Who Let Him Cultivate？

Chapter 58: Mimicry Fist Isn’t Practiced Like This

The Immortal Cult. One of the four great demonic sects.

“If I recall correctly, they worship an entity known as the Immortal of Immortality,” Meng Jingzhou said, sifting through his mental archives. “The pitch is that this Immortal exists eternally, undying and indestructible. By becoming a devout believer, you get a free pass to avoid the Three Disasters and Five Tribulations of cultivation, effectively extending your lifespan.”

This was entry-level lore, the kind of surface-level marketing material anyone could dig up with a little effort. How much of it was actually true, however, was anyone’s guess.

“The Immortal Cult is hosting a recruitment drive. That’s a golden opportunity,” Lu Yang said, a genuine smile breaking across his face. “The applicant pool will be a complete mixed bag. The barrier to entry will hit rock bottom, and their background checks won’t be nearly as stringent.”

He had been quietly stressing over the fact that none of their trio actually practiced orthodox demonic arts. Relying entirely on their ability to herd ghost servants to pass as dark cultivators was a gamble. Qin Yuanhao inadvertently delivering this intel was a godsend. The man was practically their lucky star.

“Then do we still need to kill Qin Yuanhao?” Man Gu asked. His tone was perfectly polite, like a scholar inquiring about the weather, though he was casually discussing murder.

“He’s still a menace. We kill him if the opportunity presents itself, but we absolutely cannot use his bone token,” Lu Yang replied. Whether they successfully infiltrated the cult or not, Qin Yuanhao’s days were numbered.

For a demonic cultivator to reach the mid-to-late Foundation Establishment stage, it was a statistical impossibility for their hands to be clean of innocent blood. Qin Yuanhao hadn’t spared his underlings out of the goodness of his heart; he kept them alive purely because they were still useful assets. The second one of them lost a limb or became a logistical burden, Qin Yuanhao would slaughter them without a second thought.

“Why can’t we use the bone token?” Man Gu pressed.

Lu Yang gestured for the two Changui to bring over a fresh plate of skewers. He took a bite of roasted meat and explained around it. “The internal networking among demonic cultists isn’t exactly built on the power of friendship. If we frame Qin Yuanhao, his own internal investigation will inevitably conclude that a rival within the sect is gunning for him.”

He pointed a skewer at Man Gu for emphasis. “If we use his bone token to get inside, we instantly brand ourselves as ‘Qin Yuanhao’s faction.’ We’d inherit all his liabilities and enemies, facing sabotage at every turn. The market saturation of his bad karma just isn’t worth the risk.”

Man Gu nodded slowly, the business logic clicking into place.

“Still, you have to admire their operational security. They’re waiting until the very last day to announce the stronghold’s location to prevent leaks. Paranoia about the righteous path wiping them out, I assume?” Lu Yang chuckled softly. “We’ll keep tailing Qin Yuanhao. Let’s see if we can trace his movements to pinpoint the Yanjiang Branch early and get a head start.”

He clapped his hands together, dismissing the meeting. “It’s getting late. Those who need to cultivate, go cultivate. Those who need to sleep, sleep. Meeting adjourned.”

***

Early the next morning, Lu Yang stretched, stifled a yawn, and threw on his robes. He headed downstairs to join the others for breakfast: a steaming, rich beef offal soup prepared by Man Gu.

At this hour, Man Gu had already returned from the morning market, casually pushing a wooden cart laden with hundreds of pounds of whole, slaughtered pigs, cows, and sheep. He had cracked massive beef marrow bones to boil down a milky, collagen-rich broth, adding a dash of coarse salt as the base profile before layering in a complex blend of aromatic spices. The tripe and offal bubbled away in the cauldron, releasing a mouth-watering, savory steam that filled the courtyard.

“Add a bit more tripe to mine,” Lu Yang called out, taking a seat.

“Coming right up,” Man Gu replied cheerfully, ladling out a generous portion.

After polishing off a hearty breakfast, the crew dispersed to handle their respective daily operations.

Today was Man Gu’s turn to act as the “supervisor.” True to his stoic nature, he marched up to the second floor, sat down, and prepared to remain perfectly motionless for the next twelve hours.

Meng Jingzhou, possessing the idle resting heart rate of a hyperactive rabbit, immediately bolted out the front door to terrorize the local populace with his endless energy.

That left the two Changui to handle the prep work. They systematically broke down the carcasses, chopped the vegetables, and threaded the meat onto wooden sticks. After four days of relentless repetition, their workflow was flawlessly optimized. They prepped from dawn until dusk. Right as the sun set and the hungry night market crowds began to gather, they would fire up the charcoal grills in the backyard and roast meat until dawn.

From sunrise to sunset, their undead existence was highly productive and deeply fulfilling.

Lu Yang had his own agenda. He pulled out the *Mimicry Fist* manual, intent on seeing if he could reach the Novice level. He had never formally practiced mortal martial arts before, so he was flying blind.

“First time for everything,” he muttered.

He set up a rudimentary soundproof array in the backyard. Not a single decibel of noise would enter, and nothing he did would be heard from the outside.

