Chapter 53

Han Li’s heart tightened at the sound, but what followed struck him with such a shock that he realized how much he still did not know of the world.

As the Master Mo let out a loud shout, the seven strange blades embedded in his body began to tremble, emitting a low, humming roar from their demon heads—increasing in volume and sharpness, as if coming alive, straining to tear free from him.

Seeing the blades resisting his control, Master Mo grew furious, muttering under his breath; the words were too soft and too fast for Han Li to catch, but he guessed they were far from polite.

Master Mo stood up, paced around the room once, then stamped his foot in frustration before reluctantly extending one index finger and shoving it into the gaping mouth of one demon head.

Something incredible happened: the lifeless demon head closed its jaws on its own, clamping down hard with its thick fangs on the offered flesh, then gently sucking.

Master Mo’s body trembled slightly, as if enduring immense pain; the black mist obscured his face, so Han Li could not see his expression, but it must have been grim.

After about the time it took to drink a cup of tea, the demon head finally had its fill—it loosened its jaws with satisfaction, and the humming ceased.

Master Mo then repeated the process, feeding each demon head in turn, before reluctantly withdrawing his finger, clearly unwilling.

After finishing, Master Mo recited the same hand seals he had used earlier, murmuring incantations once more.

This time, the seven strange blades did not shake or emit strange sounds; instead, they simultaneously opened their eyes, revealing blood-red pupils, widened their mouths further, puffed out their cheeks, and began gulping greedily at the air.

The demonic mist on Master Mo’s face seemed to sense impending doom—it surged violently, its tentacles thrashing more furiously than ever, but to no avail.

Seven thin black threads were still pulled from the mist, tracing elegant arcs through the air before landing precisely into the seven waiting demon mouths, where the demon heads slowly devoured them.

Han Li was stunned. Since Master Mo sat directly across from him, every detail unfolded before his eyes—even the individual teeth on each demon face were rendered with startling clarity.

For the first time, Han Li touched another world, and this miraculous power utterly paralyzed him. The strange silver blades, the eerie demon heads, the sinister black mist hovering over Master Mo’s face—all defied reason and shattered his former understanding. In the past, Han Li had always half-doubted tales of spirits and ghosts; unless he saw it with his own eyes, he would never believe.

Now, these ghostly scenes, once confined to legends, unfolded before him in living reality—how could he not be terrified?

For a moment, Han Li’s mind was a whirlwind. Faced with this inhuman power, and as a prisoner, he had no idea how to respond.

Gradually, the demonic mist on Master Mo’s face thinned, grew fainter, nearly all consumed by the demon heads—leaving only a faint, translucent veil clinging to his skin.

At last, Master Mo’s face became faintly visible; but when Han Li saw the true features reemerging, his mouth dropped open in shock, unable to close for a long while.

Many things had shocked Han Li today, but none compared to this—nothing had stunned him so utterly, so beyond composure.

The face now revealed beneath the mist was that of a strong, vigorous man in his early thirties—yet from the unmistakable brows and eyes, it was unmistakably Master Mo himself, only restored by decades of lost youth.

His firm, chiseled features, his commanding gaze even without anger, the faint sneer on his lips—every detail made him an undeniably handsome man. Such mature masculinity held lethal allure for women—whether young maidens or bitter, secluded wives—none could resist him; a mere gesture would draw them willingly into his arms, lost and helpless.

Seeing this face, Han Li felt a sudden urge to punch it to pieces—clearly, this “handsome man” image provoked unbearable envy in other men.

As the last traces of black mist were sucked into the demon mouths, Han Li suddenly recalled: Master Mo had once told him he was originally only in his thirties, but an accident during healing had caused dark forces to drain his essence for years, leaving him aged and withered.

Thus, it seemed Master Mo had not lied. This was his true face—his original form. Yet the method by which he restored himself was beyond comprehension.

At that moment, Han Li noticed that Master Mo had not merely regained his youthful face—his entire body and hair had changed too. His thick, jet-black hair, his upright, powerful frame—all signaled he had returned to the prime of life, his strength and vitality at their peak.

“But if Master Mo can restore his original form, why go through such extreme measures with me?”

Han Li, shaken out of his awe, realized he was still in danger. His mind raced, analyzing everything, desperately searching for a way out of this situation.

Han Li saw that the younger Master Mo seemed dazed—he stood motionless, silent.

After a long while, he raised one hand, gazing at the smooth skin on its back as if it were a long-lost treasure. He closed his eyes, pressed the palm against his cheek, and gently rubbed it, as if savoring the return of youth.

Master Mo’s self-admiring expression made Han Li uneasy—he could not fathom the complex flood of emotions Master Mo must feel, having regained what was lost.

“Master Mo, you seem restored to normal now. Do you no longer need your disciple? Could you spare me? I vow to serve you faithfully from now on.”

Han Li could no longer hold back. He still did not know how his fate would be decided. Though he knew Master Mo would never release him so easily, he still feigned ignorance, probing cautiously—hoping to learn his end sooner, so he might prepare.

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