Ten

As the apocalypse drew nearer, Ye Yin’s unease only grew. Several times she was jolted awake by nightmares, and each time, she rushed neurotically to her study to check her notebook where she’d meticulously recorded all her hoarded supplies, terrified that she’d missed something.

She went through this routine so many times that even Ye Hua began to notice something was wrong. In front of her, Ye Hua easily lifted the heavy rosewood coffee table with a grin, saying, “Sister, look how strong I’ve gotten! If zombies come, I’ll chase them away for you.”

Ye Yin patted Ye Hua’s head, then promptly added another ten pounds each to the sandbags Ye Hua wore for training and the dumbbells she used for her workouts.

Ye Yin had been exploring all manners of using the Infinite Elephant. Beyond the two basic functions of “Skyline,” she had discovered another formidable aspect: a complete transformation of a person’s physique. Since Ye Hua had spent so much time with her, she seemed to be affected as well—not only had she grown taller, but her strength was beginning to rival Ye Yin’s own.

Unlike the descriptions in other novels, Ye Yin didn’t wake up one morning to find her body excreting vast amounts of impurities, then suddenly becoming beautiful and ethereal. The Infinite Elephant’s transformation of her body was subtle: she became stronger, never fell ill, her wounds healed rapidly. Now, she realized she could, by sheer will, control the hardness and shape of her body for a period—essentially, shapeshifting.

This ability might sound trivial, but if used well, it could be a lifesaver and a powerful tool for scavenging supplies. But precisely because she realized this, Ye Yin finally understood the root of her fear: after the apocalypse broke out, how would she actively attack zombies to obtain the crystal nuclei required to stimulate and enhance her powers? Without crossing this threshold, all her subsequent plans were nothing but empty talk.

If she was shameless enough, she could harden her body to the level of stone and smash any zombie that came her way. This might work against a few scattered zombies, but if the system ever warned that a large horde was approaching, she’d better run as far as she could. At first, perhaps the zombies couldn’t bite through her, but once her hardening time ran out, she would still meet her end.

Perhaps, after so long with the Infinite Elephant, a kind of spiritual connection had developed. After fretting for days, one dark and windy night, Ye Yin had a peculiar dream.

In the dream, she stood atop a cliff by the sea, gazing down at the water. The sea was remarkably clear, so she could easily see the glittering fish darting through the waves. Most were silver, some were gold, and among the mingling gold and silver swam a few brilliantly colored, gem-like fish, which seemed to be the leaders of the shoal.

Her eyes fell on one especially flamboyant fish. Suddenly, she let out a triumphant cry, transformed into a bird, and dove into the sea, seizing the large, dazzling gem-fish with her sharp beak…

Ye Yin awoke with a start.

There was something in her mouth. She flicked on the lamp, spat the unknown object onto her pillow, and examined it. It was a small, battered, yellowed booklet, about the size of her palm. Judging by the paper and printing, it was clearly quite old. Could it be the legendary “Eighteen Dragon Subduing Palms”? Excitement made her hands tremble as she turned the booklet over.

There were indeed five characters on the cover, their strokes powerful and archaic, exuding an air of mystery:

Three Hundred Children's Songs.

Ye Yin was immediately overcome with emotion. As she contemplated whether she should just toss this thing in the trash and try her luck with another dream to fetch a fish instead, the booklet “Three Hundred Children’s Songs” began to flip its pages on its own, though there was no breeze. The flashing words caught Ye Yin’s eye, making her heart race. She hurriedly picked up the book, turning page after page.

Ye Yin had never felt so focused in her life. Not even in the month before her college entrance exams, when she drank “XX No. 1” every day, had she been this effective. Her mind felt like a parched sponge, soaking up the words from the book like water. She read at a blistering pace—ten lines at a glance—never forgetting a single word, committing every detail to memory.

Time slipped by unnoticed as Ye Yin lost herself in the book. When she finally set it down with a long sigh, the five words on the cover had already changed to:

Compendium of Great Shamanic Secrets.

The so-called Great Shaman was neither Buddhist nor Taoist, but the earliest recorded wielder of mysterious powers. Over time, due to issues with passing down their knowledge, they gradually faded into legend. According to some tales, the Shamanic people were the closest to the gods, and so their secret arts rivaled miracles and were far superior to the cultivation of later generations. This engendered both envy and resentment among cultivators: they desperately searched for lost shamanic arts, yet slandered the Shamans as primitive, brutal beasts, smearing their reputation.

Ye Yin knew nothing of this. She was simply enthralled by the immense power contained within, and marvelled at the intricate techniques that could turn one into a hundred, and a hundred into thousands. She felt she had struck gold, and couldn’t wait to test the effects of these secret arts.

She had already memorized all three hundred arts and their derived incantations, but many of them were too dangerous to attempt at home, so she resolved to experiment with the others.

Three hours later—

“Ah… another failure.” Ye Yin collapsed on the bed in frustration.

Every attempt either yielded poor results or simply failed outright; nothing went as she hoped. She was nearly beside herself with disappointment—the feeling of dashed expectations was truly unbearable.