Sitting cross-legged on the dirt, he carefully studied the text. *”Mimicry Fist: A martial discipline that simulates the specialized traits and physical forms of various animals, translating their predatory nature into human combat. Variations include Tiger Fist, Monkey Fist, Eagle Claw, and Snake Fist. This volume details the Tiger Fist.”*

*”Tiger Fist emphasizes adopting the tiger’s physical form, internalizing its predatory techniques, and fusing that primal logic into the martial intent.”*

*”The routines are short, explosive, and compact. Footwork is tight, relying heavily on the three-seven stance.”*

*”To master the Tiger Fist, the most perilous requirement is the direct observation of a living tiger. Ideally, the practitioner must have survived a life-and-death struggle against one, allowing them to deeply imprint the beast’s combat image into their soul for perfect imitation.”*

Lu Yang blinked. The most dangerous and difficult bottleneck of the entire martial art was actually the easiest part for him. He hadn’t just fought a tiger demon; he had butchered one.

He slowly closed his eyes.

*Roar. Pounce. Tear.*

The visceral memory of the tiger demon’s assault flooded his mind. He remembered the suffocating stench of wet fur and blood, the earth-shattering weight of its paws, the terrifying speed of its lunge. It was all vividly projected behind his eyelids.

Even though he had slain the beast, Lu Yang freely admitted it had been a terrifyingly lethal opponent. Its predatory mechanics were flawless.

Naturally, he chose to omit the memory of the tiger demon crying out for its wife to save it. That wasn’t a technique he needed to learn, nor one he could replicate anytime soon.

In the theater of his mind, the massive silhouette of the tiger demon began to overlap with his own human figure. The two merged. The man inherited the beast’s lethal grace.

Lu Yang mentally simulated the Tiger Fist katas over and over. What started as stiff, awkward human movements rapidly smoothed out into something fluid and terrifying. It felt as though a literal apex predator had possessed his spirit, roaring within the confines of his skull.

This level of mental visualization was a feat only a Foundation Establishment cultivator could achieve. It required a density of Divine Sense that mortal martial artists simply did not possess.

Lu Yang’s eyes snapped open. A feral, predatory light blazed in his irises.

He launched himself from the ground, landing in a low, coiled stance. He exhaled sharply, the breath hissing through his teeth as he drove his internal energy outward. He stomped his lead foot, the sheer kinetic force cracking the paving stones beneath him. Every movement was explosive, violent, and heavy.

Inside the kitchen, the two Changui froze mid-skewer. The rhythmic, thundering impacts from the backyard sent a violent shudder through their spectral forms. They exchanged a terrified glance, entirely convinced the tiger demon had resurrected from the dead to seek vengeance.

Trembling, they peeked around the doorframe. Seeing it was only Lu Yang throwing punches at the air, they let out a collective sigh of relief and scurried back to their meat prep.

Lu Yang finished the first sequence. His meridians felt entirely unobstructed, a surging tide of endless stamina begging to be unleashed.

Riding the adrenaline high, he chained the sequence into a second set, then a third. Each repetition was smoother and more devastating than the last. Every strike carried the crushing weight of a sledgehammer.

Even if a mortal Grandmaster of the Tiger Fist were standing in the courtyard right now, they wouldn’t be able to find a single technical flaw in his form.

*No,* Lu Yang thought, his breathing steady. *There’s still room to push this further.*

His physical movements accelerated into a blur, yet his mind remained as placid as a mirror-smooth lake. It was a paradoxical, marvelous state of flow. Every punch, every sweeping kick deepened his profound connection to the martial intent.

As his comprehension peaked, the air behind him warped. A massive, translucent phantom of the tiger demon manifested over his shoulders.

Lu Yang’s martial epiphany reached its absolute zenith. He threw his head back and unleashed a deafening, cathartic roar that shook the very foundations of the courtyard.

*”ROAR—!”*

Silence fell.

Lu Yang blinked, his vision swimming slightly. *Huh? Why am I on the floor?*

He tried to stand up, but his center of gravity was entirely wrong. His legs buckled beneath him. He tried again, wobbling precariously, but his knees seemed to bend at an unnatural angle.

*What is going on?* Lu Yang’s mind raced. *Can you actually suffer a cultivation deviation from basic mortal martial arts?*

He had always considered his talent for combat to be top-tier. How could a simple fist technique backfire this badly?

A sickening sense of dread crept over him. The heavy, unfamiliar shift of muscle and bone beneath his skin felt entirely alien. Using all four of his limbs, he awkwardly dragged himself across the dirt toward the large ceramic water vat in the corner of the yard.

He pulled himself up over the rim and stared down at the still water.

A massive, furry, orange-and-black striped face stared back at him.

He had literally turned into a tiger.

*Tiger Fist mastered. Congratulations.*

The back door to the courtyard swung open.

“Lu Yang, you won’t believe the marketing gimmick this tofu shop down the street is pulling—”

Meng Jingzhou strolled in, having returned from his daily wandering. He had heard Lu Yang was practicing martial arts and wanted to critique his form.

Instead, he found a massive, terrifying tiger demon leaning over the water vat, staring existentially at its own reflection.

Meng Jingzhou froze.

“Holy crap, a monster!”