Time, in its ceaseless onward march, permits no pause. As its tireless days unfolded, the earth stirred back to life, casting off its icy shroud to don the soft raiment of spring.
Gao Han had cultivated by the river for more than half a month. The Long River Sunset Art, true to its reputation as a high-tier Mortal technique, had advanced swiftly under his relentless training; he stood on the very brink of breaking through to the eighth level. His Cold Mountain Palm, by contrast, had seen little fundamental progress, growing only smoother and less flawed in execution.
With a soft exhale, Gao Han finished his palm practice in the river. Blocks of ice had formed around him, drifting away with the current. He grounded his qi in his dantian, struck several quick palms into the water, and then sheathed his stance. Moments later, several fish floated to the surface—his sustenance for nearly a month since settling here.
On the bank, dressed once more, he roasted his catch. "My Cold Mountain Palm will advance no further until my Long River Sunset Art reaches the eighth level. For now, what I lack most is actual combat experience." These days he had only practiced the palm forms in the river, with no real fighting to test them. Combat, he knew, was a world apart from solitary drill. He took a bite of the grilled fish. "Wu Yan said the Condensation Grounds are filled with the finest outer-sect disciples. I ought to go there and find opponents, to see where my palm work still falls short."
Quick to act on his thoughts, Gao Han finished his meal and tidied his makeshift camp—little more than concealing his branch shelter.
With his two manuals in hand, he set off for the Scripture Pavilion. He intended to return them first, for he had already committed every word to memory; keeping them served no purpose. He also wished to select a lightness skill. Against ordinary foes, he could dominate outright, but against truly powerful experts, he could only fight head-on. Without agility, he would be placed at a crippling disadvantage.
Inside the Scripture Pavilion, Gao Han addressed the unassuming elder guardian. "Senior, I have come to return these techniques for your inspection."
"Hmm. I take it you are here to exchange them for new ones. You really ought to know when to abandon a path you cannot master. Now, what kind of inner qi art do you plan to choose this time?" the elder lectured in a tone of earnest concern.
Gao Han smiled gently. "This one suits me well. I have no wish to switch arts. Thank you for your concern. I am here to select a lightness skill instead."
At this, the elder replied absentmindedly, "Yes, it is a fine art—yet so few can master it…" He trailed off, suddenly alert. "You say you will not choose another cultivation technique? Does that mean you have… succeeded?"
"Indeed, Senior. I have mastered it."
Gao Han's matter-of-fact reply shocked the elder, who seized his shoulder. "You speak truly? How did you accomplish this?"
Only then did Gao Han grasp the elder's terrifying strength. A simple grip felt as though his bones would shatter. He channeled all his Long River Sunset qi into his shoulder before the pain eased slightly, though it still seared fiercely.
The elder realized his overstep and, seeing the cold sweat break out on Gao Han's brow yet his refusal to cry out, felt both embarrassed and gratified. He quickly released his hold and coughed lightly. "Hmph. To think you possess such talent. I have kept the Phantom Stride for many years. Though it too is Mortal rank, it far surpasses the trash within these walls. Whether you master it will depend on your own gift."
"Might I ask for your insights into this art, Senior?" Gao Han hoped to gain guidance, that he might avoid unnecessary detours in his training.
The elder laughed awkwardly. "This technique was… salvaged by me. Yes, found. I never managed to cultivate it myself… ahem, I simply never had the time. You must rely on your own ability. The Sect Master has invited me to dine—farewell!" Wiping sweat from his brow, he retreated into the pavilion.
Gao Han did not smile. From the strength of the elder's grip, he knew the man was no ordinary figure. A technique worth seizing must be a treasure. And since he sought a Mortal lightness skill, this would serve perfectly.
"Senior, when shall I return this technique?" he called into the pavilion.
"Return it only once you have mastered it. On one condition: you must demonstrate it for me when you do. Agreed?" came the calm reply.
Gao Han saw no loss in this arrangement. "I shall gratefully accept. I take my leave, Senior. Farewell." Tucking the Phantom Stride into his robes, he exited the Scripture Pavilion.
Descending Twilight Sun Peak, he saw the sun sinking toward the horizon. He decided to visit the Condensation Grounds on the morrow, and turned instead toward his quarters on Lingyun Peak.
Wu Yan had sat cross-legged outside Gao Han's door for three days. An outer-sect disciple had threatened to cripple his cultivation, and among all those he knew, only Gao Han could help him. He had come to beg for aid, only to find the chamber empty. So he waited, day after day.
