The beast-hide booklet felt cold in Wei An's hands, a chilling counterpoint to the chaotic energy still thrumming faintly within him. He retreated to the security of his cave, his heart pounding a nervous rhythm against his ribs. This was the first secret he had ever owned that held the promise of power.
He opened the cover. The title, branded in a dark, aggressive script, seemed to stare back at him with malevolent intelligence.
Corpse Qi Manual: Foundation Volume
A warning lay beneath: "Life is a fleeting warmth. Death is eternal power. Those who fear the cold are unworthy to command it."
Wei An read the first few pages, his initial excitement slowly turning into focused, analytical thought. The manual described a demonic path, one that involved drawing the cold, stagnant Qi from long-dead corpses. This "Corpse Qi" was the residue of life, devoid of spirit or will—the energetic equivalent of dust and ashes. The techniques were designed to absorb this inert energy to temper the user's body through stages it called Skin Tempering, Muscle Weaving, and Bone Forging.
A frown creased his brow. This was not what he did.
He thought back to the Spirit Fox. The energy he had absorbed was not cold or stagnant. It was a blazing torrent of power, shimmering with life, filled with the beast's pride and agony. The manual talked about absorbing dust; he had drunk from a river of stars.
He instantly understood the difference. The manual was for Corpse Qi. He absorbed Remnant Essence. His Asphodel Root didn't target the shell left behind; it targeted the spirit's final, explosive echo at the very moment of death.
The manual was a key, but it was for the wrong lock.
Disappointment warred with a stubborn spark of hope. The lock was different, yes, but the shape of the key might be close enough. The manual detailed circulation pathways, methods of refining energy, and ways to use it to strengthen the body. It was a blueprint, however flawed. It was a language he could learn to speak, even if he had to change the grammar.
He realized the foundational techniques described—Skin Tempering, Muscle Weaving, Bone Forging—weren't realms in themselves. They were the physical manifestations of the first true realm of cultivation on this path. They were the 'weaving' part of becoming a Soul Weaver. To weave the soul's essence, one first had to temper the vessel that held it.
The last page of the manual gave him another piece of the puzzle. It described the Crimson Cloud Sect, a long-vanished demonic faction that worshipped death. Their symbol, a single crimson cloud, was identical to the one on the dead man's robes.
A mystery took root in his mind. This man was a disciple of a dead sect, practicing a demonic art in the middle of nowhere, and had died from a simple fall. It didn't add up.
Wei An closed the booklet. A grim determination settled over him. This manual was a heresy, a blasphemy against the sacred laws of the orthodox path. But the orthodox path had already branded him a curse. He owed it no loyalty.
This flawed key was the only one he had. He would not just use it. He would re-forge it. He would take its structure, its knowledge, and adapt it for the brilliant, terrible power that was his alone.