Inside the red-line, Ming was meditating while Lyssar sat nearby, lost in thought. Then, without opening his eyes, Lyssar spoke, his calm voice echoing softly.
"Ming, come here."
Hearing his master's voice, Ming opened his eyes and walked toward Lyssar, bowing respectfully. "Yes, Master."
In only a month, Ming had reached the peak of the Body Tempering Realm. Though his body was naturally suited for martial arts, his rapid progress was mostly due to his master's harsh training—and his own unyielding will. No matter how much pain he felt, he never stopped. That determination was the true reason for his growth.
For an ordinary person with no martial , it would take at least three years to reach the same stage.
Lyssar opened his eyes and said calmly,
"I think it's time for you to prepare for the Inner Meridian Realm. Today, I'll teach you something important."
He glanced at Ming and gestured. "Sit."
Ming immediately sat cross-legged, focusing as his master began to speak.
"In the path of martial arts," Lyssar said, "the Inner Meridian Realm is the second realm—and one of the most crucial if you wish to go further."
He paused, studying Ming.
"Tell me, Ming—what makes a martial artist strong enough to split mountains?"
Ming thought for a moment before answering.
"I once heard from my father that it's because they possess qi, the source of all power."
Lyssar nodded slightly. "You're not wrong. Qi is indeed what gives martial artists their strength. But qi exists everywhere, in all things. There are two types—the Qi of Vitality and the Qi of Death."
He raised his hand, forming a faint ripple of energy in the air.
"Everything in this world holds Qi of Vitality while it lives. But when it dies… that qi transforms into Death Qi. Likewise, when new life is born, it naturally absorbs Death Qi and converts it back into Vital Qi. It is the endless cycle of existence."
Lyssar's voice grew deeper.
"What makes martial artists powerful is their ability to absorb and refine the surrounding qi—storing it within their bodies through their meridians. The speed and efficiency of that absorption depend entirely on how open and pure one's meridians are."
"Everything in this world carries Qi," Lyssar said, his voice calm yet firm. "And so do you. To walk the path of a martial artist, you must absorb Qi from your surroundings, purify it, and then merge it with your Original Qi. The Qi you are born with is called Original Qi. The purer your absorption, the stronger you will become.
"Your meridians are like rivers flowing through your body, all converging in your Original Qi. Many of these rivers are blocked, waiting to be opened. The more open and pure your meridians, the greater the flow of power.
"But beware—if your meridians are weak, it is because of Death Qi. When you are born, your body naturally absorbs Death Qi. If there is too much, it can harm your meridians… even your body itself."
Lyssar looked at Ming, who was listening with full concentration. "What I just told you is the method used by humans," he said quietly. "But you see… I'm not entirely human. I'm half human, half Abyssal.
"For Abyssals, Qi of Vitality means nothing. They draw their power from Death Qi — that's why they love to kill, why they are feared and hated by humans. But I…" he paused, his eyes darkening before a faint, proud smile crossed his lips. "I learned to wield both. Death Qi and Vital Qi — the balance of life and death. That is why I became one of the strongest beings in this world."
His tone softened, and his expression fell. "But you… cannot learn my technique."
Those words carried a quiet sorrow. For a martial artist, the thought of their art dying with them was the cruelest fate. Ming could see it — the disappointment, the loneliness buried behind his master's.
He bowed deeply. "Master… is there truly no way for me to learn it?"
Lyssar's gaze lingered on his disciple for a long moment before he spoke. "For humans, Vital Qi is life itself. For Abyssals, Death Qi is their nature. I could master both only because I am of both worlds. But if you truly wish to learn it… there is one way."
He turned away, his voice cold as steel. "You must absorb my Blood Essence."
Ming's eyes widened. Lyssar continued, "But know this — no human has ever survived the essence of an Abyssal. To do so is to invite death itself."
Ming's face hardened. "I'll try," he said simply. "Even if it means certain death."
Lyssar stared at him, disbelief and pain warring in his eyes. He took a step forward, voice raw. "If you die, who will avenge your family? Who will carry your art forward? If you throw your life away now, my martial art will die with you. That was the only thing I could not bear — to see my art vanish because its last practitioner chose death."
Ming's voice was steady, iron in his words. "I know what you're saying, Master. I'll do it even if it means certain death. If I'm afraid of dying, I'll never take my revenge. my enemies are the strongest in this world, but you were stronger than them — and I will show everyone what true strength is. I will take all humanity down, even though I am also a human. I will never back down from death.
Lyssar looked at Ming, his voice calm but firm.
"So, you're truly going to do it… even knowing it means certain death?"
Ming met his gaze, his expression unwavering.
"Yes," he replied in a voice filled with resolve.
For a moment, silence lingered between them. Then Lyssar's body began to shift — his flesh dissolving into smoke shaped like a human silhouette, golden eyes glowing faintly within the mist.
"Very well," he said at last. "We will begin in one week. Be ready."
Ming bowed deeply. "Thank you… for accepting your disciple's request."
For Ming, who had already lost everything — his family, his reason to live — death no longer frightened him.
But for Lyssar, who had lived alone for a thousand years, the thought of losing his only companion again was unbearable. That was why, though he agreed, the words had been so difficult to say.
In the forest of Henan, near the city of Xinyang, Hao opened his eyes, trying to make sense of everything. At first, he thought he was dead—but he noticed his body was whole, with no wounds. He remembered the Red Clock figure piercing his stomach, yet somehow… he was alive.
Before he could think further, he spotted Soho lying a short distance away on the ground. Panic surged through him as he ran to his friend, checking if he was still breathing. A faint breath! Relief washed over Hao, and he immediately used his Qi to stabilize Soho and heal as best he could.
Hao dashed to a nearby stream, scooping water to give him. Soho, still unconscious, drank weakly. As the cool water touched his lips, a small laugh escaped him—"Hahaha"—and his eyes fluttered open. He looked at Hao, dazed.
"Are we… still alive?" Soho asked.
Hao nodded, sitting beside him. "It seems so."
Soho sat up slowly. Hao asked, "What happened? I thought I was dead."
Soho shook his head. "It's a long story…" He told Hao about the woman—the one with the scar—who had used her healing arts to restore him, knitting together his injuries and restoring his strength. After that, he had run, full speed, not daring to look back. Exhausted, he had collapsed from fatigue, barely conscious.
Hao's voice trembled with sorrow. "Hey… do you think my brother is still alive?"
Soho looked at him and shook his head. "I didn't think so…"
"But why?" Hao pressed.
After a moment, Soho replied, "After seeing that woman, I understood one thing: every blood power was at the Heaven Realm."
Hao's eyes widened in shock. In that world, only a handful of people had ascended to the Heaven Realm. He knew of maybe thirty in total—but two in a single city? That made survival nearly impossible.