Since Zhang Tie knew Han Li had injured his foot, he personally brought the food to his room, planning to eat with him.
Han Li watched him clumsily shuffle around the room, moving a chair here, rearranging the table there, bustling about for quite a while before finally getting everything set up for the meal. He couldn't help but find it somewhat amusing, though what he felt even more was a touch of warmth in his chest.
The two settled in at the table and began chatting about idle matters around the valley while stuffing food into their mouths, occasionally exchanging notes on their respective training progress.
The moment the Elephant Armor Technique came up, Zhang Tie's face fell and he practically rolled his eyes in misery.
Zhang Tie now regarded the Elephant Armor Technique with the kind of dread one might feel toward a tiger. Though he had only practiced the first layer, Doctor Mo had already tormented him to the point of constant complaining. Not only did he have to soak in foul-smelling medicinal brews at fixed times and places, he also had to endure Doctor Mo striking him with wooden rods — all to temper his muscles and bones.
These crude training methods had left him unable to sleep peacefully at night for an extended period. His entire body was swollen and red, and the slightest contact with his wooden bed made him grimace and clench his teeth in agony.
For him, it had truly been a nightmare.
As for the Nameless Secret Formula that Han Li practiced, Zhang Tie felt nothing but envy from the bottom of his heart.
He figured all Han Li had to do each day was sit cross-legged and recite mantras like a monk. When Han Li heard this, he could only face it with a speechless silence.
Han Li could understand Zhang Tie's dread of the later layers of the Elephant Armor Technique. Anyone who knew that even worse suffering awaited ahead would surely be unable to sit still or sleep well.
The fact that Zhang Tie had persevered this long without giving up earned Han Li's deep admiration.
If it were him, he would never practice such self-torturing martial arts — not even if it could make a first-rate master of him overnight.
As they talked, the evening meal drew to a close. Zhang Tie hurriedly tidied the dishes and rose to take his leave, telling Han Li to rest early and let his foot heal properly.
Han Li stood at the door, watching him go, then quickly returned to his room. He shut the doors and windows tight, leaving only a small skylight open for ventilation. Then he took the bottle out of his pouch and began studying it once more.
After all, Han Li was still just a boy of ten-odd years. After fiddling with it for a while and finding no clues, he grew bored. Between the injury to his foot and the general fatigue, his eyelids grew heavy, and before he knew it he had drifted off to sleep, still clutching the bottle against the side of the bed.
He didn't know how long he had been sleeping when, in the depths of a pleasant slumber, he suddenly felt a cool sensation seeping into the hand holding the bottle.
Han Li shivered violently and forced open his leaden eyelids, drowsily glancing toward the hand that was causing the disturbance.
In an instant, he shot upright, mouth hanging wide open so far that a trickle of drool slid from the corner without him even noticing. Every trace of sleepiness vanished. He was completely transfixed by the sight before him.
Threads of white light, visible to the naked eye, streamed down through the only open skylight in the room, all converging on the bottle clutched in his palm. They formed tiny, rice-grain-sized motes of white luminescence, wrapping the entire bottle in a thin, shimmering shroud of pale light.
The white glow was gentle and soft, not harsh to the eyes at all, and it was from this faint radiance that the cool sensation had come.