Chapter 2: The Academy's Shadow - Part 1
Morning of Day 3. My essence reserves recovered to 71% overnight—enough for what I'm planning.
The dormitory is empty. Everyone else rushed to early combat drills, eager to impress instructors. I locked the door from the inside and shoved my storage box against it. Not a real barrier, but enough warning if someone tries to enter.
I sit on my mat and focus inward, finding the technique the Void burned into my soul. Shadow Clone. It's not from this world—nothing like the Gu-based powers everyone else uses. That makes it dangerous. Unexplainable.
Which means no one can see this.
"Beginning clone creation sequence," Great Sage confirms. "Monitoring essence expenditure. Current reserves: 71%. Estimated cost: 65%. Warning: This is host's first attempt. Probability of minor complications: 43.8%."
I don't hesitate. The technique activates.
My essence drains like water through a broken dam. Not painful exactly, but wrong. Like something is reaching inside my chest and scooping out everything that makes me alive. The world tilts. My vision tunnels.
Then it splits.
I'm seeing double—no, I'm in two places simultaneously. Still sitting on my mat, but also standing three feet away, looking down at myself. The sensation is violently disorienting. My stomach heaves.
"Clone manifestation successful. Essence expenditure: 67%. Remaining reserves: 4%. Warning: Host cannot engage in combat or intensive cultivation for minimum six hours. Clone cognitive capacity: Estimated 58% of baseline. Duration before automatic dispersion: 2.4 hours."
The clone—my clone—blinks slowly. Its eyes are wrong. Empty. Like looking at a puppet wearing my face.
"Recommendation: Assign simple reconnaissance task only. Clone cognitive capacity insufficient for complex problem-solving or social interaction."
I stand, legs shaking from essence depletion. The clone mirrors me, but its movements are mechanical. Unnatural.
"Scout the forest edge," I say aloud, testing if it responds to voice commands. "Two li maximum range. Identify territorial markers, dangerous beasts, useful resources. Return in two hours."
The clone nods. No words. It turns and walks to the window, climbs out onto the ledge, and drops to the ground below. Ten feet, landed perfectly, then it's running toward the forest.
I collapse back onto my mat, breathing hard. The phantom sensation of being in two places fades, but I can still feel the clone. A dim awareness of its location and general state.
This is going to take practice.
"Rest recommended. Essence recovery rate at current depletion: Approximately 3% per hour. Host will return to operational capacity in eight hours."
Eight hours. Most of a day wasted. But I learned something crucial: the clone works. Now I know the cost.
I force myself to stand again, legs still weak, and change into academy robes. Can't miss classes—absence gets reported, reports get investigated. I need to be the same mediocre student I was yesterday.
The formation class is torture. Instructor Mo Chen demonstrates advanced defensive patterns while I struggle to keep my eyes open. The essence depletion makes everything harder. My hands shake when I try to etch practice formations.
"Adequate effort, Mo Bei," the instructor says, passing my workspace. "Consistency is more valuable than brilliance."
It's meant to be encouraging. It just reminds me I'm supposed to be forgettable.
Fang Yuan finishes his formation in half the usual time again, then sits motionless, waiting. I watch him from the corner of my eye. His stillness is predatory. Like a snake that doesn't need to move because it knows exactly when to strike.
"Behavioral observation logged," Great Sage notes. "Subject Fang Yuan demonstrates: Zero fidgeting, controlled breathing pattern consistent with meditation, micro-adjustments to posture suggesting constant spatial awareness. Assessment: Subject treats classroom as tactical environment. Probability of combat readiness: 94.2%."
Even sitting in class, he's ready to kill.
After formations comes sparring practice. This is where I need to be careful.
The combat yard is packed with students arranged by rank. C-grades like me fight each other first—warm-ups for the instructors. B-grades and A-grades come later, their matches actually watched and critiqued.
I'm paired against Gu Yue Wei Shi, another C-grade with earth-path Gu. He's bigger than me, slower, relies on defensive techniques. Easy to predict.
"Match parameters: Non-lethal, first to yield or three successful strikes wins. Current essence reserves: 7%. Host combat capability: Severely reduced. Recommendation: Calibrate performance to appear mediocre but trying. Optimal outcome: Win first match, lose second match, win third match, lose fourth. Pattern suggests limited talent with inconsistent application."
The match starts.
Wei Shi activates his Stone Skin Gu. His arms and torso harden, turning gray-brown. Standard opening for earth-path defenders.
I activate Moonlight Gu—my only combat-capable Gu. Pale light surrounds my hands, enhancing vision and providing minor striking power. It's weak, but it's all I have.
We circle. He lunges, telegraphing a grab. I sidestep, strike his exposed ribs. The Moonlight Gu makes contact glow faintly.
"First strike: Mo Bei," the observing student calls.
Wei Shi grunts, frustrated. He activates a second Gu—Earth Spike, common among his path. A small stone protrusion grows from his fist, giving him a striking edge.
I let him land the next hit. His spike grazes my shoulder, barely touching, but I make it look worse than it is. Stumble back, clutch the spot.
"Second strike: Wei Shi."
The match continues. I win the next exchange—a feint followed by a sweep that uses his weight against him. He falls hard.
"Third strike: Mo Bei. Match concluded."
I help him up. He nods, no hard feelings. Just another practice match.
"Performance assessment: Acceptable. Demonstrated adequate technique without exceptional skill. Observers unlikely to flag host as notable talent. Proceed to second match."
My second opponent is Gu Yue Chen Bo—my dormitory mate, the one with B-grade talent who won't stop talking about it.
