absorb the history of unliving things through touch, was too bizarre, too dangerous to contemplate fully. His Inferior Grade 9 roots were a curse, a mark of mediocrity; such an ability felt like a cosmic joke, a power utterly disconnected from the established paths of cultivation.


    real.


    Just clean it, label it ''Broken Dummy Core in Wooden Box,'' and put it away, he told himself firmly. No prolonged contact. No unnecessary focus.


    was it made of? He turned it slightly in his hand, holding it up to the weak sunlight filtering through the window, trying to catch a glint, understand its composition. His grip tightened instinctively as he focused, his thumb rubbing absently against the smooth, cool surface.


    shattered.


    CRACK! The sound exploded in his mind, deafening, visceral, the shriek of stressed material giving way.


    felt it – not just saw, but embodied. The relentless, jarring impacts, over and over and over. Blows landing with brutal force. Fists wrapped in Qi, kicks driven by straining muscles, the occasional impact of a practice weapon. A thousand, ten thousand impacts, absorbed, resisted. He felt the dull thud travel through the core''s structure, the vibrations shuddering deep within.


    monotony. The endless cycle of being struck, absorbing the force, standing firm. Day after day, year after year. The same courtyard, the same routines, the changing faces of disciples – hopeful, frustrated, determined, clumsy – all delivering their blows. There was no thought, no pain in the human sense, just a profound, grinding resistance, an inherent stubbornness built into its very substance. It existed to endure.


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    struggle – not its own, but that of the disciples striking it. The frustration of weak Qi, the burning ache of strained muscles, the desperation to improve, to break through, projected onto it with every blow. The core absorbed not just the physical force, but the faint psychic residue of their exertion, their hopes, their failures.


    CRACK that wasn''t just sound, but the feeling of its very being coming undone. Oblivion.


    ability, this involuntary immersion into the echoes held within objects, was undeniably real. And utterly, terrifyingly dangerous.