The impression this person gave him could only lead to two possibilities.
Either his spiritual sense had just misjudged, or this person's spiritual sense far surpassed his own—and that person was most likely that foreigner.
But whichever of these two outcomes turned out to be true, it didn't bode well for him.
The first possibility wasn't so bad—he'd merely lose some face in front of two juniors and take a small hit to his reputation. But if it was the second, that would be genuinely troublesome.
No matter how confident he'd acted in front of the middle-aged man and the palace-robed woman—making it seem like capturing the wounded foreigner would be a piece of cake—the truth was different. As one of the cultivators who had participated in the interception battle, he was deeply terrified of the foreigner's abilities and that savage aura of fighting alone against many.
Those fallen cultivators—their entire bodies turned into purple ice, their Nascent Souls frozen solid—he still remembered their wretched fates with perfect clarity. Even if the foreigner were truly gravely injured, dragging him down to mutual destruction would probably still be child's play.
Forget it. There were no other Nascent Soul cultivators nearby. There was no point risking a life-or-death gamble to confirm something so ambiguous. After all, before long, the Grand Celestial Master and the Holy Maiden would deal with this person themselves.
Having weighed the pros and cons in his mind, the bald-browed elder let out a soft sigh and abandoned any thought of chasing after the carriage to stop them.
If he were two hundred years younger, he might have been tempted to take the risk. But now, with his remaining years growing shorter, he cherished his life all the more.
The bald-browed elder watched the caravan gradually recede into the distance, standing rooted to the spot without moving. This left the man and woman behind him exchanging an intrigued glance, though neither had the nerve to question him.
…
After Han Li's carriage had traveled over ten li without any sign of the spiritual sense's owner giving chase from the camp, he finally relaxed slightly.
That spiritual sense had probed with startling speed. Though his reaction had been quick enough, he wasn't yet accustomed to the state of his drastically reduced cultivation. He'd withdrawn his spiritual sense a touch too late and wasn't sure whether he'd truly managed to deceive the other party. And that spiritual sense had been so subtle and refined—it was clearly the work of someone who had cultivated specialized secret techniques.
Feeling somewhat reassured, he remained in the carriage and continued suppressing his aura without letting his guard down.
After a good half day's travel, Han Li's expression gradually eased, and he slowly extended his spiritual sense once more, covering everything within a radius of over twenty li to detect any anomalies. He then turned his hand over and produced the Eagle-eyed Elder's storage bag from within his robe. Turning the bag upside down, a jumble of miscellaneous items tumbled out amid flashes of white light.
His gaze swept over the pile, and Han Li picked up a small bottle, uncorked it, and sniffed at its opening. After a moment's thought, he shook his head and set it aside.
He picked up another bottle and repeated the same action, as though searching for something in particular.
Finally, when an unassuming green jade bottle was uncorked, before Han Li could even identify what was inside, a wisp of purple mist drifted out. His expression darkened, and without a second thought he opened his mouth and spat out a ball of green light that instantly enveloped the purple wisp.
But in the blink of an eye, blackness began spreading through the green light from the inside out.
Han Li's face changed drastically. Before the green light could be completely corrupted, he blew a sharp breath and the sphere shot back into the small bottle. He seized the cork and swiftly sealed the opening.
Only then did he let out a long breath.
It hadn't been entirely in vain—he'd managed to obtain some residual Bitter Poison, which was no small harvest. The Ten Absolute Poisons were things one could only hope to encounter by sheer fortune.
And the fact that the Kong family possessed this particular poison suggested they were truly extraordinary.
He carefully stowed the bottle back into his storage bag, then extended a thread of spiritual sense into one of the Fire Wolf tribe's carriages.
Inside, Feng Yue sat cross-legged with eyes tightly shut, cradling a fist-sized round pearl in both hands.
Wisps of black qi were being channeled from his hands into the pearl, turning it a lustrous jet black. Before him lay a large pile of medicine bottles, most of them already uncorked, with all manner of colored pills scattered haphazardly to the side.
Seeing this scene, Han Li shook his head and withdrew his spiritual sense.
He could tell at a glance that while the pearl was some kind of extraordinary treasure capable of absorbing certain poisons, it had already reached its capacity limit. And the absorbed toxins would likely regenerate before long—against the Bitter Poison that had sunk deep into the body, it was essentially useless.
Feng Yue's hope of using these ten-odd days of delay to neutralize the poison was nothing but wishful thinking.
With this thought, Han Li closed his eyes, his expression devoid of either grief or joy, and entered a state of meditation.
…
The next seven or eight days passed in relative calm. Only two witless low-grade Iron-hoof Beasts charged headlong into the caravan, and were promptly bombarded by several TU'WU Celestial Masters with their magical treasures, becoming spoils of war in short order.
Only Han Li, Feng Yue, and one other Celestial Master who was escorting the caravan remained in their carriages without taking action.
Feng Yue's case was understandable. But the other cultivator, who similarly disliked venturing out, piqued Han Li's curiosity. A brief probe with his spiritual sense revealed nothing out of the ordinary—it was a young man of twenty-seven or twenty-eight, spending all his time in cultivation, apparently nothing more than a diligent Foundation Establishment cultivator.
After probing a few times, Han Li lost interest.
Feng Yue, however—whom he kept constant watch over—grew increasingly agitated and anxious after a string of failed detoxification attempts, his face occasionally betraying glimmers of despair.
His once-black hair had gradually turned gray-white.
This was hardly surprising. Anyone who knew death was approaching with no recourse—merely enduring that torment was something an ordinary person could not withstand.
That the young man hadn't collapsed immediately was somewhat surprising to Han Li.
But in his mind, he was quietly counting down the days.