Chapter 16: An Unlikely Request

The bruise on my cheek was a beautiful, deep shade of purple. I considered it a trophy. It was a tangible result of a successful transaction, the first real injury I'd sustained in this world. It proved my encounter with Chen Wei wasn't just a fever dream.

I now possessed the knowledge of the [Art of the Empty Fortress], a technique so profound it felt like it had been carved directly onto my soul. I understood its every nuance, every intricate Qi pathway. I could visualize the defensive field it would create, a shimmering, multi-layered barrier that could turn aside blows and dissipate hostile energy.

And I couldn't use it.

It was like being given the keys to a supreme treasure vault, only to find the vault was at the bottom of the ocean and I couldn't swim.

I needed Qi. Lots of it. More than my crippled cultivation could ever hope to produce. The meager trickle of energy my body generated was immediately suppressed by the humming, melodic Chains of Acclaim. I was spiritually destitute.

There were only two ways to get Qi in this world without cultivating it yourself: consume external resources like pills and spirit stones, or have someone give it to you.

Pills and spirit stones required money, which I didn't have. My brief stint as a demonic-sect-funded tournament fighter was long over.

That left the second option. A direct infusion. A highly intimate and dangerous process, where one cultivator willingly channels their own refined Qi into another. It was an act of supreme trust, as the recipient was left completely vulnerable.

I needed a willing, powerful, and trustworthy source of Qi.

My mind immediately landed on the only person who fit the description. The one person whose loyalty was so absolute, so blindingly idiotic, that he would probably agree without a second thought.

Fang Heng.

The thought of relying on my personal Acclaim-generator was galling. But desperation was a powerful motivator.

I found him in the sect's library—a place that gave me a pang of nostalgia for my previous, quieter life. He was surrounded by a mountain of dusty scrolls and ancient texts, all pertaining to draconic and serpentine beasts. He was already making good on his promise to investigate our nemesis.

He looked up as I approached, his eyes lighting up. Then he saw the bruise on my cheek. He gasped and was on his feet in an instant.

"Master Li! You're injured! Was it Young Master Chen? That maniac, I'll—"

"It is irrelevant," my voice cut him off, cool and detached. The bruise was my proof of payment, not a wound to be fussed over. "The therapy was successful."

Fang Heng's anger immediately transmuted into awe. "You let him hit you," he breathed, his eyes wide with realization. "Of course. To allow him a release, a catharsis. To let him feel a moment of victory, no matter how small, to begin rebuilding his martial heart. Your methods are… terrifyingly benevolent."

I didn't 'let' him. He's surprisingly fast when he's trying to smash a priceless god-egg. But yes, let's go with 'terrifyingly benevolent.' It has a nice ring to it.

"I require your assistance," I stated, getting to the point.

"Anything," he replied without hesitation. "An army to command? A rare herb to find? A political rival to 're-educate'?"

"I need your Qi."

Fang Heng froze. His analytical mind, which could reframe any atrocity into a heroic lesson, stalled at the sheer unexpectedness of the request. "Your… Qi, Master Li?"

"Yes," I confirmed. I had to frame this carefully. The truth—"My cultivation is garbage and I need you to be my battery pack"—was not an option.

The System, sensing a prime Grandstanding opportunity, provided the script.

[Grandstanding Mandate: The Master's Secret Training.]

[Explanation: A true master's techniques are often too profound for his own body to handle without external support.]

[Action: Explain your request using an analogy of a 'borrowed river'.]

I looked out the library window at the distant mountains. "My own spiritual energy," I began, my voice laced with esoteric mystery, "is attuned to a… specific frequency. A destructive resonance. It is a sword, not a shield. For the defensive art I must now master, I require a purer, more neutral energy."

I turned back to him. "My spirit is a deep gorge. Your Qi will be the river I borrow to carve a new path within it. I must use your power to shape the vessel, before I can fill it with my own."

It was complete and utter nonsense. But it sounded incredibly profound.

Fang Heng stared at me, his mouth slightly agape. He was processing the analogy, his mind working furiously. The 'gorge,' the 'borrowed river,' the 'destructive resonance'... it all fit perfectly with his tragic hero theory. Of course my personal power was too dangerous to use for a defensive art! It all made a sick kind of sense.

"I… I understand," he said, his voice filled with a new level of solemn responsibility. "My Qi is… a foundation for your new power. A tool."

"Precisely," I confirmed.

"Then I am honored," he said, bowing deeply. "My cultivation is meager compared to yours, Master Li. I am only at the ninth stage of Qi Refining. But what little I have is yours to command."

Ninth stage? That's not meager, that's perfect! You're a walking, talking high-grade spirit stone!

"We will require a private, secure location," I said. "The process will require absolute concentration."

"My personal courtyard," he offered immediately. "It is protected by a low-grade privacy array. No one will disturb us."

It was settled. My unlikely, infuriating, yet utterly necessary alliance was about to bear its first fruit.

We walked to his courtyard. As we passed through the sect, disciples would stop and stare at the bruise on my cheek. Whispers followed us.

"Look, Master Li was injured!"

"I heard he let Chen Wei hit him, to heal his spirit!"

"What boundless compassion!"

The Chains of Acclaim hummed, a constant, miserable reminder of my fame.

We reached his courtyard and activated the privacy array. A faint shimmer enveloped the small, neat space. We were alone.

"What must I do, Master Li?" Fang Heng asked, his expression serious.

"Sit," I commanded. "Clear your mind. I will guide the flow."

He sat cross-legged on the ground. I sat opposite him. This was it. The moment of truth.

I placed my palms against his.

My mind focused, bringing up the intricate pathways of the [Art of the Empty Fortress]. My plan was simple: I would use his Qi, channeled through my body, to "prime the pump"—to carve out the necessary meridional pathways for the technique. Once they were established, maybe, just maybe, I could sustain it with the meager rewards from future, smaller provocations.

"Begin," I said. "Channel your Qi to me. Do not resist."

Fang Heng closed his eyes and took a deep breath. A stream of warm, pure spiritual energy flowed from his palms into mine. It was a clean, steady current, far more potent than anything my own body could produce.

I guided the borrowed energy into my meridians, my mind laser-focused on the blueprint of the Empty Fortress. The first circuit began to form. It was working.

A feeling of power, of potential, filled me for the first time. This was it. A real defense. A way to survive.

But as Fang Heng's Qi flowed into me, something unexpected happened.

It encountered the Chains of Acclaim.

The golden, humming, ethereal chains that were wrapped around my soul reacted to the influx of foreign Qi. They tightened, not on me, but on the stream of energy itself.

They began to... filter it.

A tiny wisp of black, foul-smelling smoke began to seep from my pores.

Fang Heng's eyes snapped open, his face contorted in pain. "Master Li! What's happening? Your... your body... it's... purifying my Qi?"

I stared in horror at my own hands.

The Chains of Acclaim, the curse that sealed my power, were "purifying" Fang Heng's Qi by absorbing its "impurities." And as they did, they began to glow even brighter, to hum with an even more infuriating melody.

I wasn't just borrowing his power.

My curse was feeding on it.