Four Years Later

Doctor Mo was satisfied that Han Li could devote all his time to cultivation. But he still found the progress of the nameless oral formula too slow.

In recent years, Doctor Mo's illness seemed to have grown worse. His daily coughing fits became more frequent, and each bout lasted longer.

As his physical condition deteriorated, Doctor Mo seemed to grow even more concerned with Han Li's cultivation progress. The urgency in his voice was unmistakable in his repeated exhortations.

Doctor Mo clearly valued Han Li highly. Not only did he pay him more silver than the average disciple, as agreed, but his gaze when looking at Han Li was peculiar—as if he were beholding a rare treasure, cherishing it immensely.

But Han Li, having reached the third layer of the formula, had become extremely perceptive. In unguarded moments he caught, hidden behind those caring looks, a flicker of something else—a greedy, covetous expression that unsettled him.

That expression sent a chill down Han Li's spine. When Doctor Mo looked at him that way, it did not seem like he was looking at a living person, but at an object.

This puzzled Han Li. What could he possibly possess that Doctor Mo wanted?

Of course, nothing, he assured himself.

He even wondered if he was being oversensitive from too much training. To harbor suspicion toward Doctor Mo seemed almost ungrateful.

Yet deep down, in the most hidden recesses of his mind, he could not shake a lingering wariness toward Doctor Mo. As time passed, that wariness only grew stronger.

Now, a serious problem confronted Han Li: he had hit a cultivation bottleneck. To make matters worse, after years of intensive training and medicine consumption, the precious herbs Doctor Mo had stockpiled were completely exhausted.

Clearly, Han Li was no prodigy. Without medicinal aid, his progress ground to a halt.

This made him feel ashamed whenever he faced Doctor Mo.

Doctor Mo had poured nearly all his efforts and resources into Han Li, creating the best possible conditions for cultivation. And Han Li could not meet his expectations.

He found it hard to face Doctor Mo, to meet his eager, inquiring gaze.

Oddly enough, despite Doctor Mo's considerable martial arts skill, he could not directly perceive the details of Han Li's cultivation. He could only glean a rough sense from taking Han Li's pulse. So for some time, he remained unaware of Han Li's predicament.

Not long ago, tormented by guilt, Han Li finally confessed his situation to Doctor Mo.

When Doctor Mo learned that Han Li had made no progress in the formula for an entire year, his sallow face turned even paler, and his already expressionless features grew still more grim.

Yet Doctor Mo did not blame him. He simply said he would go down the mountain for a while to find some herbs, and told Han Li to keep training hard in the formula.

Two days later, Doctor Mo left the Seven Mysteries Sect alone, carrying a travel bag and herb-gathering tools.

After his departure, Han Li was the only one left in Divine Hand Valley.

The other senior disciple and friend, Zhang Tie, had vanished two years earlier, right after mastering the third layer of the Elephant Hide Art. He left behind only a letter saying he was going to travel the Jianghu, which had caused quite a stir in the sect. It was said that Doctor Mo interceded on his behalf to prevent his recommender and family from being implicated. The news had hit Han Li hard; he grieved for several days. Later, thinking it over, he vaguely felt something was off, but he was too young and insignificant to be asked, and the matter faded away. Han Li eventually guessed that Zhang Tie must have fled in secret, afraid of starting the fourth layer of the Elephant Hide Art.

After training in the valley for a few days with no results, Han Li—still a youth at heart—decided to leave Divine Hand Valley and wander the Cai Xia Mountains.

Walking along these familiar yet somewhat strange mountain paths, Han Li felt a pang of melancholy.

For years, he had been cooped up in the small valley like a prisoner, never once stepping out.

Most of his fellow disciples had likely forgotten him by now.

Along the way, he encountered some patrol disciples who, seeing his sect uniform but unfamiliar face, warily stopped him for questioning. He spent considerable effort explaining himself before being allowed to pass.

To avoid further nuisance, Han Li stuck to narrow footpaths and secluded areas, steering clear of crowds.

As expected, he encountered no more annoying interrogations and wandered farther and farther afield.

The scenery was completely different from that inside the valley. Listening to the cheerful chirping of birds, Han Li momentarily forgot all his worries.

Suddenly, the sound of weapons clashing and shouts of encouragement drifted faintly from a hidden cliff.

Such a remote place! So many people gathered! And such intense noise!

Curiosity piqued, Han Li no longer worried about being questioned. He followed the sounds to the vicinity of the cliff.

What a grand scene! He was momentarily stunned.

Beneath cliff completely screened by trees, more than a hundred people had gathered, cramming the modest space full. A few had even climbed nearby trees for a better view.

In the center of the crowd, two groups faced off against each other with clear hostility.

The larger group had eleven or twelve people, the smaller six or seven.

Han Li noticed that everyone—whether watching or standing in the ring—was about his age, all in their teens.

A slight smile crept across Han Li's face. What a coincidence!

Among the crowd, he easily recognized several familiar old faces.

"Wan Jinbao, Zhang Daru, Ma Yun, Sun Lisong... Hey! Wang Dapang is even fatter than before. No wonder his family runs a kitchen—good food, easy living! And that's... Liu Tietou! Tsk! The dark charcoal head has actually turned into a pale-faced pretty boy!"

Han Li climbed a tree and began a roll call of the familiar faces below.