Han Li slowly drew the flow of energy within his meridians back into his dantian. This was the seventh Grand Heavenly Cycle Circulation he had run today, and he knew his body had already reached its absolute limit. If he attempted another circulation, his meridians would almost certainly rupture once again, and he would once more taste that agony worse than death. Just thinking of that pain—his meridians tearing apart strand by strand—sent a thin line of cold sweat trickling down the back of a boy who had always been considered rather brave.
More than half a year had passed since Han Li had entered the sect. The formal qualification examination for In-Name Disciples had concluded over two months ago.
Only a small fraction of the In-Name Disciples were permitted to formally join the Inner Sect. The vast majority who underwent the examination failed. Those who did not pass had no choice but to sling their packs over their shoulders and head down the mountain to serve as Outer Sect Disciples.
Most of those who failed were assigned to the Treasure Gathering Hall and the Flying Bird Hall. The more outstanding among them might receive additional training and could eventually be recruited into the better-compensated Outer Blade Hall. Naturally, the best-positioned Outer Sect hall was the Four Seas Hall, but it only accepted famous figures from the martial world. If you did not have at least a couple of impressive techniques to your name, you could forget about it entirely—let alone a bunch of green, wet-behind-the-ears boys.
Whenever Han Li thought back to the contents of the examination those other In-Name Disciples had faced two months ago, he still felt a chill creep through him.
They had been made to run a full lap around the Cai Xia Mountain range—over ten li in circumference—then thrown into sparse, sparsely populated woodlands to form teams and fight each other, and finally had to withstand a barrage of attacks from senior brothers with formidable martial skills, blocking a set number of strikes. All of these tests involuntarily gave Han Li a small, guilty twinge of schadenfreude.
Han Li and Zhang Tie had not had to face these terrifying tests. Just as Doctor Mo had said, the two of them were simply assessed on their progress with that nameless formula. But this hurdle, too, was not as easy to clear as Han Li had imagined. Even now, he remembered the scene of his assessment with perfect clarity.
According to Doctor Mo, the unnamed formula was divided into several tiers, and the two of them had only received the cultivation instructions for the first tier. In other words, as long as they achieved some measure of success in the first tier within six months, Doctor Mo would consider them to have passed and would take them on as formal disciples, granting them the same treatment as any other Inner Sect disciple of the Seven Mysteries Sect.
Ever since Han Li learned from others just how vast the gap in treatment between Inner Sect and Outer Sect disciples truly was, he had thoroughly discarded any notion of coasting through these six months and then settling for life as an Outer Sect Disciple so he could go home. Compared to the prospect of drawing extra silver from the Seven Mysteries Sect and having it sent to his family, everything else seemed trivial. He had grown up far too poor; every additional coin he earned meant a little more comfort for his parents and siblings back home.
After obtaining the formula from Doctor Mo, Han Li had not set foot outside the house. He cultivated day and night without rest, pouring every scrap of available time into the practice. Since Doctor Mo had offered them not a single word of guidance, Han Li had to feel his way forward on his own. He studied how the other boys practiced the Seven Mysteries Sect's foundational internal art—the Righteous Yang Force—and tried to reverse-engineer his own method of cultivation.
After three months of grueling effort following this approach, what shocked Han Li was this: the speed at which he progressed in this formula was frighteningly slow. Even after exhausting himself to the last ounce of strength, he could only produce a faint thread of cool energy within his body—so thin it was nearly imperceptible, impossible to detect without careful internal observation.
This was probably what the instructors called internal true qi? Han Li naturally assumed as much.
But when he heard the other boys who were cultivating the Seven Mysteries Sect's Righteous Yang Force describe their experience, their true qi manifested as an unmistakably warm, hot current. His, on the other hand, was a cool draft—and the difference in results after circulating the energy was even more stark.
The other boys, after circulating their Righteous Yang Force true qi, could already punch through a small tree as thick as a bowl and leap over a zhang into the air. Han Li, after running his own peculiar qi, felt virtually no change compared to before. The only difference was that his mental clarity seemed sharper than before, and his appetite had improved considerably since coming up the mountain. But what good was that? Watching the other boys who had come up with him unleash spectacular displays of power, Han Li grew deeply disheartened.
This unexpected discovery nearly made Han Li give up the efforts of these past several months. He concluded that his aptitude was simply too poor, that he could never pass Doctor Mo's assessment in the remaining time, and he even began preparing himself for the possibility of leaving the mountain.
Then one day, quite by chance, he learned something from Zhang Tie, who was cultivating alongside him: since Zhang Tie had started practicing the formula, there had been absolutely no change within his body—no effect whatsoever, not even a wisp of true qi like Han Li had managed to produce.
Learning this small fact by chance restored a measure of Han Li's lost confidence. In the days that remained, he took up his bitter training once more.
No—what followed was something beyond even his earlier efforts. It was more frantic, more desperate than anything before.
Han Li now devoted every quarter-hour to seated meditation cultivation. At night, while sleeping, he even began maintaining his meditation posture, hoping to squeeze out a few extra drops of progress. Of course, this manic practice lasted only a few days before collapsing. The cause was sleep deprivation—he could no longer maintain the same cultivation efficiency during the daytime.
What baffled Han Li was that ever since Doctor Mo had given them the formula, the old man had paid them no attention whatsoever. He never inquired about their progress or addressed any difficulties they encountered in their practice, as though he had completely forgotten they existed.
Every day, Doctor Mo buried himself in that book with three black characters on its cover, reading with total absorption—as if the pages truly held a jade-beautiful woman, as if a house of gold lay within its chapters. At first, Han Li and Zhang Tie even suspected that Doctor Mo had abandoned his calling as a healer and was instead studying to sit for the imperial examinations. Later, once they had learned to read, they recognized the three characters: Longevity Scripture—a book about how to cultivate one's body and mind, extend life, and promote longevity.
Only then did the two of them suddenly understand. Doctor Mo did not want to pass the imperial examinations. He wanted to be like the turtles in the river—old but never dying, living on for thousands upon thousands of years.
(End of Chapter)