Chapter CVII: Emotion

His breath slowed. The pounding in his chest dulled into a steady rhythm as the weight of the memory slipped, just slightly, from his shoulders.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Why am I even overthinking this?" he muttered under his breath, voice hoarse but laced with sardonic calm. "Ambition might help fill the hollow parts of me. But that doesn't mean I won't find something real in the near future."

A dry chuckle escaped him, short and brittle. He dragged a hand through his hair, pushing the strands back from his damp forehead.

"No more ghosts for now. I should focus on the present."

His gaze swept across his form, lingering on the faint bruises that hadn't yet faded, the muscle aches that throbbed beneath the skin, the subtle strain hidden beneath every breath. The kind of damage no pill or potion could undo overnight.

He let out a slow breath, then muttered to himself with a resigned sigh, "My body's more or less pretty broken."

A dry laugh followed, low and humorless.

"I can only use seventy percent of my actual strength. And the healing time… five years at minimum."

The words felt heavy, but not unexpected. He'd known the price. Knew it even as he kept pushing forward, refusing to stop. Still, hearing it aloud carved the truth a little deeper into his bones.

He leaned back slightly, resting his weight on one arm as he stared at the dim ceiling. The silence pressed against him like an old companion, quiet but unkind.

"If I manage to break through to Rank 2," he murmured, "the healing time would speed up."

His voice held no optimism, only cold calculation. It wasn't a hope—it was a possibility. A gamble worth considering, even if the odds were far from kind. Rank 2 wasn't just strength. It was regeneration, endurance, the ability to erase damage that would cripple lesser cultivators for life.

But that path demanded more than just effort. It demanded blood, risk, and perhaps even the death of another dream.

He laughed again, quieter this time, the sound hollow and fraying at the edges.

"Who cares," he muttered to no one in particular.

Lifting a hand, he touched his face, fingers brushing over the sharp angles of his jaw, the sweat-cooled skin of his cheek. The contact was casual, almost thoughtless—until his voice came again, low and laced with subdued pride.

"My first merit really is incredible. Changing the face, the body, even the aura I let out. Not even someone ranked higher than me could see through it." A faint scoff left him. "I thought at first it was just a scam by the universe. But seeing how it works… it's incredibly useful."

He paused, eyes narrowing slightly as a thought surfaced. "Whatever that thing is… the one that gave it to me… it's incredible. This is also the reason why I'm more confident that there's actually a rank higher than Rank 9. It feels like… whoever, or whatever it was, is stronger than me even at my peak."

That last sentence wasn't spoken with awe—but with curiosity, edged by something more dangerous. Envy. Hunger.

He focused his will, channeling power toward the familiar shift—the subtle distortion that would alter his appearance.

But nothing happened.

No ripple beneath the skin. No flicker of change. His face remained exactly the same, untouched by the transformation he once wielded so easily.

His fingers stilled. His breath slowed. The silence around him thickened.

And just like that, the cold began to creep back in.

He focused his will, channeling power toward the familiar shift—the subtle distortion that would alter his appearance.

But nothing happened.

No ripple beneath the skin. No flicker of change. His face remained exactly the same, untouched by the transformation he once wielded so easily.

His fingers stilled. His breath caught.

"What the hell is going on?" he muttered, brows furrowing.

The confusion in his voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the silence like a blade. His eyes sharpened, scanning the empty space in front of him, as if expecting the world itself to offer an answer.

He tried again, this time with more force, drawing deeper into the core of his power.

Still nothing.

The room stayed still. His body didn't shift. And the first merit, the one that once cloaked him like a second skin, now felt distant. Dormant. Silent.

Something wasn't right. And it wasn't just his body.

"What the hell is going on?" he muttered, brows furrowing.

He pressed his fingers harder against his cheek, jaw clenched, channeling power once more. Nothing.

Again. And again.

He gritted his teeth, forcing focus, dragging up the feeling he had used countless times before. The method hadn't changed. His intent hadn't wavered.

But still—nothing.

His body remained unmoved. His face stayed his own. The power, once so fluid, so obedient, felt like it had vanished without warning or reason.

He tried again, jaw tight, forcing it with more urgency.

Nothing.

Again.

Nothing.

Again.

Nothing.

The silence around him felt like mockery.

His breath grew uneven, shallow. He stared at his hands like they belonged to someone else. "Come on," he hissed under his breath. "Work. Work."

But the world offered no answer.

Only stillness. Only his own voice echoing faintly back at him.

The first merit… was gone. Or worse—still there, but unreachable.

And that was far more terrifying.

The silence pressed in closer, like the walls themselves were listening.

