Nameless Domain Arc Chapter Eleven: The Morphing Duel

Zhou Xuanhong placed the true disciple’s token into the slot of the “Form Evolution Art.” A stream of light flowed into the token, completing the imprint.

“It’s been copied. Now, you only need to press the token to your forehead, and the technique will be etched into your mind. This is a replica, strictly forbidden to be shared or spoken aloud. If you do, the prohibitions within the technique will activate and destroy your mind along with it—unless you reach the Golden Core stage, at which point you can lift the restriction.”

“Thank you for the reminder, Senior Brother. Since I’ve made my choice, I’ll take my leave now.”

“Go ahead.”

As Zhou Xuanhong was about to step out the main hall, the old mandrill suddenly stretched out its long arm, blocking his way. It set aside its book and stood with one hand behind its back, adopting the mysterious air of a reclusive master.

“Lad, are you sure you want to choose the ‘Form Evolution Art’? This technique may not suit someone like you.”

Intrigued, Zhou Xuanhong cupped his hands and asked, “Then what kind of person does it suit?”

The old mandrill stroked its beard and replied, “Only two types. The first are those with exceptional talent and intelligence.”

Zhou Xuanhong pressed further, “And the second?”

With a meaningful look, the mandrill said, “The other are those with extraordinary wisdom.”

Zhou Xuanhong was baffled. “What’s the difference between intelligence and wisdom?”

The mandrill responded, “Are you asking about intelligence or wisdom?”

“Intelligence, I suppose.”

The mandrill answered, “Those with intelligence learn quickly, their minds are sharp.”

Zhou Xuanhong asked, “And wisdom?”

Again, the mandrill replied, “Those with wisdom also learn quickly, their minds are sharp.”

Zhou Xuanhong was at a loss. “Why do you keep asking me the same question twice?”

The mandrill said, “Because this technique isn’t suited for people like you.”

Zhou Xuanhong asked, “Then what kind of technique do you think is suitable for me, senior?”

The mandrill glanced at him and said, “Are you asking about a technique for spell cultivation, body cultivation, or sword cultivation?”

Sensing something amiss, Zhou Xuanhong tentatively said, “Sword cultivation.”

The mandrill shook its head, “Sword cultivation techniques do not suit you.”

Zhou Xuanhong shot the mandrill a look. “And if I ask about spell or body cultivation, you’ll say the same thing, right, senior? I understand your point. But do you think I have any other options?”

With that, Zhou Xuanhong left the library, leaving behind the mandrill, who stroked its beard with a meaningful smile.

Nearby, a few disciples snickered. “That old mandrill is mischievous by nature, always putting on airs and toying with newcomers. If you’re a bit slow-witted, he’ll talk your ear off from dawn till dusk.”

“Exactly. I got fooled the same way when I first joined—thank goodness a senior warned me. Still, I didn’t expect this young true disciple to be so clever.”

The old mandrill glanced at them and said, “If you’re ever confused in your cultivation, you may come and ask me, too.”

The group quickly dispersed—no one wanted to be bored by him.

On the Sect Master’s Peak, Zhou Xuanhong sat cross-legged in his small cabin, recalling the mandrill’s words. He shook his head; clever as he was, he still couldn’t decipher their meaning.

Perhaps the mandrill wanted him to give up his cultivation in the Form Evolution Sect, to leave in pursuit of a brighter future. Otherwise, he would be dragged into the struggle between the Sect Master and the Grand Elder’s factions, and with his current abilities, he’d likely die young.

But Zhou Xuanhong wasn’t concerned. To him, the sect’s internal strife was not a threat, but an opportunity—a chance to profit from the chaos.

Clearing his mind, Zhou Xuanhong focused on the “Form Evolution Art” within his token. Placing it to his forehead, a faint light entered his brow, unfolding in his mind as strange runes, gradually forming a page of the cultivation method.

“Form Evolution Art!”

The essence of form is freedom, deriving endlessly; draw in spiritual energy, let it circulate through the body, forming the positive half-cycle through vital points such as the Spiritual Court, Upper Star, Dewy Meeting, Forehead Apex, Hundred Convergences, Wind Mansion… Draw in energy to the soul, open the Void Soul Node in the sea of consciousness, forming the negative half-cycle with the body’s nodes. Yin and yang complement each other, coexisting in the grand circle, inhaling spirit, exhaling mist…

“What in the world!”

Zhou Xuanhong examined the technique with his inner sight, shocked by its audacity. It seemed utterly reckless—almost nonsensical. Yet, upon close study, he sensed genuine profundity, though fraught with peril.

No wonder only those with exceptional wisdom could cultivate it. Anyone careless would be undone by the method’s hidden flaws.

Drawing spiritual energy into the body was normal enough. But after half a cycle, channeling it through several vital points in the head into the sea of consciousness? Opening a Void Soul Node—what even was that? He’d never heard of such a thing.

