Chapter 9

Han Li recalled this and a faint, knowing smile appeared on his face. WM website

Over the past half year, Han Li and Zhang Tie, due to compatible temperaments and similar backgrounds, naturally became inseparable close friends.

Han Li slowly uncurled his crossed legs, rubbed his calves, and found them numb and stiff from prolonged sitting and cultivation.

After rubbing several more times and feeling full sensation return to his legs, he rose from the mat, habitually brushed off the dust clinging to his body, and stepped out through the stone chamber door.

He glanced back at the stone chamber where he cultivated, and gave himself a wry smile.

This chamber was entirely carved out of solid granite cliffside, and its door was forged from a single massive slab of blue stone; any ordinary person attempting to force entry would need a mountain-splitting axe and hours of hacking to succeed.

Such cultivation chambers were reserved exclusively for the Sect Master, Elders, and Hall Masters of the Seven Mysteries Sect; even core disciples of the Seven Perfections Hall could not possess one casually. These stone chambers were built specifically for those cultivating profound internal arts, to shield them from external disturbances and prevent qi deviation. No one knew how Master Mo had managed it, but he had convinced several Elders to carve such a chamber into the mountain wall within Spirit Hand Valley—a chamber no ordinary disciple could ever hope to use.

The moment the chamber was completed, Master Mo designated it exclusively for Han Li’s personal use; this decision left Han Li himself stunned and honored.

Master Mo had treated him far too kindly. Since the day Han Li formally became his disciple, Master Mo had given him different medicinal substances daily, and prepared herbal decoctions from unknown herbs for him to bathe in. Though Han Li did not recognize the names or functions of these medicines, he noticed that whenever Master Mo used them, his usually expressionless face would betray a look of deep reluctance—Han Li thus understood, at least in part, how precious these medicines were.

Clearly, these external aids had proven effective: Han Li’s cultivation speed increased markedly, and not long ago, he finally broke through to achieve the first level of this unnamed scripture.

Yet during the breakthrough, several meridians nearly ruptured, leaving him with a moderate internal injury. Fortunately, Master Mo’s medical skill was exceptional; the damaged meridians were not severe, and with his generous use of fine medicines, no lasting aftereffects remained.

After Han Li was injured, Master Mo grew more anxious than Han Li himself, pacing restlessly throughout the entire treatment. Only when he saw Han Li’s condition finally improve did he exhale a long, relieved breath.

Master Mo’s behavior far exceeded the usual bond between master and disciple, leaving Han Li with an inexplicable unease. Had Han Li’s family not been so isolated—had anyone besides his third uncle ever left their impoverished mountain valley—Han Li might have suspected Master Mo was some distant relative from his own clan.

After stepping out of the stone chamber, Han Li stretched his arms, then slowly walked toward his quarters. Since becoming a formal disciple, Han Li and Zhang Tie had moved out of their old room and each now had their own private small chamber.

As he passed Zhang Tie’s chamber, Han Li glanced inside casually.

Sure enough, Zhang Tie was not inside—likely training beneath the waterfall at Red Water Peak again.

After becoming Master Mo’s formal disciple, Master Mo still instructed Han Li to practice only this unnamed scripture, showing no intention of teaching him any other martial art. Perhaps to console him, Master Mo imparted his medical knowledge without reservation, teaching him step by step. Whenever Han Li asked questions about medicine, Master Mo answered fully and satisfactorily, and even allowed him to freely browse all medical texts in his chamber.

As for Zhang Tie, Master Mo honored his earlier promise and taught him another practical martial art.

Zhang Tie’s art was peculiar: according to Master Mo, it was a rare martial technique called “Elephant Armor Art,” which, he claimed, few in the martial world had ever seen, many had never even heard of, and fewer still had ever cultivated.

Unlike ordinary martial arts, which grow progressively harder as one advances, this art was divided into nine levels. The first three levels were easy to master, no more difficult than standard techniques. But from the fourth level onward, it suddenly became arduous, demanding immense, unimaginable pain and torment. Many cultivators, unable to endure this inhuman suffering, halted their progress there, their cultivation permanently stalled. The fifth and sixth levels brought pain multiplied many times over.

Yet once one broke through the sixth level to reach the seventh, the path ahead became smooth and unobstructed—though each month, for a few days, one must still endure the agony of life and death.

These factors deterred all but the most determined, which is why this art had nearly vanished from the world.

Yet the power of this art, once mastered at high levels, was truly astonishing. It was said that one who reached the ninth level was as if clad in divine armor—impervious to blades and spears, immune to fire and water; not even palm strikes, fist blows, or enchanted swords could seriously wound him.

Even more coveted was the fact that ordinary practitioners gradually gained the strength of an elephant; at high levels, they became immensely powerful, capable of capturing wolves alive and tearing apart tigers and leopards with bare hands.

Those who knew of this art were both terrified and drawn to it. Aside from its creator, no one had ever reached the ninth level. Legend claimed the creator was born without the sense of pain, which allowed him to devise such an extreme art and push it to its ultimate limit.

Master Mo had fully explained the advantages and drawbacks of this art to Zhang Tie, but Zhang Tie, having no firsthand experience of its harms, paid them no mind. All he saw was the art’s formidable power, and without hesitation, he agreed to cultivate it. The art seemed perfectly suited to him: within just two months, Zhang Tie had reached the peak of the first level.

Recently, at Master Mo’s suggestion, Zhang Tie had been training every afternoon beneath the waterfall on Red Water Peak, enduring the crushing force of water plummeting from dozens of meters above.

According to Zhang Tie himself, this method was remarkably effective—he was now only a thin layer away from breaking through to the second level, and with a little more effort, the bottleneck would shatter.

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