Chapter 33: Refining the Body with Poison

The house was dead silent, only Li Ping'an's wheezing breaths breaking the stillness, his heart pounding like a drum. The puddle of cold water on the floor slowly melted, mixing with the furnace ash on his face, clinging greasy and sticky to his skin, both icy and slick.

He leaned against the wall, slowly arching his back, his whole skeleton feeling as if it had come apart. The potency of the herb he forced down surged, a wicked fire rose from his navel upward, scorching his throat until it smoked, and stars burst before his eyes. He was truly cursed beyond belief!

Outside, in the courtyard, one could still faintly hear Yan Bu Gui whining about poverty, and He Daqing muttering curses while rummaging through things. This midnight house inspection turned the whole courtyard upside down.

Li Ping'an curled his lip, trying to laugh, but it only made his throat drier. He shuffled to the edge of the kang, too disheveled to care, and just collapsed there. No good—this fake act had gone too far; if he kept forcing himself, before the Japanese Soldiers came back he'd die on his own.

With a shift of mind, he vanished in a flash from the cold kang edge and entered a little world that belonged solely to him.

Inside, the space was warm and tranquil; piles of wealth—money, food, drink—glowed faintly, a stark contrast to the icy world outside, wickedly impressive. He had no interest in those glittering riches, stumbling to the water jar, scooping Spirit Spring Water and gulping several large mouthfuls.

The clear, sweet spring water settled his stomach, and the burning and dizziness eased a bit. He dared not linger, so he deftly pulled a few appropriate herbs from the medicine pile, without boiling them, chewing them up and swallowing with the Spirit Spring Water. The medicinal potency dissolved, gently nurturing his injured meridians and smoothing the chaos caused by the forced fire.

After finishing those tasks, he stripped off the ice‑wet, ash‑stained rags, tossed them aside, and grabbed a clean old coat from the supplies pile to put on. His body was still weak, but the deadly backlash finally subsided.

He slumped beside a stack of medical books, back against a cool chest, breathing evenly.

That just now was a knife‑edge licking blood! A hair's breadth away from being finished. That Dao Tiao Lian… and Kong Ben Musashi… their noses are too keen; once suspicion sparks, they're like wild dogs that smell meat, never letting a word slip.

Getting beaten was a one‑way ticket to death. Pretending to be ill was a clever trick the first time, but using it again was courting death. If they come back next time, they'll never buy any pulse‑diagnosed ailment again.

He must act swiftly! No, he must become tougher than he was before the injury!

His gaze swept over the towering stacks of medical books and Poison Scriptures, and the cold‑glinting gadgets in the corner. Relying only on Tai Chi's feigned softness and Eight Extremes Fist's brute force wasn't enough. A master of Kong Ben Musashi's caliber had an incredibly precise sense of Qi.

He had to take the unconventional route.

His eyes fixed on the "Poison Scripture Outline." He had previously read it to learn antidotes and shady tricks, but now… a reckless thought sprang to mind: could he use poison to refine his own bones?

The idea itself gave him a jolt. The Poison Scripture indeed recorded some extremely dangerous methods—using specific lethal toxins to stimulate potential, hammering muscles and bones, even altering the nature of one's breath. The process was excruciating, a near‑death ordeal. Yet if successful, not only would recovery be rapid, strength could surge dramatically, and crucially, a person's Qi could be fundamentally changed, as if the core were swapped, leaving even the strongest bewildered.

The risk was enormous. He might die from the poison before mastering it, or end up neither human nor ghost.

But… was there a better path right now?

The world outside was cannibalistic, neighbors in the courtyard each harbored hidden motives, spies were like shadows that couldn't be shaken, and the sect master stared deathly. One misstep and it was a drop of ten thousand meters.

Do it!

A fierce resolve surged from his heart. Rather than wither away timidly or be dragged out to be beaten to death, he'd rather gamble! Win, and the sky's the limit; lose… at worst he'd meet his parents sooner.

