Wu Huian gave him a curious look. "You really have changed," she said quietly. "You’re not the same timid servant from before." She said with slight awkwardness.
She had chosen timid as a deliberate choice, but knew that Han Yu was anything but that in his servant days. If anything he had been audacious and a bit crazy since the day he had arrived in the sect.
But Wu Huian didn’t want to say that especially after all that the boy had gone through.
"I had no choice," Han Yu replied, lowering his gaze slightly for effect. "The ravine changed me."
Wu Huian nodded slowly, accepting his explanation at face value. "Well, if there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask. And be careful. The Elders are still discussing your case. Some think it’s a miracle... others think something’s off."
"I understand," Han Yu said. "Thank you."
Wu Huian gave him a final smile before leaving.
As the gate closed behind her, Han Yu let out a slow breath.
’Even she noticed... I need to be more careful.’
He walked back to his meditation mat and sat down again. Now that he had confirmed the existence of his Soul Qi, the next step was to learn how to use it.
From the memories he’d recovered earlier, he knew there were techniques tied to Soul Qi—spells and skills that could affect not just the body, but the very mind and soul of an opponent.
He focused on the memory, hoping to trigger another one.
And sure enough, another memory awoke, showing him a few names.
He only had the names of a few: Soul Needle, Memory Echo, Emotion Severing Slash.
Each one sounded more terrifying than the last.
But there was no instruction on how to use them—not yet.
"I’ll need to uncover the rest of the Undying Destiny Severance," he muttered. "And fast."
Just then, a faint breeze passed through the courtyard, stirring the petals of a nearby lotus plant. Han Yu blinked and noticed something peculiar.
A single yellow wisp floated gently toward him.
Behind it trailed two or three more, this time in muted grey—then a swirl of faint blue, heavier and slower.
He sat up straighter.
"The Eight Emotions Energy..." he whispered.
The yellow one was joy. The grey wisps—surprise. And the heavy, dense blue... sadness.
The energies were converging on him, drawn to his presence, as if his earlier meditation had called them.
The wisps drifted toward him like moths to flame, gently merging into his skin.
Han Yu shuddered. It wasn’t pain. It wasn’t pleasure either. It was something deeper—a resonance that ran through the very core of his being. Each wisp left behind a faint tingle and a flash of sensation in his mind—a laugh from childhood, the thrill of a duel, the crushing grief of death.
These were not just energies. They were memories.
"Emotion... is memory," he muttered.
And memory was power.
Han Yu sat frozen for a moment, the realization still echoing in his mind.
Emotion is memory. And memory is power.
It made sense now. The Soul Qi, the Eight Emotions Energy—they weren’t just mystical forces. They were fragments of experience, distilled from the very essence of life. His own soul was the forge, and the emotions he encountered were its fuel.
He took a deep breath, steadying himself. "If that’s the case... I should be able to do more than just absorb them."
He closed his eyes again and dived into his Soul Sea. The strands of Soul Qi now felt more distinct—sharper. He could feel the newer strands mingling with the older ones, each carrying a different resonance. Blue, yellow, grey. Sadness, joy, surprise. Their presence was subtle, but they pulsed with potential.
From the fractured memories embedded in the Undying Destiny Severance technique, Han Yu reached for the first technique mentioned:
The description had been vague—a thread of concentrated Soul Qi, sharpened by emotion, capable of piercing through defenses not of the flesh but of the mind.
"Let’s try it," Han Yu whispered, focusing on the grey wisp—surprise. It was lighter, easier to manipulate than the heavy sadness. He condensed it inward, guiding it toward his brow. His spiritual senses shaped the strand like a craftsman drawing molten glass into a point.
It resisted at first, flickering and wavering. But then—
The wisp snapped into a thin, glinting line—no thicker than a hair—floating just in front of his forehead. It quivered with tension, like a drawn bowstring.
Han Yu’s eyes widened. "That’s it!"
Now came the hard part—firing it.
He searched for a target. His gaze landed on a small bird perched on the edge of the rooftop, pecking curiously at a tile.
"Sorry, little guy," Han Yu muttered. "I promise it won’t hurt much."
He focused, aimed... and released.
The Soul Needle flashed across the air, almost invisible. For a split second, nothing happened. Then the bird staggered, flapping wildly before flying away in a panic.
There was no blood, no wound. But he felt the connection—the faint tether of soul energy that had struck true. The Soul Needle had disrupted the bird’s mental focus, startling it more than a physical blow would have.
"A mental strike," Han Yu breathed. "That’s what it is."
And that was just a basic application. He could only imagine what it would do against an actual cultivator mid-battle. If timed right, it could interrupt a technique, break concentration, or even render someone unconscious.
"The possibilities..." Han Yu’s lips curled into a grin. "This is only the beginning."
He felt giddy, as if he were discovering an entirely new world—and in a way, he was.
Still, he had to be cautious. Soul Qi was volatile. And the more powerful the emotion used, the harder it would be to control. He recalled a warning buried in the technique’s memory:
"Those who wield the soul without mastering the self... shall be consumed by it."