Chapter 6: Freedom
"Damn!" Bang!
"Damn!" Bang!
"Damn!" Bang! Bang!
In the pitch-black concrete room, the rhythmic grunts and impacts echoed as Zhang Yu finally completed the second round of the Jianti Thirty-Six Forms, his body wracked with agonizing pain. With a final thud, he collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath like a man drowning.
His hands and feet still trembled violently. Every inch of his flesh felt spent—exhausted beyond words. Yet even in this state, that familiar chill crept into his bones, and the voice returned, cold and unyielding.
"Please abide by the ritual agreement. Strive to fulfill your wish. Do not deliberately slack off or delay. 10."
"Fuck!" Zhang Yu cursed inwardly. "I’ve hit my limit already!"
"I can’t do another damn thing!"
"I’ve got class tomorrow!"
No matter how much he pleaded, how many excuses he offered, the countdown showed no mercy. It didn’t pause. It didn’t hesitate.
With the timer inching toward zero, Zhang Yu let out a final curse and staggered back to his feet, limbs heavy, mind numb, but forced onward by the specter of death.
Normally, when training alone, most people never truly push themselves to the brink. It takes a strict teacher, a coach, a supervisor—someone watching—to drive a person to absolute limits. That was Zhang Yu’s truth too. Left to himself, he’d have quit after two rounds, collapsing into sleep.
But this ritual… it was like a demonic trainer. Always watching. Always demanding. Threatening death if he even thought about stopping.
Third round…
Fourth…
Fifth…
All the way to the tenth!
Under relentless pressure, Zhang Yu completed the Jianti Thirty-Six Forms ten times.
The pain transformed—first like his muscles were being torn apart, then like needles piercing every nerve, and finally, a numbness that made his limbs feel nonexistent. His body was hollow, drained.
Every drop of spiritual energy was squeezed out, forced into his ravaged flesh, trying to heal.
When the final round ended, Zhang Yu felt utterly empty—his body and spirit like a rag wrung out over a thousand times, no moisture left.
All he wanted was to lie there, motionless, never to move again.
But this time, the voice didn’t return.
It was as if the ritual had finally accepted his exhaustion—his utter, complete surrender.
And in that moment, Zhang Yu began to understand the nature of the force controlling him.
“This thing… it’s like a dumb AI. No real intelligence. Just follows rules, blindly.”
He’d seen such things before—on Kunxu’s films, TV shows, news reports. Ancient artifacts often contained spirit souls—artificial intelligences with limited wisdom, capable of solving problems, even matching human-level cognition when powerful enough.
Now, with the ritual quiet, Zhang Yu allowed himself a breath of relief. He could finally focus on the effects of the Jianti Thirty-Six Forms after completing ten rounds.
Yes—something had changed.
The moment he finished, he felt it. The martial art had advanced.
In an instant, his understanding of the Jianti Thirty-Six Forms deepened. Details he’d overlooked, techniques he’d barely grasped—now flashed through his mind like lightning strikes.
On the Feather Scroll, the inscription had changed:
Jianti Thirty-Six Forms Level 1 (0/10)
→
Jianti Thirty-Six Forms Level 2 (0/20)
"Just need twenty more rounds to reach Level 3?"
"If I keep this up… I’ll hit Level 10 in no time!"
Zhang Yu knew that in the Qi Refining Realm, martial arts and spells could only be refined up to Level 10.
"Once I reach that… I won’t need acupuncture, I won’t need medicine. My training will be on par with Bai Zhenzhen’s. No—probably far beyond her."
"Then… becoming the top physical strength student in the grade? That won’t be impossible."
Hope surged through him. The pain faded. His spirit lifted.
"Amazing… My potential is terrifying. Once awakened by the Demon God… I’ll skyrocket."
With dreams of the future dancing in his mind, Zhang Yu, utterly spent, drifted into sleep.
He woke instinctively at five the next morning—just as he had countless times before.
But today was different.
His body ached from head to toe. Opening his eyes felt like lifting weights.
He was awake—but he had no will to move. Not even to rise from the cold concrete floor of the abandoned building.
"Just five more minutes… just five more minutes…"
But as he lay there, the familiar chill returned—deep in his soul.
