Fang Han curled into a tight ball, eyes shut, like a child in the womb. Every nerve screamed under the boiling torment, yet he forced his consciousness to focus—to forget the agony of the flesh and reach the state of "unshaken as the earth, serene as the hidden vault."
But it was too much. Every time he gathered his will, the searing pain shattered it apart again. He could feel his skin blistering and peeling layer by layer—the agony of being flayed alive.
Endure. I must endure. Forget the pain. Focus... concentrate...
Fang Han bit down on his suffering with a will of steel. His tenacity and resolve, tested beyond limit, refused to yield.
Outside the furnace, Yan watched in silence. The medicinal essence from the eighteen Blood Demon Pills and eighteen Celestial Jade Pills slowly melted into the Yellow Springs Holy Water, seeping into Fang Han's body. His flesh grew denser, his blood purer, his mind sharper. Yan's cold eyes softened with approval.
He can bear it... impressive. But he hasn't yet found the key—the art of forgetting pain. When the mind attains stillness, the body no longer suffers. When one can choose to feel pain or peace at will, that is when the spirit transcends. Then, the Divine Power Realm is no longer far.
Yan's voice echoed into the furnace:
"The heart commands all spirit. Pain itself is but a form of spirit. If you can use the heart to dissolve the sense of pain, you'll master your soul. Remember—flesh knows no pain. Only the spirit suffers. The dead do not feel pain… only the living do."
"Pain comes from the spirit?" Fang Han, half-delirious yet lucid, caught the meaning like lightning through a storm. Insight burst open in his mind.
He saw it—the tiny seed of pain that bloomed in his consciousness.
"Then I'll kill it!"
Fang Han roared from within the furnace. "Kill every pain that dares to exist!"
With that roar, he shattered the thread of pain within his mind. Instantly, a strange calm flooded his body. The agony dulled, his breath steadied.
The Yellow Springs water still boiled violently, yet now he floated within it like a man soaking in hot springs. His skin, crimson and raw, no longer peeled away.
The medicinal power continued to merge into his body. Through his pores, dark clots of old blood and impurities were forced out—his body purified, his flesh becoming tougher, leaner, more refined.
A strange elasticity filled his limbs. His muscles could be as soft as silk or as hard as forged steel at will. Strength and endurance surged once more.
If his body once had the strength of ten horses, now he had long surpassed them.
After more than an hour, Fang Han remained motionless in the furnace, curled like an infant, skin bright red like a boiled shrimp. His face still bore traces of pain—but it was distant, muted, as if his spirit had already learned to silence it.
Yan murmured with rare emotion, "To subdue pain this quickly... remarkable. It seems fate itself chose him for the Yellow Springs Diagram."
He raised his claw. "Come out."
The Yellow Springs Holy Water burst from the furnace, wrapping Fang Han in a floating sphere before spilling gently onto the floor. The water flowed back into the diagram, leaving Fang Han lying naked and motionless, chest heaving, drenched in steam. He said nothing, lost in the echoes of what he'd just experienced—the battle between spirit and agony.
"Do you still feel pain?" Yan asked.
Fang Han exhaled slowly. "I think I've grasped it… the way to suppress pain with the mind. Is this how the Infernal Body of Yama is cultivated?"
He flexed slightly, and his body rippled with explosive power. Every muscle looked as though it could detonate. The sheer energy radiating from him was terrifying.
His body had grown stronger again—his spirit, sharper than ever.
"This is only the first step," Yan replied. "To truly begin training, you must reach the Divine Power Realm and command real mana."
"How far am I from that realm?" Fang Han asked.
"There's still a gap," Yan said coolly. "You must accumulate more. Breaking the cocoon of mortality isn't easy. You'll continue this training every day—I'll keep increasing your suffering. Let's see how far your understanding of spirit truly goes."
"How will you test me?"
Before Fang Han could finish, Yan's claw shot forward. With a wet crack, it tore through Fang Han's shoulder, blood splattering. The wound burned with a venomous sting.
"Does it hurt?"
"Of course it hurts! You want me to test you instead?" Fang Han snarled through gritted teeth.
"You still feel pain. Then your cultivation isn't complete."
Another swipe—Yan tore open his other shoulder.
Fang Han froze, then slowly straightened. His face went still, eyes closed. Moments later, he opened them again, calm and resolute. "No. It doesn't hurt anymore. I've erased the pain from my mind."
Yan gave a low, satisfied growl. "Good. Very good." He tossed a Blood Demon Pill toward him. "Apply it to your wounds. But know this—killing pain is not enough. Pain never stops being born. You must learn to turn pain into serenity. When you can sit in a boiling cauldron and feel as though you're bathed in a breeze, then you'll have mastered true control. At that point, you'll be able to forget or remember anything at will—and you'll stand one step away from converting spirit into mana, from entering the Divine Power Realm."
"Then let's keep training," Fang Han said, eager to push further.
"Not today." Yan's tone softened slightly. "Cultivation must balance effort and rest. For now, reflect on what you've learned. Come into the Yellow Springs Diagram—my flying night-fiends are about to shed and become Asuras. Watch closely. The process will teach you much, and the energy released will aid your cultivation."
In a flash of dark light, Fang Han's body was drawn into the Yellow Springs Diagram.
There, above the black river, floated ten enormous cocoons pulsing like giant hearts.
Embedded in each was a sword—the Silver Serpent, the Crimson Lust, the Spirit Wind, and seven more, quivering faintly as if feeding the transformation within.