This match, I need to lose.
"Match parameters identical. Opponent capabilities: Significantly higher essence reserves, two Rank 2 Gu versus host's single Rank 1. Probability of legitimate victory: 8.3%. Recommendation: Lose convincingly but with dignity. Avoid appearing incompetent."
Chen Bo grins. "Try not to embarrass yourself, Mo Bei."
The match starts. He doesn't bother with strategy—just activates both Gu simultaneously and rushes forward. Wind Blade Gu and Iron Fist Gu. Expensive combination for a practice match, but he's showing off.
I defend with Moonlight Gu, block two strikes, then let the third one through. His iron-coated fist hits my ribs hard enough to bruise. I go down.
"Match concluded: Chen Bo."
He doesn't help me up. Just walks away, already bragging to other students.
I stand slowly, favoring my left side where he actually hurt me. The pain helps sell the performance.
"Injury assessment: Minor bruising, no permanent damage. Performance assessment: Optimal. Observers perceive host as average combatant with realistic limitations."
Three more matches. I win one, lose two. By the end, I'm exhausted for real, barely standing.
But Fang Yuan's matches are what everyone actually watches.
He fights five consecutive opponents without breaking composure. Each match lasts less than a minute. His movements are economical—no wasted motion, no excessive force. Just precise, brutal efficiency.
And his footwork. Great Sage was right. He shifts angles mid-strike, adapts to counters before they're fully executed. It's the movement pattern of someone who's fought these exact opponents multiple times before.
"Analysis: Subject demonstrates pre-knowledge of opponent attack patterns. Footwork adjustment timing suggests experiential learning beyond single lifetime. Probability of temporal advantage: Confirmed at 87.4%."
He has the Spring Autumn Cicada. Five hundred years of do-overs, and he's using them to perfect every fight, every interaction, every moment.
I'm competing with someone who's already read the ending.
The practice session ends. I limp back to the dormitory, body aching, essence reserves still dangerously low. I have maybe thirty minutes before the clone's time limit expires.
The phantom awareness I have of it suddenly spikes—alarm bells in my skull.
"Warning: Clone distress detected. Distance: 2.1 li northeast. Danger probability: 89%. Recommend immediate—"
The connection cuts.
Pain detonates inside my head. Not physical pain—worse. Soul pain. The clone's final memories flood through me in a crushing wave:
Running through trees. Territorial markers everywhere—scratches on bark, scent markers. Then movement. Too fast. Massive. Jaws like steel traps closing on my throat. Four seconds of savage violence. Darkness.
I collapse in the dormitory hallway, gasping. Someone shouts my name. Hands grab my shoulders.
"Mo Bei! What's wrong?"
Can't answer. Can't breathe. The phantom sensation of dying—teeth tearing through my windpipe, blood flooding my lungs—plays on loop.
"Void Stability reduced to 85%. Clone death penalty applied: 15% stability loss. Essence reserves: 3%. Physical state: Shock response to memory transfer. Duration of incapacitation: Estimated 15-20 minutes. Recommendation: Secure privacy immediately."
I force words out. "Cultivation deviation. Need... dormitory."
The student helping me—I don't even know his name—nods. "I'll get a healer."
"No." I grab his arm. "Just... need rest. Happens sometimes. Meridian damage."
He hesitates, then helps me to my room. I lock the door behind him and collapse onto my mat.
The memories won't stop. Every time I close my eyes, I see the beast. Feel the jaws. Experience the death.
"Clone memory integration: 94% complete. Data acquired: Forest territorial markers identified, beast movement patterns cataloged, cave system entrance located at coordinates 2.3 li northeast. Information value: Moderate. Cost: 15% Void Stability, severe psychological distress, six hours recovery time."
Six hours. I lie there shaking, processing what the clone saw before it died.
This is the price. Every piece of information costs something. If I use clones carelessly, I'll fragment my soul through accumulated deaths until there's nothing left.
But the data is there now, burned into Great Sage's archives. The beast's territory is mapped. The cave system exists—might have resources, might have dangers. Knowledge I wouldn't have without sending the clone to its death.
I killed myself for information, I think. And I'd do it again if the math made sense.
That thought should horrify me. It doesn't.
"Psychological assessment: Host demonstrates adaptive response to traumatic memory integration. Emotional processing appears functional despite distress. Warning: Continued clone deaths will accumulate psychological damage. Recommend minimum 48-hour recovery between deployments."
The sun sets. My dormitory mates return. I pretend to be asleep, face turned to the wall, while they talk about the day's matches and gossip about upcoming events.
Someone mentions Fang Yuan's performance. Calls him a genius. Speculates he'll reach Rank 2 within months.
They have no idea he's already lived this timeline hundreds of times.
I wait until everyone's asleep, then sit up carefully. My essence has recovered to 15%—still dangerously low, but improving. The phantom pain from the clone's death has faded to a dull ache.
I pull out a piece of paper and start sketching—the forest territory markers, the beast's patrol pattern, the cave entrance location. All from memories that aren't mine, uploaded from a version of myself that died screaming.
"Quest progress: 3 of 30 days survived. Void Stability: 85%. Clone deployment cooldown: 46 hours remaining. Item acquired: Blood-Stained Claw Fragment—located in clone's final position, retrievable if host chooses to risk collection. Knowledge acquired: Forest danger zones mapped at 60% accuracy. Great Sage database updated."
Three days down. Twenty-seven to go.
Outside, the moon rises over Qing Mao Mountain. Somewhere in this academy, Fang Yuan is planning his next move toward immortality.
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