Dawn found Zǔ Zhòu in the Liu family's private training ground, ready to test his translated techniques.
"Mortal Thunder Touch," he murmured, approaching a reinforced practice dummy. "Theoretically possible, practically improbable."
He pressed his finger against the dummy's chest, channeling bioelectricity through precise pathways. No qi required—just the body's natural electrical field focused through impossible knowledge. The internal structure shattered with a satisfying crack.
"Success. Body Tempering achieving Foundation Establishment results." He examined his finger. "The comprehension lock allows it because—"
He paused. Something had changed.
Not in the training ground. Not in his technique. But in the quality of... observation?
He'd been alone, but now felt watched. Not through spiritual sense or any detection method from his vast experience. This was something else—like being read rather than seen.
"Interesting," he said aloud, then performed Mortal Thunder Touch again.
The watching sensation sharpened. Whatever observed him had found the impossible technique fascinating. Like a reader reaching an unexpectedly clever paragraph.
"Test two," he announced to the empty air. "Infant Void Step."
The movement technique shouldn't work at Body Tempering—spatial awareness required higher cultivation. But his translation used proprioception and predictive modeling instead of actual space manipulation. He stepped, and reality hiccupped as his body moved through positions that mortal flesh shouldn't understand.
The observation intensified dramatically.
"You appreciate innovation," Zǔ Zhòu noted, addressing the unseen audience. "Not just power but impossibility. How delightfully sophisticated."
He continued through his translated techniques. Blood Droplet Circulation drew moderate interest. The Ninety-Nine Mortal Heresies generated sustained attention. Each impossible-yet-functional method seemed to fascinate the watchers.
"You're not from this reality," he mused while performing Temporal Breathing—experiencing time 0.1% slower through meditative tricks. "Local observers would be confused by these techniques. You understand they shouldn't exist."
The observation flickered—surprise at being addressed?
"Oh yes, I feel you watching. Have since my third technique." He smiled. "Quite persistent. I admire dedication in voyeurism."
His anchor servant arrived with test subjects for technique refinement. "Young Master, the volunteers you requested."
"Perfect timing. Our audience appreciates innovation. Let's show them applied creativity."
He demonstrated Mortal Thunder Touch on a living subject, explaining each impossibility as he worked. "See, the bioelectricity shouldn't channel this efficiently. But by borrowing nerve pathway mappings from the Divine Lightning Gospel and scaling down by factor of ten thousand..."
The subject convulsed, internal organs failing in sequence. The observation practically vibrated with engagement.
"You're watching through narrative," he realized. "Reading reality like text. These techniques interest you because they're plot devices that shouldn't exist at this power level."
The watching sensation spiked at 'plot devices.'
"Warm. Very warm." He tested another translation—Ant Comprehending Heaven—allowing a mortal to grasp immortal concepts without madness. "We're entertainment. A story being consumed by entities beyond dimensional barriers."
He varied his demonstrations, testing observer preferences. Simple violence drew mild interest. Impossible techniques generated engagement. But combining both—using translated methods for creative torture—held their complete attention.
"Sophisticated tastes," he complimented while using Flesh Sage Scripture to keep a victim conscious through theoretically lethal damage. "You appreciate both innovation and application."
The session continued for hours. Each translated technique was tested, refined, and demonstrated. The observers' attention ebbed and flowed—strongest during moments of creative impossibility, weaker during routine practice.
"Pattern confirmed," he noted. "You prefer narrative significance. The story of impossible techniques interests you more than raw power."
As he concluded—seven techniques successfully tested, three subjects expended—he offered a theatrical bow. "Thank you for attending today's demonstration. I trust you found it educational."
The observation lingered, then gradually faded. Not gone—he could still sense its potential—but no longer actively focused.
"They can choose when to watch closely," he told his servant. "Drawn by significant events, particularly impossible innovations."
"What does it mean, Young Master?"
"It means," Zǔ Zhòu said slowly, "that my translated techniques caught the attention of beings who read reality itself. That we exist as entertainment for meta-textual entities."
The thought should have been disturbing. Instead, he found it hilarious.
"I created impossible techniques to circumvent the comprehension lock," he laughed. "Only to discover they're interesting enough to draw cosmic voyeurs. The joke deepens."
He spent the remaining morning refining techniques with awareness of his audience. Not just effective methods but narratively interesting ones. Each impossible translation became a performance for unseen critics.
"The comprehension lock forces slow advancement," he reflected. "But these watchers want entertainment during the journey. My impossible techniques provide that."
The meta-awareness settled into his consciousness like a new sense. He couldn't see the observers directly, but felt their attention responding to his innovations.
"Every translated technique will be a show," he decided. "Every impossible method a plot twist they won't expect. My rise back to godhood won't just break reality's rules—it will entertain those who read reality itself."
The observation flickered briefly—anticipation? He couldn't tell, but it was engaged.
After all, what was circumventing cosmic locks if not the ultimate performance?
"Come back anytime," he whispered to the watching void. "The impossible has only just begun."