Unrefined spiritual energy is unstable, elusive. If it rampaged within the fragile sea of consciousness, the best outcome would be a damaged soul, the worst would be idiocy or utter annihilation.

“Madness! Ancestor Xu Yuqi, who created this technique, is dooming his successors!”

Zhou Xuanhong hesitated. If he succeeded, the “Form Evolution Art” would be a powerful technique, perfectly suited for him. But the dangers were immense, and the chances of success slim.

If a genius like Xiaona tried, her innate affinity for spiritual energy might give her a good chance. But he himself was only of yellow-grade talent—it had taken him half a month just to draw spiritual energy into his body before even reaching the Qi Refining stage.

The risks of cultivation were just one factor. If his mind were impaired, his thinking dulled, he’d be easy prey in this world of wolves and tigers—especially now, with the Grand Elder’s faction as enemies.

“But playing it safe isn’t my style. There must be something I’ve missed. I’ll try it out first.”

Following the method’s prescribed path, Zhou Xuanhong began to draw spiritual energy into his body. Here, atop the Sect Master’s Peak, the energy was abundant, but he only absorbed the thinnest thread, barely thicker than a hair, guiding it through the Central Court into his body, forming half a cycle. He then prepared to channel it from the Spiritual Court into his sea of consciousness.

At this moment, he was extremely cautious, his breathing long and slow, afraid of agitating the barely refined energy.

Once it entered the Spiritual Court, it passed into the sea of consciousness, where he began the negative half-cycle as described.

Yet, unrefined spiritual energy is by nature unstable. As it neared completion, it suddenly erupted, crashing erratically within his mind.

“Pfft!”

His soul was wounded; his heart seized painfully, blood surging backward through his veins. A sweet taste rose in his throat, and he spewed a mouthful of blood.

“Damn it! This ‘Form Evolution Art’ should be sealed away—it nearly killed me!”

Luckily, he had kept the energy to a minimum, or else the consequences would have been dire.

But Zhou Xuanhong was not one to give up so easily. Once he’d vented his frustration, he began to reflect.

“My talent simply can’t fully control unrefined spiritual energy. Maybe I should try using spiritual power, refined through a full cycle, instead?”

After confirming his idea, he attempted again, using a thread of spiritual power in place of raw energy.

Moments later, Zhou Xuanhong opened his eyes. He had succeeded, but it seemed to have no effect—as if nothing had happened at all.

To put it metaphorically: unrefined spiritual energy is like boiling water, fierce and hard to control, but leaves a mark when cycled through the sea of consciousness. Refined spiritual power is like warm water—calm, easy to control, comfortable, but leaves no trace.

The “Form Evolution Art” required creating a Void Soul Node within the sea of consciousness, demanding repeated cycles of spiritual energy to gradually forge a pathway, like an extra vital point in the body. Once formed, energy could flow freely, granting more nodes than others—normal operation would suffice.

This, Zhou Xuanhong thought, was sheer madness. The process was too dangerous. If it took too long, his sea of consciousness might collapse before the node formed.

But Zhou Xuanhong was not one for convention. His eyes flashed with inspiration.

He began again, not by absorbing spiritual energy, but by continuing to use spiritual power—this time, increasing the amount by several dozen times.

After another full cycle, the space within his sea of consciousness seemed unchanged, but Zhou Xuanhong persisted, doubling the amount each time.

Cycle after cycle, he used ever more spiritual power.

“Mmm!”

After dozens of cycles, Zhou Xuanhong finally felt pressure building in his mind. While spiritual power itself was harmless, in large quantities, even it exerted pressure. The sea of consciousness was fragile; with enough pressure, the whole body felt the strain.

All through the night until dawn, Zhou Xuanhong meticulously tested the limits—the critical point between what his sea of consciousness could bear and the maximum flow of spiritual power.

A bit more, and his sea of consciousness might shatter, his meridians rupture. A bit less, and it would have no effect. It demanded unyielding willpower—far more challenging than using spiritual energy.

One method relied on affinity for energy, the other on the body’s endurance—on the ability to withstand pain and danger with indifference.

The former was talent, the latter effort. Lacking the first, Zhou Xuanhong chose the second.

As a youth both ambitious and ruthless, he was hard not only on enemies and rivals, but also on himself. The tearing of meridians, the swelling of nodes, the terror in his sea of consciousness, the suffocating pressure—any lapse in concentration could mean shattered meridians, exploded nodes, a destroyed sea of consciousness, or his body crushed to pulp.

After a night of experimentation, Zhou Xuanhong was thrilled to discover faint traces forming in his sea of consciousness—barely perceptible, but proof his idea had succeeded.

He opened his eyes, astonished to find himself covered in blood, seeping from his pores and orifices, staining him crimson.

A cleansing spell revealed his skin a sickly pale—the classic sign of severe blood loss.