Shi Yang sat on the floor in lotus position, his breathing settling into a steady rhythm. His senses dulled, stripped down to the pulse of his heartbeat, the flow of blood, and the energy of his dantian.
His mind wandered to the Tide Sect remnant caves' waterfall, visualizing it in every detail. Slowly, his body felt lighter, almost weightless. When he opened his eyes, the world had changed—hazy, washed in light hues he had never seen before.
He rose—but felt rooted, as though the floor itself held him in place.
Turning, he saw himself, his physical body still on the floor. It sat calmly, drawing in quiet, measured breaths.
"So it did work," his spirit murmured. He looked down at his body and saw its faintly transparent form, quivering slightly beneath his gaze, his ethereal fingers clenching and unclenching.
"Is this the fabled astral projection that monks strove to achieve?" His voice was reverent. He balled a fist, feeling the energy surge. Clenching tightly, his feet glided over the wooden floor like silk.
"Wake up!" he shouted, his fist shooting forward.
The blow struck his own chest. Pain flared, forcing his body's eyelids open. It coughed, spitting out saliva, eyes snapping to his spirit form above.
This was exactly what he wanted. Even in his spirit form, his body retained a measure of consciousness—but it wouldn't last. He was drawn back, feeling every impact, every sensation he inflicted. Pain and awareness mingled, and he laughed, exhaling deeply.
He settled back into meditation, focusing. Once more, he had severed himself from his flesh.
"Let's try this again," he murmured. His fist formed, aiming at his own body. "Dodge!"
His body didn't move at first. Then the punch connected with a soft thud against its jaw. Shi Yang grimaced at the sting, then calmed himself. He didn't open his eyes, and instead continued to focus on the manifestation.
This allowed him to maintain his spirit self.
"Let's see how far we can take this, shall we?" he spoke aloud, addressing his body. "Move before I strike. Duck. Wake up. Step aside. Respond!"
He attacked again. His body reacted slower at first—flinching after the first contact, as he felt the pull of return, but he solidified the image in his will. Then watched it jerking upright, narrowly avoiding the second strike. Each blow was paired with a verbal command: "Get up! Dodge! Duck! Wake up!"
He tested his body with kicks, punches, and feints. He guided it through rolls, spins, and sudden directional shifts, each time calling out instructions before striking. Slowly, the connection sharpened.
His body twitched preemptively, moving before he pulled back, anticipating his spirit-form's attacks. The flinch came, then the counter, then full movement—the proof that he was training his subconscious to respond on its own.
"Get up!" he called, fist flying toward his chest.
This time, his body moved before the blow landed, rising smoothly, ready to meet the strike. Shi Yang grinned, sweat beading on his brow. Yes… this is working.
He attacked, commanded, retreated, ducked, parried, and repeated—turning his own body into a sparring partner. Pain, anticipation, reflex—all fused into a single rhythm. With each cycle, the feedback loop between spirit and body grew stronger, until the translucent form above moved in near-perfect synchrony with its vessel below.
Shi Yang exhaled sharply, fists raised. His body flinched—then stood firm before he even pulled back, fully aware of what was coming.
A smile crept across his face. Finally… a sparring partner I can truly trust. My own body, ready to fight itself.
Now, let's see what happens if I change the image I'm using, he thought. The waterfall within his spirit sea shimmered, its calm stream shifting, twisting—until the water darkened into a raging torrent of blood.
His body convulsed. Then its eyes snapped open, burning with blood-red fury.
Swish! Thud!
Shi Yang's arms shot up, barely blocking a bone-shattering punch. The force numbed his arms to the elbow.
"This is getting interesting…" Shi Yang muttered with a grin, ducking low as his body stepped back, then lunged forward, driving a vicious kick toward his gut.
Shi Yang's palms lowered, striking sharply against the knee and knocking the leg aside. In the same motion, he pulled his arms back and shoved forward with both palms.
Thud! The strike pushed his body stumbling backward—but it recovered instantly, surging forward again, fingers curled into claws as it raked at him.
Their exchanges grew faster, more violent. Each impact rattled the wooden floor, blows landing hard enough to bruise bone. His body's muscles bulged grotesquely, veins darkened as Qi surged recklessly through its meridians.
Shi Yang's eyes narrowed. Blood trickled from his vessel's eyelids, its aura twisting into something savage and violent, crimson energy flooding around it like a killing mist.
This presence… he thought, parrying blow after blow. As I fight, my Dao is stabilizing inside the body. It's subconsciously converting the Qi in my dantian into blood energy. But if I…
He shifted the manifestation in his spirit sea again. The crimson torrent stilled, water clearing until it ran pure and bright once more.
Instantly, his body's aura softened. The aggression ebbed, movements becoming fluid instead of brutal.
"This is… incredible," Shi Yang whispered, a smirk widening across his face. His forearms clashed against his body's strikes, redirecting them cleanly. "The Dao infusion shifted back into water in an instant. My path… it's the dual Dao of blood and water."
He leapt back, steadying himself. "Come on, then."
The waterfall in his spirit sea surged again, turning crimson. His body roared silently and launched forward, attacks wild and vicious once more. Shi Yang shifted again, restoring the clear flow of water, and his body's movements smoothed—balanced, calm, precise.
"The Yin and Yang Dao of Streaming Hills," he murmured, his eyes gleaming. Blocking a strike, he clenched his fist. "Let's see what happens if I channel the water half more deeply."
He inverted the image in his spirit sea. A great forest rose around the waterfall, branches stretching endlessly, and above the rivers of blood a storm gathered. Thunder rolled, and rain began to fall.
Lightning crackled. Water mixed with blood. His body's aura rippled between cruelty and serenity, striking him with unpredictable ferocity. Shi Yang matched it, strike for strike, each command sharpening his body's subconscious reactions.
By the time night fell, his spirit was trembling from exhaustion. His body lay slumped, covered in sweat, bruises, and small cuts—every injury he'd inflicted on himself feeding back into his flesh.
Shi Yang sat cross-legged, bandaging his ribs, a faint chuckle leaving his lips despite the pain.
The door slid open with a creak.
Han Jie stepped in first, her expression sharp. Behind her, Xiu Mei followed, eyes widening at the sight of him hunched over, wrapping cloth around his chest.
"You…" Han Jie began, disbelief flashing in her eyes. "Did you get into a fight?"
Shi Yang raised his head, sweat dripping from his brow, lips curled into a tired grin. "With myself," he said simply.