Three days after the warehouse extractions, Zǔ Zhòu had transformed his private chambers into a makeshift laboratory—something between a torture chamber and a library.
Jade slips containing stolen muscle memories lined one wall—forty-seven patterns categorized by technique type. The opposite wall held detailed anatomical drawings showing neural pathway maps. Between them, five test subjects demonstrated various cultivation methods while Zǔ Zhòu took notes.
"Subject Three, perform the Iron Body technique again. Slower this time."
The man—a Body Tempering cultivator from the city guard—moved through the defensive form. Zǔ Zhòu watched with eyes that saw beyond the physical, tracking how spiritual energy interacted with muscular contractions.
"Fascinating. Your body compensates for weak qi circulation by overworking the fascia." He made notes. "Inefficient but educational. The failure patterns teach as much as success."
His comprehension lock research had revealed something unexpected: stolen muscle memory wasn't just individual techniques. It was entire learning histories compressed into bioelectric patterns. Each extraction contained not just the final form but every mistake that led there.
"Young Master," his temporal anchor servant interrupted. "The patterns from yesterday's extractions have been synthesized."
"Show me."
The servant presented a jade slip containing merged experiences. Twelve practitioners of the Flame Palm technique, their muscle memories overlaid and averaged to find optimal commonalities.
Zǔ Zhòu absorbed the synthesized pattern, feeling his nervous system adjust. Not learning Flame Palm—the lock still prevented that. But his hand now naturally curved at the precise angle twelve different cultivators had discovered through trial and error.
"The synthesis eliminates individual quirks," he noted. "What remains is distilled experience—the core movements stripped of personality."
He stood, moving through a series of exercises. Each motion flowed from stolen memory, twelve lifetimes of practice informing his body. When he finally advanced enough to attempt Flame Palm, his muscles would already know the way.
"Subject Four," he called. "You claim mastery of the Phantom Stride. Demonstrate."
A thin woman performed the movement technique, her form blurring between positions. Competent but not exceptional. What interested Zǔ Zhòu wasn't her success but her limitations.
"You learned from the Midnight Scroll," he observed. "Third edition, with the translation error in verse seven. Your left foot lands two degrees off optimal because the diagram was misprinted."
She gaped. "How could you possibly—"
"I know every manual, every teaching method, every common mistake." He extracted her patterns while speaking. "Your muscle memory contains the entire lineage of your training. Three teachers, seventeen training partners, approximately six hundred practice sessions."
The extraction revealed more than technique—it showed learning methodology. How her first teacher emphasized speed over precision. How her second corrected that but introduced new errors. How solo practice had reinforced bad habits.
"Experience synthesis isn't just about combining patterns," he realized. "It's about understanding the entire educational ecosystem."
He turned to Subject Five, who was sweating nervously. "You. Show me your best technique."
The man performed Crushing Grasp, a brutal close-combat method. His execution was savage but effective—street-learned rather than formally taught.
"Self-taught," Zǔ Zhòu noted while extracting. "No teacher's habits to unlearn. Your muscle memory is pure trial and error. Hundreds of failed attempts creating intuitive understanding."
This pattern felt different. Raw, unrefined, but somehow more honest than the formally trained versions. It contained the wisdom of necessity—movements that worked because failure meant death.
"Theory revision," he announced. "Synthesize formal training with practical experience. Academic precision averaged with survival instinct."
He spent the next hour creating hybrid patterns. The Flame Palm synthesis now included both dojo-trained perfection and street-fighter pragmatism. Phantom Stride merged textbook form with improvised variations.
"Each synthesis creates something new," he explained to his servant. "Not just averaged experience but evolved techniques. The lock prevents me from creating new methods directly, but I can build them from stolen pieces."
By noon, he'd developed a complete framework:
Experience Synthesis Protocol:
Extract minimum 10 samples per techniqueIdentify common successful elementsIsolate unique innovations worth preservingMerge formal and practical learning pathsCreate hybrid pattern exceeding source materials
"The comprehension lock wanted me to learn through experience," he said, reviewing his notes. "It didn't specify whose experience."
Subject Three raised a trembling hand. "Young Master, you've taken what we spent decades learning. What happens to us now?"
"An excellent question." Zǔ Zhòu considered. "Your muscle memory is copied, not stolen. You can still perform techniques, just with degraded precision. Think of it as... donating to education."
"Then we can go?"
"Oh no. You're staying for longitudinal study. I need to observe how memory extraction affects long-term cultivation. Does the degradation worsen? Can you relearn? Fascinating questions."
He had the servant secure them in the manor's secondary dungeon—comfortable enough to maintain health but no chance of escape. Living test subjects were too valuable to waste.
Alone again, Zǔ Zhòu began integrating the new synthesized patterns. His body moved through forms that belonged to no single school—combinations that shouldn't exist. Shadow Step's footwork with Iron Body's stance. Flame Palm's energy circulation with Crushing Grasp's hand positioning.
"I'm becoming a living repository of martial experience," he mused. "Not mastering techniques but mastering the act of mastery itself."
The comprehension lock pulsed, as if aware of his exploitation. But he wasn't breaking its rules—just bending them through creative interpretation. He couldn't skip the learning process, so he was learning how to learn with impossible efficiency.
"Estimated timeline update," he calculated. "With synthesis protocols, reaching Core Formation in fifty years becomes possible—compared to the thousand years it should take. Each minor realm in months instead of decades."
Fifty years to rebuild to Core Formation. The lock had forced a longer journey than he'd hoped, but still drastically accelerated compared to normal cultivation.
"Tomorrow we expand operations," he decided. "The city has three martial schools, two guard barracks, and at least seven underground fighting rings. Hundreds of practitioners, each carrying unique experience."
His servant nodded. "Shall I begin recruitment?"
"Procurement, not recruitment. Focus on variety—different body types, bloodlines, training philosophies. The synthesis improves with diverse inputs."
As evening approached, Zǔ Zhòu felt satisfied with his progress. The comprehension lock remained absolute, but he'd transformed it from wall to ladder. Each stolen experience was a rung, lifting him incrementally toward his former power.
"The lock teaches patience," he reflected. "But I'm teaching it creativity in return."
He performed one final test, moving through a kata that combined seventeen different stolen patterns. His body flowed like water, each motion perfectly calibrated despite never having practiced this specific combination. The muscle memories merged seamlessly, creating something greater than their parts.
When he stopped, reality shivered slightly. Not from any technique—he still couldn't manifest supernatural effects. But from the sheer wrongness of someone moving with the combined experience of multiple lifetimes.
"Beautiful," he whispered. "I'm becoming a gestalt entity of martial knowledge."
The comprehension lock had wanted him to earn power through experience.
It hadn't specified the experience had to be his own.