I had expected.

I flipped the page, eyes skimming the text with newfound clarity. The words didn’t just settle in my brain; they wove themselves into meaning, sinking into my understanding before I could even finish the sentence. It was seamless, almost instinctive.

I had grasped and processed the entire passage several times over before I could even blink.

It was like my mind had unlocked another layer of perception, an ability I hadn’t even realized I needed until now. With this, I could push through the more complex books Elder Zhi had given me, ones that had previously required careful rereading, detailed revision within my Memory Palace, and even days of contemplation before I could fully digest them.

Now, knowledge settled into place as though it had always belonged.

I leaned back, exhaling slowly, fingers lightly drumming against the cover of the book.

This skill was an incredible boon. But a nagging thought surfaced at the back of my mind.

Akashic Understanding.

It allowed me to comprehend unknown languages. That was undoubtedly useful, but… how often did I come across an unfamiliar language? Most of the texts I had access to were written in common script or variations of ancient cultivator dialects, which I had already been studying. Would this ability truly change anything for me?

A familiar chime rang in my mind.

Quest: Return to Origin

- Return to the beginning of the Heavenly Interface. The path will be marked with a series of yellow, glowing orbs only visible to you.

I stiffened.

The origin of the Heavenly Interface?

Where had it come from? How had it chosen me? These were questions I had stopped asking myself; not because I wasn’t curious, but because I had been too focused on surviving, on growing stronger, on seizing every opportunity the system had provided me.

And now…

It was asking me to return.

A cold shiver ran down my spine.

It wasn’t an invitation.

It was a summons.