The black symbol twisted, condensed, and reshaped itself into a book — thick, heavy, carved from solidified shadow. Two characters were stamped on the cover in ink so dark it seemed to suck in the light around it: "Feather Book."
Zhang Yu barely had time to process the name before the book flipped open on its own. Pages turned in a breeze that didn't exist.
The first page was a table of contents. Only the top line — "Prologue" — was readable. Everything beneath it was a smear of blurred text, like words behind frosted glass.
*Only the prologue is unlocked.*
He turned to it. The left page held a portrait: Zhang Yu himself, seated cross-legged in meditation. The painting was unnervingly alive. He could see the subtle rise and fall of the chest. Faint trails of light traced through the painted body — his mana, he guessed, flowing through meridians.
The right page was data:
**Zhang Yu** **Resolve: Level 1** **Mana: 7.7** **Physical Strength: Level 0.83** **Martial Arts: Body-Forging 36 Forms Lv. 1, Free Fighting Lv. 1** **Dao Arts: Basic Breathing Lv. 1, Basic Mind Refinement Lv. 1**
*My stats,* he realized. *Resolve matches the school measurements — they can't get more precise than whole levels. Mana, physical strength... these are my actual numbers.*
The four skills were the fundamentals every first-year learned: Body-Forging 36 Forms for physical conditioning, Free Fighting for combat training, Basic Breathing for mana cultivation, Basic Mind Refinement for building resolve. All entry-level. All the bare minimum.
*So the evil god awakened my potential into a book that displays my stats. That's it? I can get these from the school scanners every day.*
*There has to be more.*
He concentrated on the numbers. "Feather Book! Add points!"
Nothing. The data stayed stubbornly still. He flipped to the next page. Only two words: "To Be Continued."
*The locked entries. The frozen table of contents. Does this ability upgrade somehow? Unlock new features when I get stronger?*
He kept experimenting, pushing his attention into different entries, searching for some hidden trigger. Then his focus landed on "Body-Forging 36 Forms Lv. 1."
The text twitched.
He could *drag* it. The skill entry slid across the page under his mental grip, back and forth, like a file on a desktop. He had no idea what to do with it — until, by accident, it brushed against the meditation portrait.
The portrait absorbed it.
Ice clarity poured through the top of his skull. The painted Zhang Yu stood up from its meditation pose, raised its arms, and began executing the Body-Forging 36 Forms — one movement after another, flowing with perfect precision. Every joint angle, every muscle contraction, every breath rhythm — flawless.
Above the portrait, new text appeared: **Body-Forging 36 Forms Lv. 1 +**
Zhang Yu's heart hammered. *There it is. My potential. Actually awakened.*
He focused on the plus sign and mentally pressed.
It blurred. Then resolved into: **(0/10)**
Understanding flooded him, deep and certain: practice the Body-Forging 36 Forms ten times, and the skill would advance.
*Ten reps. Just ten reps to level up.* He had practiced this form hundreds of times since the semester began, with zero sense of improvement. The idea that ten focused sessions could push it to the next level was absurd. It was also, apparently, true.
"Tonight," he muttered, "I'm hitting ten."
---
He took the first stance. His body twisted, muscles coiling and releasing, power surging through his frame in sequenced waves. The floorboards groaned.
"HEY!" A fist pounded the neighboring wall. "Trying to demolish the building?! It's midnight!"
He froze. Right. The apartment had walls made of cardboard and spite. No late-night training here.
But the Feather Book was burning a hole in his palm. Ten reps. He needed to know.
*That abandoned construction site near the bus stop...*
---
Darkness. Concrete pillars. The hollow echo of his footsteps through an empty stairwell.
Zhang Yu worked through the Body-Forging 36 Forms in the gutted skeleton of the unfinished building. Distant neon from the street below flashed through window-shaped holes in the walls, painting his silhouette in bursts of color. The air was cold and still.
His body was already wrecked from the morning's PE class. No injections. No supplements. No enhanced meals to speed recovery. Every movement dragged like his muscles were tearing at the seams. Every joint sent up protest signals his brain had learned to suppress.
He finished one full sequence.
Called up the Feather Book, gasping: **Body-Forging 36 Forms Lv. 1 (1/10)**
*It works. It actually works.*
"Just nine more," he breathed. "I can do nine more."
He started the second repetition. Halfway through, his legs buckled. He collapsed onto the concrete, chest heaving, arms refusing to respond. His limbs felt like they had been unscrewed from their sockets and reattached with rust.
*I'm done. Absolute limit. I'll finish tomorrow.*
Cold dread washed through him — cold and deep and wrong. A voice spoke directly into his mind, toneless and inevitable.
"Please observe the ritual contract. Work diligently to fulfill the wishes. Do not intentionally slack off or delay. 10."
The countdown brought more than words. It brought a physical sensation — something coiling inside him, some pressure building behind his ribs, ready to burst outward and tear him apart.
"9."
"8."
"7."
The doll's voice echoed in his memory: *If you slack off in fulfilling my wishes, you die under ritual backlash. Flesh exploded. Soul scattered.*
*So any slacking on the path toward the wishes — study, training, university, work, earning money — counts as violation?*
"4."
"3."
Zhang Yu scrambled to his feet with a raw scream, forcing his ruined body back into the first stance. The moment his muscles engaged, the countdown stopped. The pressure in his chest dissolved.
He stood there, panting, sweat dripping onto cracked concrete.
*The ritual doesn't care if I'm tired. It doesn't care if I'm injured. It doesn't care if I have class tomorrow. It only cares that I push. Always. Without exception.*
He started the second repetition.
The evil god hadn't just awakened his potential.
It had chained him to it.