"Please abide by the ritual agreement. Strive to fulfill your wish. Do not deliberately slack off or delay. 10."
"Damn it!" Zhang Yu shot upright, eyes wide, ears straining.
He listened. Listened again.
No hallucination. No trick of the mind.
It was real.
With a curse, he dragged himself to his feet.
And then it hit him—like a hammer to the chest.
"This… this isn’t just 24-hour supervision."
"It’s not just a reminder. It’s a constant, merciless push. Every thought, every hesitation… punished."
"Anything related to studying, training, college, work—anything tied to fulfilling my second wish… I can’t afford one second of laziness?"
"Is that what this is? A life under constant surveillance?"
Weary and broken, Zhang Yu rushed back to his cramped rental apartment.
He could feel the sweat and grime clinging to his skin. He paid 323.4 in water fees, then rushed into the shower, washing away the filth in five minutes flat.
Then he dashed toward the bus stop.
He glanced at the digital display.
"Next bus in ten minutes?"
Leaning against a pole, he sighed.
"Just rest a bit. Good thing that damn thing didn’t tell me to train now."
But the thought had barely formed when a wave of cold dread surged through him.
The voice returned—like a nightmare given sound.
"Please abide by the ritual agreement. Strive to fulfill your wish. Do not deliberately slack off or delay. 10."
"Are you… seriously monitoring my thoughts?" Zhang Yu seethed in his mind. "If I think of a way to improve, but don’t act… you’ll kill me?"
And so, under the relentless countdown, Zhang Yu—exhausted, trembling—forced himself to begin the Jianti Thirty-Six Forms in the middle of the bus stop.
Huff! Bang!
With the final punch, he collapsed again, drenched in sweat.
He looked up as the bus approached—relief washing over him.
"Finally."
To his surprise, the bus was empty. He found a seat.
"Thank goodness. I can finally rest."
"Just a quick nap. Can’t be expected to train on a bus… unless it’s Qi circulation…"
The moment he thought of "Qi circulation," his blood ran cold.
"Please abide by the ritual agreement. Strive to fulfill your wish. Do not deliberately slack off or delay. 10."
The timer rang again.
The ritual forced him—mid-ride—to begin the Basic Qi Circulation Method.
On the surface, it seemed simple: breathe, absorb spirit energy. But Zhang Yu had tried it before—on early mornings, on the bus—only to give up.
Too noisy. Too distracting.
And now? He was utterly drained.
A seat was a miracle. He just wanted to close his eyes.
But the ritual wouldn’t allow it.
So he strained, fighting sleep, inhaling and exhaling, drawing in the faint traces of spiritual energy from the air.
And in that moment, he realized the truth—far worse than he’d imagined.
"This isn’t just constant monitoring. It’s death by exhaustion."
"Every moment of rest, every distraction, every second of pleasure… gone."
"No weekends. No holidays. No fun. No escape."
"Every second of my life will be devoted to study, to training, to work—until I fulfill my second wish."
Zhang Yu buried his face in his hands.
"I’ll become a pure study machine. A slave to labor. No free time. No life."
"Forever a 'sweat king'—until the pressure breaks me completely."
He whispered, voice cracking:
"If this is my life… even if I achieve immortality, live for centuries… what good is it? More years… just more suffering."
"God, why?"
Passengers glanced at him—confused, concerned, or simply indifferent—as he sat there, clutching his head, trembling.
But Zhang Yu didn’t care.
The voice rang again:
"Please abide by the ritual agreement…"
He straightened, wiped his face, and forced himself back into position, pressing down the grief, the despair, the rage.
He would breathe.
He would train.
He would endure.
But deep within, something stirred.
Until this morning, Zhang Yu had been adrift in this world—uncertain, drifting.
Sure, he wanted to get into a top university. Join a great sect. Master immortal arts. But how much of that was his own will… and how much was just the echo of his original body’s memories? The path of habit?
Now, at last, he had a purpose.
A goal.
A promise to himself.
He would grow strong—strong enough to destroy this ritual.
Strong enough to break free.
Zhang Yu wanted… freedom!
(End of Chapter
(End of Chapter)
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