He stopped pondering, inhaled deeply, and flipped through the "Poison Scripture Outline" at speed. Soon, he zeroed in on an ancient formula called "Bone‑Eroding Vein‑Tempering Powder." The needed ingredients were essentially all present in the storage: the main components were venom from several Poison Snakes mixed with a few domineering mineral ores and herbs, which, through a special method, could be absorbed into the body to erode bones and temper veins, then rebuild them.

Just reading the description made his scalp tingle.

Li Ping'an licked his dry lips, his eyes growing brighter. Following the recipe, he carefully gathered various toxic ingredients. Handling Poison Snake venom made him gag from the foul, pungent stench. When mixing the powders, his hands were unnervingly steady, his gaze focused as if polishing a treasure.

Soon, a small bowl of pitch‑black, ink‑shiny paste emitting a strange sweet‑fishy odor was ready.

He stared at the bowl as if gazing at a ticket to the underworld or heaven. Without hesitation, he sat cross‑legged, followed the bizarre breathing technique recorded in the Poison Scripture, steadied his inner breath, then dipped his fingertips into the viscous, scorching paste and slowly applied it to several major acupoints on his body.

The moment the paste touched his skin, an indescribable searing pain exploded outward, like a red‑hot branding iron pressed directly onto his bones!

"Ugh—!" Li Ping'an forced a helpless howl from his throat, his whole body trembling like a sieve, veins on his forehead pulsing, cold sweat pouring down.

Pain! It pierced his heart, stabbed his bones, tore his soul apart!

That lethal medicinal force, like countless red‑hot needle tips, raved into his acupoints, burning along the meridians; wherever it passed, the meridians seemed sliced inch by inch, yet also as if thrown into a furnace to be reforged!

He clamped his back molars until his gums bled, his body convulsed uncontrollably, yet he stubbornly maintained the odd breathing rhythm, guiding the raging toxin through his body.

It was literally a thousand cuts! Far harsher than what Kong Ben Musashi ever endured!

His consciousness began to blur amid the extreme agony, darkness flashing before his eyes, terrifying hallucinations surfacing. He seemed to see his whole body rotting away, turning into a skeletal frame…

He must not lose consciousness! If he does, he'll be truly chilled to death!

He employed the Tai Chi core method's "Guard Stillness" and "Concentrate Intent" principles, clinging to the last clarity of his spirit platform, turning himself into a stone lump amid raging winds and waves, letting the pain wash over him while he remained unmoving.

After an unknown span, the deadly throbbing gradually subsided, replaced by a strange tingling and a sense of newfound power. The meridians torn by the toxin seemed, under the influence of Spirit Spring Water and the earlier healing medicines, to slowly repair and remodel, becoming tougher and broader than before.

Broken, then reborn!

He has become!

Li Ping'an slowly opened his eyes, exhaling a long breath of foul, murky air. His whole body felt as if hauled from water, drenched, yet the weak sickness was swept away, replaced by a restrained, heavy vigor, as if a hidden current surged beneath his skin.

He tried swinging his arm; the movement was light yet powerful, his bodily control seeming to reach a new level. More astonishing, he felt his aura had become more elusive, tinged with an extremely faint, inscrutable chill, entirely different from his earlier masculine restraint.

He walked to the water jar, staring at his reflected face. His complexion was still a bit pale, but his eyes shone terrifyingly, deep as a cold pool, exuding a disquieting calm and… danger.

"Dao Tiao Lian… Kong Ben Musashi…" he murmured the two names, a cold curve forming at his mouth, "The game only now truly begins."

He changed into a completely ordinary old set of clothes, his mind shifting, he left the space and reappeared in a wrecked house.

The horizon had already turned a pale fish‑belly white. From the courtyard came the morning sounds of a tipped urine jar and Yan Bu Gui's pained muttering as he tried to fix the broken door panel.

A new day began.

But for Li Ping'an, everything was different now.

He opened the door, faced the crisp morning breeze, and inhaled deeply. The air was icy, tinged with a hint of iron rust.

Time to go for a stroll.