"It's still not working!" Xiang Ri collapsed back onto the bed in frustration.
He had just tried several methods, all to no avail. He even attempted techniques inspired by martial arts novels, following the advice of the legendary Jin Yong. Sitting cross-legged, he imagined a stream of energy within his body flowing into his dantian under the guidance of his mind.
But after an hour, not only did he fail to sense any so-called "energy," his legs had gone numb from the lack of circulation due to his prolonged position.
How exactly was this supposed to work?
Xiang Ri pounded his pillow in frustration, forcing himself to calm down and retrace his thoughts from the beginning.
When he had initially possessed this body, it was his soul that had been transferred. The power he carried was also brought along by his soul, meaning his strength was not inherently tied to this body—it was rooted in his soul! If he could grasp the method to control his soul, then his power might become something he could wield freely. Yet such mastery seemed even more elusive than becoming a martial arts master—it belonged in the realm of immortal cultivation!
"Are you kidding me, heavens?" Xiang Ri groaned in despair, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.
The soul—what exactly was it? Invisible, intangible, perhaps even non-existent? But then, what was he? If there were no soul, how could he have possessed this body? How could his former self have "returned to life"?
Wait! Xiang Ri suddenly froze, his body trembling slightly. He hadn't truly been resurrected; it was merely the consciousness of his previous self that had occupied this body. Consciousness?
His eyes lit up as he slapped his thigh in realization. Damn, how could he have been so foolish as to believe in the abstract concept of the soul?
Perhaps a more grounded explanation was in order: in reality, he was still Xiang Kui, but he had acquired a consciousness that did not originally belong to this body. This new consciousness erased the original owner's memories and took over the body.
It was akin to amnesia—before losing one's memory, you were one person; after losing it, you became another. Essentially, this body had hosted two distinct consciousnesses, with the original one either hidden or obliterated.
Another possibility was the coexistence of both consciousnesses, or their alternating presence, resulting in what people call "split personality disorder." But clearly, he belonged to the former category, suffering from "amnesia." The difference was that his consciousness hadn't originated from this body but had invaded it—bringing with it an extraordinary, otherworldly strength.
In other words, this power was intrinsically linked to his consciousness. Consciousness was the true master of this strength. From this perspective, the concept was far simpler to grasp: much like controlling the soul, if he could control this consciousness, couldn't he also control the power at will?
Excited by this revelation, Xiang Ri sat upright once again, eager to test his new theory.
He focused all his consciousness on one point. In practice, this meant clenching his fist tightly, his gaze fixed intently on it as it trembled with tension.
Feeling that he had gathered sufficient momentum, Xiang Ri punched outward, aiming at a potted narcissus on the balcony.
A whoosh accompanied the swing of his fist, the sound of air being displaced. It sounded imposing but was ultimately just the wind stirred by his movement. The narcissus remained entirely unmoved.
Disappointed, Xiang Ri wondered if the distance was too far. He stepped closer and punched again. Still, no effect. Closer still, another punch. This time, the flower shifted slightly, though only because his fist, now just a few centimeters away, created a draft that disturbed it.
Still no progress!
Utterly dejected, Xiang Ri turned around and caught sight of the giant poster hanging over his bed. The figure in the poster seemed to be smirking at him, mocking his incompetence. Infuriated, he swung his fist in a habitual outburst of frustration.
The figure in the poster was none other than himself, captured in a photograph taken under Chu Chu's insistence. But now, no matter how he looked at it, Xiang Ri found it utterly displeasing. "Mocking me, huh? Damn it, I'll destroy you!"
He stepped forward, intending to tear the poster down. Yet, just as he took his first step, he froze. His gaze locked on a particular spot in the middle of the poster—a faint, inch-deep fist imprint! The poster's paper had been embedded into the wall behind it. At first glance, the poster seemed untouched, perfectly intact.
For a full minute, Xiang Ri stared in stunned silence before the realization hit him. Instantly, he erupted into a wild display of elation, waving his arms and shouting, "It worked! It worked!"
After his excitement subsided, he turned to the poster and, from a distance, threw another punch. Yet this time, his exhilaration faded as quickly as it had come. The poster bore only the original imprint—no new one appeared.
"Failed?" He stared at his fist in disbelief. "How could it work once and fail now? What the hell?"
Calm down—stay calm. On the verge of losing control, Xiang Ri forced himself to think rationally. There had to be a trick to it.
Recalling his earlier success, he noted that he had been consumed by anger, driven by a strong desire to destroy. Could that have been the key?
With this thought, Xiang Ri clenched his fist again, roaring, "I'll tear you apart!" He swung his fist heavily at the poster.
"Whoosh..."
He felt something surge from within him and escape outward. When he looked up, another inch-deep imprint had appeared—this time on the upper-left corner of the poster. Overcome with uncontainable joy, he collapsed onto the bed, rolling and thrashing in an ecstatic frenzy.
Once his emotions were fully vented, he calmed down. To ensure it wasn't a fluke, Xiang Ri resolved to test the method a few more times.
Armed with his prior experience, his subsequent attempts were much smoother. To his relief, the results confirmed his success—it wasn't just a fleeting coincidence.
Surveying the several new imprints on the poster, Xiang Ri felt utterly reassured. However, one aspect annoyed him: each successful punch required him to shout, "I'll tear you apart!" Without this declaration, the technique had no effect—not even if he silently recited it in his mind.
He remembered that during his first success, he hadn't needed to yell any "battle cry." Perhaps the sheer amount of accumulated "rage" in his heart back then had been sufficient, eliminating the need for vocal reinforcement.
This line of reasoning comforted him somewhat. Even more exciting was the discovery that this "Air-Cleaving Punch" seemed to ignore distance entirely. Whether he stood meters away or mere centimeters, the impact on the wall remained identical—a fact evident from the consistent depth and diameter of the imprints.
Furthermore, Xiang Ri uncovered another advantage of this newfound ability: its unparalleled stealth. Silent, invisible, and traceless, it was perfect for surprise attacks. Failing to exploit such a skill for strategic ambushes would be a waste of its true potential!
Just then, the shrill sound of his phone ringing snapped him out of his reverie. Hesitating briefly, Xiang Ri reached for the phone on his pillow and answered.
From the other end came Chu Chu's frantic voice: "Xiang Kui, hurry to the school! Sister Qing's been attacked!"
"What?" Xiang Ri's heart tightened. "Where are you on campus?"
"In the judo club! Some foreign exchange students are causing trouble. My cousin's already been knocked unconscious... sob, sob..."
"Don't cry—I'm coming right now!" Xiang Ri hung up, his expression instantly darkening, his gaze fierce. Foreign students? Daring to lay hands on my woman? You're dead!
Having just mastered a new "skill," Xiang Ri decided it was time to test it on live targets.