"Sigh. Three days have passed, and only one remains before he demands our duel." Wu Yan's heart sank, and he shook his head with a bitter smile.
"Oh? Only one day remains? Why do you sit before my door, junior brother?"
A calm, familiar voice sounded behind him. Wu Yan started, leaping to his feet, his eyes shining with emotion as he looked upon Gao Han. "Senior brother! I… I…" He could barely form words.
"Wu Yan, what troubles you?"
Wu Yan closed his eyes, steadying his breath, then recounted the entire ordeal.
Three days prior, he had been cultivating in his chamber at a critical stage when his wooden door was shattered by a violent force, nearly causing him to deviate from his art and lose all his cultivation. A young man had stepped through the wreckage. The injured Wu Yan rose shakily to his feet, glaring at the intruder.
This youth was Gu Yunli, acting to avenge his own handyman disciple—someone Wu Yan had once injured, who had nursed a grudge and become Gu's servant in exchange for having Wu Yan's cultivation crippled.
Gu Yunli had forced the already wounded Wu Yan to fight his handyman disciple in a farcical "fair" duel. Unsurprisingly, Wu Yan's injuries worsened. To save face, Gu had given Wu Yan four days to find a partner, to duel him on the Condensation Grounds. Should Wu Yan's ally lose, his cultivation would be abolished. Among all Wu Yan knew, only Gao Han was an outer-sect disciple. He had no choice but to seek his help.
Gao Han smiled coldly. He had planned to visit the Condensation Grounds to test his skills anyway; it seemed others would challenge him first. "No matter. A fight is a fight, regardless of who starts it."
Wu Yan blinked in bewilderment. That was hardly the response he had expected.
"Heh. Very well. It grows late. We shall go to the Condensation Grounds tomorrow. Meet me here at dawn, and we shall go together." Gao Han turned and entered his chamber.
Wu Yan bowed deeply before hurrying back down Lingyun Peak. He would never forget Gao Han's kindness.
At sunrise the next day, Gao Han and Wu Yan set off for the Condensation Grounds. Along the way, Wu Yan briefed him on Gu Yunli: a senior outer-sect disciple at the peak of the Ninth Layer of Qi Condensation, exceptionally powerful, and a master of the longsword. He had defeated countless fellow peak experts and was widely regarded as the second-strongest fighter in the outer sect. In the recent Outer-Sect Grand Tournament, he had placed second, earning a low-grade spiritual sword and a Qi Condensation Pill.
The Qi Condensation Pill was far more potent than a Qi-Nourishing Pill. Though it would not raise one's cultivation realm, it pushed the limits of a Qi Condensation warrior's strength. A mid-Ninth Layer cultivator who took the pill could defeat even a peak Ninth Layer opponent.
The Condensation Grounds were already bustling at early morning. Many disciples sat in meditation, for some would spend the entire night here if it meant faster cultivation.
By the time Gao Han and Wu Yan arrived, nearly forty disciples occupied the grounds—some meditating, others practicing their arts, each claiming a small space without disturbing the others.
As they stepped forward, a disciple blocked their path. "Who are you? Only the top hundred outer-sect disciples may enter the Condensation Grounds. One of you is a mere handyman. Begone!"
Several practicing disciples paused, eyeing them with contempt. "Overestimating yourselves!" "Trash!" "Fool!"
The insults rang out, and the blocking disciple preened at the attention.
"Leave now, or I shall not hesitate to cripple you both!" He clenched his fist menacingly.
"What is your rank?" Gao Han asked, his expression unchanged, his tone calm.
The man preened. "I am Zhou Jun, ranked fifth among the outer-sect disciples!"
"Then if I defeat you, I may enter." Gao Han's eyes glinted with fighting spirit. "I am Gao Han, an outer-sect disciple. I challenge you."
Zhou Jun had expected awe-struck admiration, not a direct challenge. He gaped. "What did you say?"
Gao Han grew tired of words. He would let his blade speak. He drew his longsword in a flash and slashed toward Zhou Jun, who could scarce believe the sudden attack. He dodged as best he could, but the distance was too short.
Rip! The front of Zhou Jun's robes was torn open. His face darkened. "You dare strike me?"
Gao Han held his sword ready, not pressing the attack. "I have challenged you. Lose, and you step aside. Win, and I shall leave."
"You will not get the chance. You will be the one to fall—and your cultivation will be ruined!" Zhou Jun's voice turned savage as he cut Gao Han off.
