Zhang Yiming stood at the ornate window of his luxurious villa, the complete pages of the 7 Fists Manual spread before him on an antique rosewood desk. The setting sun cast long shadows across the room, seeming to make the ancient text glow with an otherworldly light. As his fingers traced the intricate characters, he could feel the raw power emanating from the pages, coursing through his veins like liquid fire.
A smile played across Zhang Yiming's lips, an expression that held no warmth, only cruel satisfaction. Within him, two souls resided - his own, and that of the god of war's greatest rival. This duality of spirit had driven him relentlessly towards this moment, this cusp of ultimate power.
"At last," he murmured, his voice a mixture of his own and something far older, far more sinister. "After centuries of waiting, planning, manipulating events from the shadows - the key to our victory is finally within our grasp."
