Chapter 41: The Night of the Farewell Note

Han Li didn’t have time to wait so long; in no more than four or five months, Master Mo would confront him outright, and he must possess some means of self-defense before then.

So he ultimately decided to practice only a few simple, easily mastered techniques that he could use immediately, and set the rest aside for now—once he truly escaped this peril, he could return to them later.

This greatly shortened his cultivation time, allowing him to master several quick-learning techniques as soon as possible.

In truth, Han Li knew full well that even if he mastered every single one of these techniques, he still wouldn’t be a match for his opponent.

If Master Mo hadn’t lied the last time, given his former status as a regional overlord, he must possess countless deadly and ruthless methods that he hadn’t revealed during their previous clash; the skills he showed were likely only a fraction of his true power.

Even so, whenever Han Li thought of that ghostlike agility, a chill ran through him—he feared Master Mo deeply.

He knew clearly that in such a short time, what he could learn was limited, and the threat he posed to Master Mo was negligible, almost insignificant—but he would never do the foolish thing of surrendering helplessly and letting others control him.

Han Li knew that if he clashed with the man again, his only chance of victory lay in the opponent’s contempt; only by catching him off guard, when he let his guard down, could Han Li possibly seize a sliver of survival.

In the days that followed, Han Li memorized every page of the Blinking Sword Manual, selected several techniques useful to his current state, and began studying them, seeking a swift path to mastery.

After days of intense thought, he compiled a complete cultivation method from the book; within such a short time, completing such a complex task filled him with quiet pride in his own efficiency.

In the following half-month, Han Li settled all minor matters, ensuring he was fully prepared with no loose ends.

First, he returned the original manual to Li Feiyu exactly as he had received it, and casually told him about encountering a Wolf Gang spy—naturally, he also revealed that he had uncovered the kitchen steward’s true identity.

Li Feiyu, upon hearing this, was both shocked and delighted; he grabbed Han Li’s shoulder and kept exclaiming, “Good brother!”—he was deeply moved that Han Li had so generously gifted him such a major achievement.

Yet he didn’t know that Han Li was now busy fighting for his life, with no interest whatsoever in hunting spies; if he could avoid exerting himself while still doing a favor, why not take it?

After finishing with Li Feiyu, Han Li personally visited several skilled blacksmiths within the sect.

There, he commissioned several short swords with different designs, requesting subtle modifications be secretly made to them; he also ordered some unnamed components of unclear purpose and several small, delicate iron bells to be forged as quickly as possible—spending a considerable sum of silver, which left him with a pang of regret.

A few days later, Han Li received his custom-made items; seeing the gleaming short swords and finely crafted iron bells, he was thoroughly satisfied, praising the blacksmiths’ craftsmanship repeatedly, convinced his silver hadn’t been wasted.

That night, Han Li vanished without a trace from his quarters, leaving only a note on his pillow.

“Master Mo, don’t rush or fret—I’m not fleeing or hiding; I merely feel the pressure of sharing the same valley stifles my cultivation of the Evergreen Art. Thus, I’ve decided to find a quiet spot on the mountain for solitary seclusion. Rest assured, on the same day four months from now, I will return to meet you.”

Han Li bows

Leaning back in his high-backed chair, Master Mo held the note in his left hand, studying it closely, his face dark with clouds. On the table beside him lay another slip of paper—the list of items Han Li had ordered from the blacksmiths.

Inside the room, apart from the soft “puff-puff” of Master Mo’s right finger tapping the table, no other sound stirred.

Suddenly, he snorted coldly, and the paper in his hand crumbled into dust, scattering across the floor.

He rose irritably, paced a few steps around the room, frowning in thought; after several circuits, he stopped and muttered aloud:

“Brat, I don’t know what scheme you’re hatching, but no matter what tricks you play, you won’t escape my palm—I’m keeping you, no matter what.”

With that, Master Mo spun around, strode to the window, and let out a low, prolonged whistle.

Immediately, a small, unnamed bird with yellow feathers flew in through the window, circled the room once, then landed on his shoulder.

As soon as it steadied itself, the bird affectionately rubbed its beak against his face, chirping a clear “gululu.”

“Alright, I know you’re hungry. Here—your favorite ‘Yellow Chestnut Pills.’”

Seeing the bird, Master Mo’s grim expression softened slightly; he revealed a look of indulgence, pulled a yellow bird pellet from his sleeve, and slipped it into the bird’s beak.

“Go—just as before, follow that man closely. The moment he leaves this mountain range, fly back and tell me.”

The bird, upon eating the food, excitedly fluttered around the room; after hearing his words, it circled once and shot out the window, vanishing into the sky.

“Hmph! With the ‘Cloud-Winged Bird’—faster than a bowshot—watching him, what tricks can you possibly play?”

“Four months? I’ll wait for that day to come—it looks like my plan is about to succeed! Whoever dares stand in my way, block my plan—I’ll kill them. Gods who block me, I slay them. Buddhas who block me, I slay them.”

“Ha! Ha!” Master Mo burst into wild, unrestrained laughter, his eyes filled with madness.