Chapter 5: The Pinnacle of Skin Transmutation
The essence of the herbal broth, guided by the transmutation incantation, seeped into Lin Yi's flesh like a nurturing tide. The medicinal aroma in the tub faded, while a stench of purged impurities swelled, thickening into a miasma that clung to every corner of the room.
Lin Yi remained unaware.
Eyes sealed, his face rippled with spasms—a silent testament to the torment ravaging his body.
Time flowed like a lazy river, unmarked until its currents carried him into a new dawn. When Lin Yi finally opened his eyes, the morning sun spilled through the window in a blaze of gold, forcing him to squint until his vision softened.
Abruptly—
"Foul beyond words!" He howled, wild with revulsion.
Though he'd survived this stench once before, its reek still clawed at his throat. He snatched up his robes and fled, racing toward the waterfall as if pursued by demons.
Scrubbed clean, he returned to empty the tub's noxious brew and reignite the fire beneath a fresh pot of herbs. A full day and night of transmutation, fortified by the herbs, had woven its magic from his shoulders to his chest.
Surely, by the last dregs of these herbs, his skin transmutation would reach its zenith.
While the broth simmered, he devoured steamed buns, crumbs scattering like snow. Once the herbs had brewed into a rich, earthy liquid, he sank back into cultivation.
Days blurred into a cycle of darkness and light, each indistinguishable from the last.
On the seventh day, Lin Yi completed the transmutation of every limb and torso—all but his head and neck.
Noon light bathed the courtyard as he stepped outside, fresh-robed and with a tidied room behind him. He began to practice Iron Sand Palm, each strike carving the air with newfound force.
He paused, not yet daring to tamper with his neck or head.
With most of his body transformed, his palms moved like blurs, their power swollen by三成—sevenfold stronger than before.
Joy surged, warm as sunlight.
He repeated the form, savoring the thrill of strength, a confidence blooming where doubt once festered. The urge to test himself against a Qi Refining Stage 3 cultivator prickled in his veins.
What heights had he reached?
After several rounds, he stilled, mind turning to strategy.
"Challenging a fellow disciple would be folly. A sudden leap in power would spark suspicion, and if the bracelet's secret leaked, all would be lost. Patience is key."
"An outsider—from another sect—would be safer."
Hope glimmered in his gaze, bright as the noon sun.
"Only neck and head remain. These guard the mind; recklessness could cost me everything. I must wait until my state is flawless."
First, though, he rekindled the fire beneath the herbal pot.
Gone was the listlessness of his failed cultivation days. Since finding the *Five-Spirits Scripture*, the urgency of his first days in the sect had returned, sharp as a blade.
He poured the steaming broth into the tub, leaving it untouched. Optimal focus might strike in moments or hours; better to let the water wait, ready to warm or cool as needed.
Settling cross-legged on his bed, he let his thoughts drift like leaves on a stream—rising, falling, ungrasped. Gradually, his mind cleared into a rare stillness, a void where transmutation would flourish.
This state took but half an hour to attain.
The broth had cooled to perfection. He slipped into the tub, letting the liquid cradle his neck, rising to his lips.
Extra water ensured every inch of his throat was submerged, a cocoon of healing warmth.
Channeling the transmutation incantation, he drew the five elemental energies, guiding them to seep into his neck. Days of suffering had honed his tolerance, and the void state lent him precision.
The energies worked like sculptors, chiseling away impurities, forging his skin anew. Blood and grime oozed, but he paid them no mind, his focus a laser—slow, steady, unyielding.
Safety, above all.
By noon the next day, his neck had transformed. The stench lingered, but familiarity had blunted its edge; he merely sighed and headed for the waterfall.
Two hours later—clean, fed, and with fresh herbs brewing—he returned. The tub brimmed with broth, the last of his药材 dissolved into it. He'd vowed: not a step beyond this room until his head was transformed.
Again, he slipped into the void, thoughts dissolving like mist.
Submerging himself fully, he suspended his breath—a feat of Iron Sand Palm mastery and cultivation, letting the broth cradle his head, its essence seeping into every pore.
The incantation flowed, as natural as breath. Elemental energies wove into his scalp, altering it grain by grain. He moved with the slowness of a glacier, every nerve alert, for here, a single misstep would leave no room for regret.
Pain erupted, sharper than any before—agony lacing the very bones of his skull. He gritted his teeth, sweat mixing with filth and blood, but made no sound.
Endure.
It had become second nature. If he faltered here, what hope for the eight transformations to come? To flinch now would condemn him to a lifetime of bowing beneath mockery, powerless to resist.
But he would not flinch.
This chance to rise—he would seize it, even if it cost him everything.
Dawn broke again.
The transmutation continued, inching forward through the night, barely a quarter done. He held fast to slowness; two days, three days—he would wait, so long as it meant success.
Steadfastness was his armor.
Lips pressed thin, he swallowed his groans. To bear what others could not—this was the price of greatness.
As the saying goes: The glory of the crowd is paid for in the solitude of suffering.
Two more days slipped by.
"Moo!"
When the first light of dawn gilded his skin, a sound erupted—half dragon's roar, half elephant's trump, primal and resounding.
His flesh blazed, gold as the sun, then softened, the light sinking inward, leaving his skin smooth, unmarked, yet fundamentally changed.
"Perfected… at last." Lin Yi's laugh rang out, bright with triumph.
As the words left his lips, characters unfurled in his mind, a tapestry of unknown script that he understood nonetheless.
"Flesh Transmutation." He breathed the words, awe-struck. "The first paves the way for the second—just as it should."
These were the secrets of the *Five-Spirits Scripture*'s next stage.
He lingered, committing them to memory, then rose—eagerness thrumming in his veins.
"First, a bath. Then… a test."
With that, he strode toward the waterfall, the world seeming brighter, sharper, beneath his newly transformed gaze.