Yanwei's fingers dropped from his face, trembling slightly. His jaw clenched hard, the muscle twitching as his breath caught in his throat.

"Damnit," he muttered, voice strained and rising. "Did I just get cursed?"

His eyes narrowed, dark and storming.

"I was just thinking about it a moment ago, and now I can't use it anymore?"

He pushed himself to his feet, limbs tense, breath ragged. There was no wound, no obvious damage. Nothing to explain why his first merit had gone quiet. No warning. No shift.

Just silence.

He stood there for a moment, fists clenched, heart pounding—not in fear, but frustration, sharp and bitter.

It felt wrong.

And that wrongness crept under his skin like something alive.

His breath leveled out, slow and controlled, though the heat of frustration still lingered beneath his skin.

"Tsk," he muttered, a shadow of self-mockery curling at the edge of his voice. "I keep losing my cool."

A dry smirk ghosted across his lips, but there was no humor in it—just quiet irritation.

"Did my head get thinner after rebirth," he said under his breath, "or is this young body really making me act like some half-baked brat?"

He exhaled slowly, not just to calm himself—but to feel himself, to try and grasp what had shifted.

It wasn't that he'd lost his intelligence. His thoughts were still sharp, memories intact, instincts refined through years of survival and slaughter. But something felt different—off. The control he'd mastered in his previous life—the cold precision that once guided every step, every word—wasn't sitting right in this frame.

It was as if the emotions that once stirred beneath the surface like slow, careful waves… had become volatile tides, crashing hard and fast against his composure.

He could feel it—anger rising quicker, impatience sharper, the sting of failure louder. There was a kind of heat in his blood now, something he hadn't felt in years. Something rash. Impulsive. Raw.

Was it just the body? Perhaps. This vessel—young, vibrant, still forming in ways the world couldn't see—ran on a storm of unbalanced hormones, unchecked energy, and instinctive reactions. The brain itself might still be growing, even if his consciousness outpaced it by lifetimes. A mind too old, placed inside a vessel too young—no wonder it was starting to crack.

He scoffed bitterly to himself.

"Maybe I should've expected this," he muttered. "You don't pour molten steel into an unfinished mold without a little spillage."

The strength was there. The mind was there. But the vessel? The vessel wasn't used to bearing such weight.

That's what made him dangerous—but also unstable.

"Though that kind of mismatch mostly happens to humans because of how their brains and bodies develop and mature, I'm not human anymore. My new body is still closer to human than beast in form, but inside, it's fundamentally different.

Humans have evolved specialized cells and energy receptors perfectly tuned to absorb and refine spirit stone energy — almost like having built-in processors designed specifically for that purpose. Their bodies break down the spirit stones and turn that energy into power smoothly and efficiently.

Me? I'm a devourer. My body doesn't work that way. Instead of slowly absorbing energy like humans do, I consume everything — cells, tissues, even energy — breaking them down completely. It's like I slurp up a human body and leave behind only a husk, like a mummy drained of all life. My cells aren't specialized to refine spirit stone energy in the usual way because my whole system is designed to devour and assimilate rather than gently convert.

So while humans can rely on their finely tuned biological systems to cultivate, my body can't just 'plug in' to their system. I'm wired differently — my power comes from destruction and consumption, not careful refinement. That means I have to find my own path, my own way to grow stronger, even if it means breaking the rules that everyone else follows."

My body doesn't work like theirs. I don't gather energy from spirit stones or cultivate through some elegant flow of spiritual energy. I consume. Flesh, blood, bone, life force. I strip it all down into one thing. A concentrated essence. That's what I devour.

The act itself is fast. Brutal. I can drain a body in moments, reduce it to nothing but a dried-out husk. But that's only the beginning.

The slow part is what comes after. The assimilation.

My body doesn't just absorb what it consumes. It has to accept it. Break it down further. Reconstruct every bit of that essence into something usable. And the organs responsible for that? They're still too close to human. Not built for this kind of energy. Not designed to handle something so raw, so absolute.

It's like forcing a flood through cracked pipes.

That's why it takes longer. Not because of the power itself, but because of how my body accepts it. Even now, I'm not in my complete form. Some pieces of me are missing. Some parts still lag behind what I've become. So it crawls. Bit by bit. A slow grind of rebuilding and refining.

But the result is worth it.

The power that comes from spirit stones is filtered, diluted, made gentle so fragile bodies can endure it. Mine isn't. Mine is pure. Unforgiving. Real.

Every ounce of power I absorb becomes a part of me in full. Not borrowed. Not gathered. Owned.

This is why my path is slower. But when it's done, I don't just get stronger.

I become something else entirely.