Ninth Division barracks, late at night.
With a click, Siwei Yan locked his door securely. Still uneasy, he listened carefully for any sounds outside and, once he was sure nothing strange had slipped in, crept over to his bed.
He didn't lie down. Instead, he gripped the heavy wooden bed frame with both hands, braced himself, and lifted the entire bed.
Then he felt around beneath it until he found a concealed corner. He gently twisted a spot in the wood grain that looked no different from the rest.
Click.
A faint mechanism sounded, and the bed corner came loose, revealing a hollow compartment.
Carefully, Yan took out a thread-bound booklet.
On its cover, The Pride and Loneliness of a Genius Boy seemed almost alive. The ink flowed like living water, shifting ceaselessly and giving off a faint glow of Reishi.
This was one of the sources of his power: the original manuscript, written by his Zanpakutō, Tsuzurimono Bansho, and imbued with the readers' "resonance."
He sat cross-legged and solemnly opened the first page.
The familiar words on the page glimmered with varying intensity, like stars scattered across the night sky.
He could "hear" the faint "emotional echoes" left by readers as they read between the lines.
Some resonated with Lan Chuan's loneliness, some yearned for the life of a genius, and others debated how the story would unfold...
He slowly laid his palm over the page and closed his eyes.
In the next instant, the light flowing across the page and the emotions held within it converged like rivers flowing into the sea, becoming a warm, pure stream of Reishi that coursed up his arm and steadily poured into his body.
When he absorbed the final wisp of light, the booklet fell still, becoming an ordinary book with nothing to distinguish it except its beautiful handwriting.
Yan hid it in the compartment again, put the bed back in place, then sat down at his desk to carefully examine what he had gained.
"Ha..." He opened his palm and looked at it, sighing in resignation.
Two weeks had passed, yet the spiritual power gathered from all those readers remained pitifully small—so little it was almost negligible.
His actual Spiritual Pressure Level was currently holding steady at around Sixth-Class.
That was a far cry from many talented lieutenants, such as his own Lieutenant Kyunnan Shiro, who had entered the academy with Fourth-Class Spiritual Pressure.
"Spiritual pressure" referred to the total amount of spiritual power a soul could contain and control. It was also the key measure of a Shinigami's potential.
A soul's Spiritual Pressure Level was almost always fixed the moment it arrived in Soul Society.
There had been cases of people breaking through their limits in the past, but among the countless souls in Soul Society, the odds were lower than getting hit on the head by a gold bar while walking through Rukongai.
Back at the Central Spirit Arts Academy, Yan had been an unremarkable Ninth-level Spiritual Pressure student. By all rights, becoming the lowest-ranking Seat Officer was the best he could ever hope for.
That was why he had always been content to coast through life.
Then he joined the Ninth Division and successfully nurtured a Zanpakutō of his own: Tsuzurimono Bansho.
That was his Zanpakutō's true name and the core of its power!
Its ability had nothing to do with ice and snow. That was merely the false Shikai he used as a disguise.
When someone read a work Yan had written with the power of Tsuzurimono Bansho and felt a powerful emotional connection to it,
a wisp of spiritual power would unconsciously escape them, whether they felt sorrow, agreement, anger, or joy.
This release of spiritual power was a natural consequence of the emotional fluctuations Shinigami experienced.
Tsuzurimono Bansho's ability was to gather the ownerless "resonant spiritual power" born from his stories, draw it across space, and quietly channel it into the original manuscripts he had written, forming a "spiritual power pool."
By absorbing this spiritual power, Yan could break through the innate limits of his Spiritual Pressure Level and continually grow stronger!
That was why he wrote novels. It wasn't just to earn drinking money; it was also how he kept strengthening himself. Otherwise, when enemies invaded in the future, he could easily end up dead by the roadside.
Yan looked at his hand and sighed again.
It's not that I don't want to continue The Pride and Loneliness of a Genius Boy*... I just can't write any more.*
That wasn't only because the story touched on sensitive subjects like the nobles and the Soul King.
The deeper reason was that using Tsuzurimono Bansho to write meant interfering with "narrative" itself.
Writing about history that had already happened or the lives people had already lived took very little spiritual power and had almost no side effects, because those things were established facts.
He could dress them up—for example, writing Rukongai as Meteor City, or Aizen as Lan Chuan—but he couldn't change what they were.
When he tried to write about Lan Chuan's future, just putting down a few words nearly drained all the spiritual power from his body!
He had also considered altering the plot. After all, the future hadn't happened yet. Couldn't he just write whatever he wanted?
But the moment his pen touched the page, his spiritual power evaporated instantly, leaving not a drop. He was bedridden for an entire day.
To continue Lan Chuan's story, he would need to reach at least Third-Class Spiritual Pressure, or even Second-Class.
If he wanted to change the future... he would need First-level Spiritual Pressure at the very least. He might even have to reach the limits of a Shinigami's spiritual body, or break through the Shinigami's limits altogether.
Yan clenched his fist.
The story of The Pride and Loneliness of a Genius Boy had reached its end, and the "reader donations" it could provide were limited. He had to start a new story.
Who should he write about next?
Creeeak!
At that moment, a sharp, grating sound of claws scraping across the wooden door rang out in the hallway.
Yan raised an eyebrow, got up, and slid the door open.
A cat with a completely black coat and molten-gold eyes sat elegantly at the entrance, its tail tip swaying gently.
Yan's face instantly lit up with an "excited" smile.
"Oh! It's you, little black cat! Have you come to play with Lieutenant Kyunnan Shiro again today?"
At the words "Kyunnan Shiro," the black cat stiffened for the briefest moment, then pretended nothing had happened and stretched luxuriously, its posture languid and alluring.
Yan knew perfectly well that the creature before him was no ordinary little cat. She was Yoruichi Shihōin, eldest daughter of one of the Five Noble Houses, and captain of the Second Division of the Thirteen Court Guard Squads!
She was a real handful. He'd learned that back in the academy, which was why he'd been avoiding her all this time.
He hadn't expected her to come looking for him again...
But it probably wasn't anything serious. Otherwise, she wouldn't have come in her black-cat form.
She probably wanted to tease him—maybe turn into a "human" when he least expected it and give him a fright.
Well... if Yoruichi suddenly turned into a human, I guess it wouldn't be all bad?
No. I can't think like that.
She's a little devil. Poor Byakuya's practically been driven insane by her.
Better be careful.
Before you continue