Chapter 68

As for the other spell, “Heavenly Eye Technique,” after witnessing the extraordinary nature of “Fireball Spell,” Han Li had high expectations for it.

But after actually casting it, Han Li realized this spell was merely a simple trick of channeling spiritual power into the eyes—no difficulty at all—and he mastered it easily.

Yet its effect matched its simplicity: it was purely an auxiliary spell used to detect whether a person possessed spiritual power, and to gauge its depth.

Han Li had initially been quite enthusiastic, repeatedly casting “Heavenly Eye Technique” on his own eyes, then observing his body’s condition afterward—he saw a faint white light enveloping him, thicker near his dantian.

This must be spiritual power, Han Li thought; he reached out and “touched” the white light, but felt nothing—spiritual power, like true qi, was formless and intangible, visible only under “Heavenly Eye Technique.”

Yet after several consecutive uses, Han Li completely lost interest in it.

Because in the entire Seven Mysteries Sect, he was the only one even remotely a cultivator—who would he use “Heavenly Eye Technique” to observe? He couldn’t spend all day staring at himself!

Thus, besides continuing to intensify his practice of “Fireball Spell” in hopes of mastering it for combat, Han Li shifted his interest to several other unlearned spells, beginning to repeat and practice them bit by bit, hoping for further breakthroughs.

Thinking of the difficulty involved in mastering the other spells, Han Li sighed again, even though his strength had slightly recovered—he found he had sighed more since beginning spell practice than in all his previous life combined.

“Dong—dong—”

A deep bell toll echoed from beyond the valley.

Han Li frowned; lately, for some reason, the number of people seeking treatment had suddenly increased, mostly suffering from broken limbs or sword and knife wounds.

He didn’t dare delay—saving a life was like putting out a fire—he grabbed his pre-packed medical herbs and rushed out the door, heading straight for the valley entrance.

At the forest exit outside the valley, Han Li saw a senior disciple dressed in brocade, pacing anxiously beneath the great bell like an ant on a hot pan.

The moment he spotted Han Li, he beamed and hurried over.

“Master Han, you’ve come! My master has been poisoned—he’s on the verge of death. Please hurry and see if you can cure this poison.”

As the man drew closer, Han Li recognized him—he’d seen him several times before: Ma Rong, the favored disciple of the sect’s Fifth Elder, Li Huayuan, who had accompanied his master to Divine Hand Valley on a few occasions, making him somewhat familiar.

“Poisoned?” Han Li asked, walking briskly beside him while inwardly cursing his bad luck—he still hadn’t cured his own poison.

“Yes. My master encountered a top expert from the Wild Wolf Gang while on a mission down the mountain. He was struck by a hidden dart. At first, he didn’t pay it any mind—even killed the attacker. But as soon as he returned to the mountain, he collapsed, poisoned and unconscious.”

“Did you consult other physicians?”

“Of course. If it were ordinary poisoning, I wouldn’t trouble Master Han, the Divine Physician. Those quacks only knew my master was poisoned by an uncommon toxin—they couldn’t identify it, and dared not even prescribe a remedy.” Ma Rong’s face twisted with disdain—he clearly held the other physicians in contempt.

Han Li’s expression remained unchanged; he merely grunted and walked on in silence, though inwardly he was uneasy.

To be honest, he was not skilled in detoxification. For internal or external injuries, he had some confidence thanks to his few potent herbs. But if asked to cure a rare, deadly poison, he had no idea what to do.

He did possess a legendary antidote, “Clear Spirit Powder,” capable of neutralizing countless poisons—but the world teemed with toxic substances. Would “Clear Spirit Powder” even work against this one? Besides, the other physicians on the mountain weren’t useless—they had their own specialized methods for healing and detoxification, or they’d have been driven off long ago by the sect’s senior figures. They cherished their lives too much to tolerate mediocrities.

Yet now, even they dared not prescribe a remedy—this poison must be truly formidable, not ordinary. He could only respond as events unfolded. Even if he failed to save him, his reputation wouldn’t suffer—no divine physician could cure every illness. It wouldn’t greatly affect his standing in the sect.

As Han Li carefully weighed his options, Ma Rong nearly half-carried him, sprinting while tugging his sleeve toward Li Huayuan’s residence.

Seeing his frantic haste, Han Li realized their master-disciple bond was indeed deep.

Han Li felt a pang of sadness—he thought of his own relationship with Mo Daifu: nominally master and disciple, in truth, bitter enemies. If only they had shared the same harmony as Ma Rong and his master.

Deep down, he still held some respect for Mo Daifu—after all, his formidable medical skills and the Evergreen Art had both been passed down by him.

But fate was cruel; heaven had destined the two of them to be mortal foes. They clashed, and Mo Daifu had died by Han Li’s own hand.

As Han Li was lost in this emotional reverie, Ma Rong had already led him to Li Huayuan’s residence.

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