Chapter 4: Skin Metamorphosis
Owing to his practice of Iron Sand Palm, Lin Yi's palms had already entered a preliminary stage of skin metamorphosis. Thus, when the five spiritual energies tempered his palms, he felt no trace of pain; instead, the transformation unfolded naturally.
Upon completion, his palms were sheathed in a gray, sweat-like film.
"How swift!" Lin Yi rejoiced inwardly.
Without pausing to inspect the residue or savor the change, he proceeded as dictated by the technique: drawing in the five energies to extend the tempering upward along his arms.
Suddenly—
Agony!
A searing, heart-rending agony!
"Hiss—" Lin Yi gasped, finally experiencing the torment of the five energies relentlessly purging impurities from his flesh. Veins bulged on his arms as the energies seemed to tear and compress his skin, a torture a million times more excruciating than lingchi.
Sweat beaded on his brow and cascaded down. Lin Yi's eyes widened, jaws clamped tight.
"Damnation! If I cannot withstand this, I deserve neither demonic cultivation nor great power. I will persist! This trial shall not defeat me!" A ferocious resolve surged from his core, sustaining him through the agony of his arms' metamorphosis.
"Ah—"
He低吼, seeking to distract himself from the blistering pain.
Blood! Tiny droplets oozed from his arm pores, painting them crimson—a ghastly sight. Then, threads of inky filth seeped forth, reeking of decay. Mingled with blood, they formed a macabre, eerie maroon, haunting and grim.
The five energies gnawed at his arm skin, squeezing out layer upon layer of impurities.
Lin Yi was oblivious to this. His mind focused solely on resisting the pain; his body was drenched in sweat.
"Persist! I must persist!" he roared through gritted teeth.
"Ah—" Another低吼 escaped him, his features contorted into a狰狞 mask by suffering.
"Never surrender! Never!"
"Just a little longer. It will end soon. Just a little longer…"
His arms were wholly consumed by the maroon blend of blood and filth. More oozed forth,滴 (dripping) onto his robes.
不知过了多久 (He knew not how long passed). Numbed to the pain, he continued—the room's light had faded to amber, signaling sunset.
Tempering endured. Pain lingered, but familiarity dulled its edge.
Now he understood: demonic cultivators bore inhuman suffering not through invulnerability, but by acclimation. Agony, when prolonged, became habit—and thus ceased to hurt.
Time crawled. Never had it moved so sluggishly.
Night fell, winds howling. In the pitch-black room, Lin Yi made his final stand against the arm metamorphosis.
Moments stretched into eternities.
"Hu—"
At last, a deep, lingering exhale reverberated.
Then, a shriek of抓狂 revulsion erupted, cutting through the quiet night—drawing curses from neighboring outer disciples, some even impugning his ancestors. None dared investigate.
"Foul!"
"It reeks like death!"
"Worse than dung!"
Lin Yi,无暇 (too frantic) to assess his palms, reeled from the stench—nearly choking.
He bolted outdoors, sprinting. Fatigue and pain vanished; only the urge to cleanse remained.
Soon, he reached a waterfall.
"Splash!"
He plunged into the pool. Clear water turned maroon, releasing a diluted stench. Fish fled en masse. Even a water snake, slithering close with glowing eyes, recoiled and fled—terrified by the reek.
"Refreshing!"
"Goddamn refreshing!"
His laughter echoed through the valley.
After scrubbing himself and his robes, he donned the damp garments and returned, pondering his palms' transformation.
He felt the change keenly, yet could not define it. Perhaps only in crisis would its nature and purpose reveal themselves.
Dawn broke.
Lin Yi practiced Iron Sand Palm outside his quarters—powerful, imposing. To distant Dianxuan disciples, this was farce: a cultivator practicing martial arts over spells!
The sect's greatest oddity! Its cruellest joke!
He ignored their jeers and pointing, focusing on his palms' newfound power.
He judged: Iron Sand Palm, now wielded by transformed hands, had grown fivefold stronger—surpassing its mortal limits.
Excitement surged. He vowed to endure all to master the *Five-Spirits Body Tempering Nine Transformations*.
Hope blazed within him.
After another set, he stopped—breath steady, face calm.
"Once, with Iron Sand Palm and Qi Refining Stage 1, I held off a Stage 3 cultivator briefly. Now… can I defeat one outright?" he mused.
"A test is needed."
"First, herbs to fortify my physique. This will cost dearly…"
Nearly two years of peddling had taught him low-grade herbs. He listed over ten that might aid his体质 (constitution).
He hoped strengthening untempered flesh might ease future pain—like his palms, hardened by Iron Sand Palm, which transformed painlessly and swiftly.
With this, he hurried to the market.
Fired with resolve, he bought the herbs and raced back, wasting no time. He boiled them fiercely, refilling the pot until the liquid reeked of their essence.
This cost twenty-six low-grade spirit stones—a fortune for him. His face twitched with regret, but recalling his palms' power, he deemed it worthwhile.
He estimated ten days of use—time to focus on metamorphosis.
He poured the herbal broth into a tub, added cold water, checked for onlookers, then locked the door, stripped, and sat cross-legged in the bath to resume cultivation.
The brain is the body's frailest part. Thus, after his hands, he tempered downward from his shoulders, leaving head and neck for last.
Agony struck anew.
But experience steeled him. He endured, teeth clenched. Surrender never crossed his mind.
"Endure, and it passes."
All things pass with endurance—pain, grief, all.
Yet "endure" (忍) is a knife in the heart. It hurts tenfold more than the torment borne. Only great will suffices.
Lin Yi had no choice. He must persist.
Phoenixes are reborn from flame. Why not he, from pain?
Endure!
Endure even unto death!
This信念 (conviction) had seen his hands transformed. Now, it sustained his shoulders' metamorphosis.
Time slipped by. Blood and filth seeped from his shoulders. The herbal bath seeped into his pores, slowly fortifying his physique—especially his shoulders, accelerating their transformation.