Chapter 13

Knowing Han Li had injured his foot, Zhang Tie personally brought his meals into his room and prepared to eat with him.

Han Li watched as Zhang Tie clumsily moved chairs and fiddled with the table inside his room, bustling about for a long while until everything was finally ready for dinner; he couldn’t help but smile inwardly, though more than amusement, he felt a touch of warmth.

After sitting down at the table, they ate while chatting about sect gossip, occasionally exchanging insights on their cultivation practices.

Whenever the topic of the “Elephant Armor Technique” came up, Zhang Tie would grimace and roll his eyes.

Zhang Tie now dreaded the “Elephant Armor Technique” as if it were a tiger’s name—he had only trained the first level, yet he had already been tormented by Master Mo to the point of constant complaints. He had to soak in foul-smelling herbal brews at fixed times, and endure regular beatings from Master Mo’s wooden staff, all supposedly to temper his sinews and bones.

These brutal training methods once left him unable to sleep soundly each night; his entire body swollen and bruised, even the slightest touch against the wooden bed sent sharp pains that made him grit his teeth.

To him, it had truly been a nightmare.

As for Han Li’s unnamed oral scripture, Zhang Tie felt profound envy from the bottom of his heart.

He thought all Han Li had to do was sit in meditation like a monk, chanting sutras—words that left Han Li speechless.

Han Li could understand Zhang Tie’s fear of the later levels of the “Elephant Armor Technique.” Anyone who knew they would face torment several times worse than before would be restless, unable to sleep or eat.

That Zhang Tie had persisted this long without giving up filled Han Li with deep admiration.

If it were him, he would never train such self-torturing martial arts—even if it could make him a top-tier expert overnight.

As they talked, dinner was nearly finished; Zhang Tie hastily cleared the dishes, then rose to take his leave, urging Han Li to rest early and let his foot injury heal.

Han Li stood at the door, watching him depart, then rushed back inside, shut the doors and windows tightly, leaving only one ventilation skylight open. Only then did he take out the bottle from his bag and study it again.

Han Li was still just a boy of ten or so; after fiddling with it for a while and finding no clues, he grew bored. Combined with his injured foot and growing fatigue, he unconsciously leaned against the bed, bottle in hand, and drifted into a drowsy sleep.

After an unknown length of time, Han Li, deep in slumber, suddenly felt a chilling sensation spreading from one of his hands.

Startled, he shivered and forced open his heavy eyelids, blinking drowsily toward the hand causing the disturbance.

Suddenly, he sat bolt upright, mouth agape, saliva dripping from the corner of his lips unnoticed. His sleep vanished completely—he was utterly stunned by what he saw.

Thin strands of visible white light descended through the only open skylight, converging entirely onto the bottle in his hand, forming countless rice-grain-sized white specks that surrounded the entire vessel in a thin, glowing halo.

The white light was exceptionally soft, not dazzling at all, and the chilling sensation emanated from this faint glow.

Han Li swallowed a mouthful of suddenly icy saliva, snapped back to awareness, and flung the bottle away as if burned, scrambling backward to the opposite side of the room.

After cautiously observing for a while and finding no apparent danger, he crept closer again.

The bottle, enveloped in white light, appeared especially beautiful and alluring, tinged with an air of mystery.

Han Li hesitated, then gently poked the bottle with his fingertip; seeing no reaction, he carefully picked it up again, placed it back on the table, and crouched nearby, eagerly watching this unprecedented spectacle.

Han Li stared without blinking, focused intently on the bottle bathed in white light for over a minute, and finally noticed a hint of its secret.

The bottle, through its surface, was continuously drawing in the white specks drifting nearby—not absorbing them, but the specks were frantically squeezing themselves into the bottle, one after another, as if alive and competing.

Curious, Han Li lightly touched one of the specks with his fingertip.

Cold! That was all—no other peculiar sensation.

Han Li looked up.

Streams of white light continued falling from the skylight without any sign of stopping.

Han Li glanced at the sealed doors and windows, then up at the open skylight above.

An idea struck him—he gently pushed open the door and peered out cautiously.

Fortunately, it was deep night; apart from a few chirping autumn insects, everything outside was silent, not a soul in sight.

Han Li pulled his head back in, grabbed the small bottle, shoved it into his leather pouch, and sprinted out.

He ran until he reached a quiet, deserted open space, then finally stopped.

He scanned the surroundings with his eyes, confirmed no one else was present, then carefully took out the bottle again and gently placed it on the ground.

The specks of light that had surrounded the bottle had vanished the moment he stuffed it into the pouch.

But Han Li was not worried.

Indeed, after a short while, far more numerous streams of light converged from all directions; countless white specks appeared densely around the small bottle, forming a massive glowing sphere the size of a washbasin.

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