From the adjacent room came faint sounds. Ye Yin glanced at the clock: it was six in the morning. Ye Hua would be going for her morning run and was probably changing her clothes.

“May I come in?” Ye Yin knocked on Ye Hua’s door.

“Of course,” came the reply.

Ye Hua was pulling on her sweatpants, her short black hair a tousled mess from sleep. Dressed, she yawned and asked, “Sister, why are you up so early? Are you joining me for a run?”

“No, just take a look at this.” Ye Yin handed her the Compendium of Great Shamanic Secrets.

Ye Hua rubbed her eyes and flipped through a few pages, puzzled. “Three Hundred Children’s Songs? What’s wrong with this?”

Ye Yin paused. “Look again.”

Ye Hua examined it carefully. “It’s a bit old, but a lot of these songs are pretty fun. Here’s one about Grandma’s Bridge…”

Ye Yin sighed, shaking her head. “Never mind. Just tell me if you want it or not. If not, I’ll take it back.”

Ye Hua beamed. “I’m already a grown-up!” She gestured at her height compared to Ye Yin’s. “In two years, I’ll be taller than you.”

“Keep training then. Go for your run.”

“Will you have breakfast with me, Sister?”

“Alright.”

After breakfast, the two sisters left the house laughing and chatting. Ye Hua, laden with eight sandbags, headed out enthusiastically, while Ye Yin sat in her study, staring blankly at the little booklet.

After much pondering, Ye Yin finally began to understand the root of her difficulties. If these secret arts were like ultimate moves, then the reason she couldn’t execute them properly was that she had health but no energy—she was out of “mana,” so to speak.

For every use of a supernatural power, an ability user expends their internal energy. When it reaches zero, they’re no different from an ordinary person. Cultivators are the same: once their spiritual energy is depleted, they can’t use even the weakest technique.

Whether energy or spiritual force, in essence, it’s all “mana.” Replenishing it is troublesome, requiring time and effort; holding a crystal core in your hand doesn’t mean you can instantly recharge and continue fighting. The original female lead, Qiao Xinran, was famed because her refining field could continuously supply energy, letting her win uphill battles and earning her a reputation as a rare genius. Ye Yin had an even better refining field, but without materials, it was all useless.

On the other hand, aside from defensive ability users, a lack of health had always been a major problem for those with supernatural powers. Every advancement only increased their energy reserves and power, but their bodies remained much as before.

Take, for example, the thunder-type zombie exterminators: they could blast hordes of zombies to ashes, but couldn’t withstand a single stab from an ordinary person. So, whenever a team of ability users set out, there was always a barrier-user or someone else to shield these heavy-hitters, or else their combat power could be lost in vain.

Thanks to the Infinite Elephant, Ye Yin had developed self-healing and shapeshifting abilities within half a year, so health was no longer a concern. The problem was a lack of energy: she was sitting atop a mountain of gold but had nothing to eat.

Crystal nuclei would only be available after the apocalypse broke out. So, what about other energy sources?

Seeing that the energy dilemma couldn’t be solved in the short term, Ye Yin turned her attention to array formations and incantations that didn’t require energy. She spent her days scribbling madly in her room, muttering to herself—anyone who saw her might think she’d gone mad. Ye Hua tried to intervene a few times, but when Ye Yin brushed her off, she let her be.

Unnoticed, the Mid-Autumn Festival approached. On Evergreen South Street, many families had children returning from their studies to celebrate, and laughter filled the air.

The sisters’ next-door neighbors were woodworkers. The man’s surname was Pan, and being older, everyone called him Uncle Pan, and his wife Aunt Pan. Years ago, Aunt Pan had a surgery after an accident and could never have children. Many advised Uncle Pan to adopt or remarry, but he never resented his wife. He worked diligently to support them, refusing to seek heirs elsewhere, earning both ridicule and respect from others.

The couple was always affectionate, but during family reunions, their hearts inevitably felt a little empty. They’d always liked Ye Yin and Ye Hua, and knowing the sisters would be having a quiet meal alone, invited them over for the festival dinner instead.

Ye Yin and Ye Hua loved Aunt Pan’s cooking, so with no hesitation, they carried a large basket of fruit to their neighbors’ door. Aunt Pan was busy in the kitchen when Uncle Pan opened the door and immediately scolded them, “If you’re coming to eat, just eat—why bring gifts? Take it back!”

Ye Hua smiled sweetly, calling him uncle and explaining, “We didn’t buy these—the farm sent them over. If we don’t eat them, they’ll just go bad.”

Uncle Pan was appeased and called Aunt Pan out to help carry the basket—he couldn’t manage it alone. Ye Yin and Ye Hua made themselves at home as usual, washing their hands at the sink and seating themselves at the table without needing an invitation. The warmth of the scene brought tears to the couple’s eyes. Uncle Pan silently went to serve them rice, while Aunt Pan wiped her eyes with her apron, then put on a cheerful face and began to bring out the dishes one by one…