He raised his broadsword and hacked downward, the keen blade hissing through the air. Gao Han lightly stepped to the side, evading the strike, and swept his sword toward Zhou Jun, who hastily brought his broadsword up to block. The impact sent Zhou Jun staggering back five steps. A frigid wave of qi rampaged through his meridians, and it took him three full minutes to expel it.
"Very well. You dare humiliate me. Fine!"
Enraged, Zhou Jun unleashed a flurry of slashes, his blade a blur of crimson. Gao Han had not yet cultivated a lightness skill and knew he could not dodge indefinitely without ceding the initiative. He flicked his sword and unleashed the Soul-Breaking Sword Art, deflecting each incoming strike one by one.
As they fought, Gao Han noted to himself: Zhou Jun is no weakling. His skill far surpasses Gao Ping's. Gao Ping's claim of third place in the Qianling Sect outer sect must be true—how else would he have a low-grade spiritual sword? Yet Gao Jianfeng once told Li Changtian the Misty Sect was weaker than the Qianling Sect. Why?
Zhou Jun's saber work grew increasingly refined, more so than any Ninth Layer cultivator Gao Han had faced, even Gao Ping. He had no doubt that Gao Ping would fall to Zhou Jun within ten moves. "A superior physique does not guarantee true strength. Martial technique matters greatly," he murmured softly.
"Enough. This ends here. Fall!"
Gao Han channeled his full qi and unleashed the tenth and final form of the Soul-Breaking Sword Art. The strike sent Zhou Jun's broadsword flying. The shock split his tiger's mouth.
Zhou Jun stood frozen, staring at his bleeding hand, then at his distant blade, and finally at Gao Han. He shrieked in disbelief. "Impossible! You cannot have defeated me! Again! I was careless!"
The surrounding top-ranked disciples stared in shock as well. Challengers often rose through the ranks, but none had ever debuted by challenging the fifth-ranked disciple directly—and winning. This man must be a newly promoted outer-sect disciple. His power was unheard of.
At Zhou Jun's demand for a rematch, Gao Han smiled disdainfully. "You are no match for me, and I have no further interest in you. One who cannot accept defeat will never surpass me. You are not worthy of being my opponent. Leave."
Turning his back on Zhou Jun, Gao Han swept his gaze over the gathered disciples. "If any others doubt my right to stand here, step forward and challenge me." He stood straight and motionless.
The crowd was stunned. He had come as a challenger, yet now the tables had turned entirely—he was the one being challenged.
"Little brother, you are far too arrogant. Such pride bodes ill. Listen to this sister and step down…"
A sultry voice rose from below. A woman with a sinuous, enchanting figure sauntered onto the grounds, her curves stirring lustful thoughts in every male disciple present. Yet none dared speak; they feared her deeply.
She stepped close and reached a jade-white hand toward Gao Han's cheek. He seized her wrist in an iron grip, halting her movement entirely.
"Oh, that hurts! Who would have thought such a pretty boy could be so cruel?"
Hua Meiniang's coquettish tone set the male disciples ablaze, yet they remained silent. Before Gao Han could reply, a dagger flashed toward his throat. He instantly arched backward in a full bridge, narrowly avoiding the blade—though it sliced off a lock of his hair.
Gao Han flipped backward twice and landed firmly, his eyes blazing with murderous intent. This woman was ruthlessly treacherous. Had he not spent five years honing his physical flexibility alongside his arts, he would have died in that instant. No wonder everyone feared her.
Furious, Gao Han slashed his sword at her. She twisted lithely out of the way and stabbed her dagger toward his head. Gao Han had no doubt that a strike from her qi-infused blade would split his skull open.
He unleashed the Roaring Torrent form of the Cold Mountain Palm, striking at her dagger-wielding wrist. The frigid chill of his Frigid River Sunset qi washed over her before the palm even landed. Hua Meiniang was no fool; she would not let herself be struck directly. She pressed her dagger downward, its flat edge aimed at Gao Han's palm, confident she could at least break his hand with her superior qi.
Reality betrayed her expectation.
The flat of the dagger met Gao Han's palm, yet his hand remained unbroken. Instead, Hua Meiniang was sent stumbling backward, her body flooded with his bitterly cold qi, wave after wave of it ravaging her meridians. She spat up a mouthful of blood and quickly sat cross-legged to expel the invasive energy.
The onlookers gaped in utter astonishment. This newcomer was monstrous. None knew Hua Meiniang as they did: the most mysterious disciple in the outer sect, ranked third.