Chapter 15

Master Mo was very satisfied that Han Li could devote all his time to cultivation.

But he still thought Han Li’s progress with the Nameless Incantation was too slow.

In recent years, Master Mo’s illness seemed to have worsened; his coughing grew more frequent and lasted longer each time.

As his health deteriorated, Master Mo became even more concerned about Han Li’s cultivation progress, his repeated urging revealing his inner anxiety.

Master Mo clearly valued Han Li greatly—he paid him far more silver than other disciples, and his gaze toward Han Li was peculiar, as if viewing a rare treasure, filled with tender care.

But Han Li, whose senses had grown extremely sharp after reaching the third level of the incantation, inadvertently noticed that behind these affectionate glances, there occasionally flickered a trace of greed and longing that unsettled him.

These expressions made Han Li feel a chill down his spine; he always felt that Master Mo, when looking at him, did not see a living person, but an object.

This puzzled him—what could Master Mo possibly want from him?

Of course not, he gave himself a firm answer.

Sometimes Han Li even thought he had become overly sensitive from cultivation, secretly blaming himself for being ungrateful toward Master Mo.

Yet he did not know why, deep within his heart, a thread of caution toward Master Mo remained, and as time passed, this wariness grew stronger.

Now a major problem confronted Han Li—he had hit a cultivation bottleneck, and worse, after years of intensive practice and consuming medicines, Master Mo’s precious medicinal supplies were completely exhausted.

Clearly, Han Li was no prodigy; without medicinal aid, his progress had come to a complete standstill.

This made Han Li feel ashamed whenever he faced Master Mo.

Master Mo had devoted nearly all his effort and resources to him, creating the best possible conditions for his cultivation, yet Han Li could not meet his expectations.

This made Han Li find it difficult to face Master Mo, especially when met with his ever-earnest inquiries.

Strangely, for some reason, Master Mo—despite his high martial skill—could not perceive the details of Han Li’s cultivation; he could only gauge his progress vaguely through pulse diagnosis, so he had remained unaware of Han Li’s predicament.

Recently, troubled and uneasy, Han Li finally confessed his cultivation situation to Master Mo.

Upon hearing that Han Li had made no advancement in the incantation for a full year, Master Mo’s sallow face turned pale, and his expressionless face grew even more grim.

Master Mo did not scold him; he merely told Han Li he would descend the mountain for a time to gather medicinal herbs, and urged him to train diligently and not slacken his incantation practice.

Two days later, Master Mo departed alone from the Seven Mysteries Sect, carrying luggage and herb-gathering tools.

After his departure, only Han Li remained in Divine Hand Valley.

His senior brother and close friend Zhang Tie had vanished two years earlier upon reaching the third level of the Elephant Armor Art, leaving only a farewell letter stating he would venture into the martial world—a revelation that caused a major uproar throughout the Seven Mysteries Sect. Later, it was said Master Mo had intervened to plead for him, sparing his recommender and family relatives from punishment. Han Li found it sudden and mourned for days; later, he vaguely sensed something odd, but being young and powerless, no one questioned him, and the matter faded away. Han Li later speculated that Zhang Tie had secretly fled out of fear of cultivating the fourth level of the Elephant Armor Art.

After several days of cultivation in the valley with no results, and given his youthful nature, Han Li left Divine Hand Valley and wandered through Cai Xia Mountain.

Walking along these familiar yet slightly alien paths, Han Li felt a faint sense of nostalgia.

Over these years, to cultivate, Han Li had been like a prisoner, never once stepping out of the small valley.

He guessed the other disciples outside had long forgotten him as a fellow junior.

On the path, he encountered some patrolling disciples who, seeing his sect attire but unfamiliar face, grew wary and questioned him; he spent considerable effort explaining himself before he could leave.

To avoid unnecessary trouble, Han Li chose only narrow goat trails leading to secluded areas, avoiding crowded places.

Indeed, along the way, the annoying inspections ceased, allowing him to walk freely farther and farther.

Gazing at these landscapes utterly unlike those in the valley, listening to the chirping of countless birds, all his troubles vanished from his mind.

Suddenly, faint sounds of clashing weapons, shouts, and cheers drifted from a hidden cliff below.

Such a remote place! So many people gathered here! And such intense noise!

Han Li’s curiosity flared; no longer afraid of being questioned, he followed the combat sounds to the vicinity of the cliff.

What a scene! He could not help but freeze, startled.

Beneath the cliff, completely obscured by trees, over a hundred people had gathered, cramming the small space so tightly that several individuals even perched on branches of larger trees, watching from above.

Within the crowd, two groups faced each other with clear hostility.

The left side had eleven or twelve people; the right side, fewer, but still six or seven.

Han Li noticed that all these people—whether spectators or participants—were roughly his own age, all appearing to be teenagers.

A faint smile touched Han Li’s face—how coincidental!

Among the crowd, he easily recognized several familiar faces.

“Wan Jinbao, Zhang Dalu, Ma Yun, Sun Lisheng… Hey! Wang Dapang is even fatter than before—no wonder his family runs a kitchen, he’s well-fed and well-raised! And that one—Liu Tietou! Wow! That once-black charcoal face has turned into a fair-skinned lad!” Han Li climbed a tree and loudly named off the familiar faces below.

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