"No… I can't stop!"
Yunchuan suddenly shook his head hard, tossing away the creeping fatigue—and with it, the urge to give up. He knew it well: what he was experiencing now was just exhaustion, not his limit. If he gave in and stopped here, then everything—this whole so-called training session—would become worthless.
True growth came from perseverance.
If he quit halfway, what kind of strong soul master could he ever become?
How could he protect Mom… and Xue'er?
Just the thought of it was enough to steel his heart.
From that moment onward, Yunchuan no longer viewed this weighted running as some dull chore or pointless suffering. His mindset shifted: this was the path to power, the price of protection.
He would endure it all—no matter how painful or crushing.
Only those who suffered through hardship could reach the top.
"Huff… huff… hh—HAAHH…"
His ragged breath tore through his lungs. His arms flailed unevenly, his legs numb, moving only out of sheer inertia. His entire body ached as if splintered open.
Just then—
"Hummmm…"
The rune between Yunchuan's brows emitted a faint, vibrating pulse.
An unseen, mysterious wave of energy spread from his mind and washed through his body like a tide.
His numbed limbs began to tingle. The pain in his muscles—the tightness in his chest—the burn in his breath—it all came flooding back.
But he didn't dwell on the discomfort.
Because alongside that strange pulse came a peculiar sensation—profound, almost spiritual. Something too elusive to describe, yet too real to ignore.
Almost instinctively, Yunchuan began adjusting the rhythm of his breathing.
Inhale… exhale…
Inhale… exhale…
Inhale… exhale…
And then, something clicked.
His body, pushed to the limit just moments ago, suddenly found new strength. Breathing steadied. Arms swung in perfect harmony. Footfalls grew light, precise again. His legs no longer dragged—each step gained purpose.
Energy poured into his tired limbs like a reservoir finally tapped.
His body moved, not just with effort—but with understanding.
He wasn't simply running anymore. He was adjusting stride lengths, syncing breaths with movements, matching force output to terrain with razor precision. Every ounce of his strength was being used effectively.
This was no longer just training.
This was cultivation—in motion.
He'd entered a state of flow. Pain gone. Burden forgotten. All that remained was rhythm, breath, and movement.
Time disappeared.
At some point—who knew how long—Yunchuan saw a familiar figure far off at the end of the road. That graceful silhouette of violet robes… That loving, radiant smile…
Mom.
He felt his consciousness slowly return as the mysterious state faded.
"What… just happened to me?"
He stared at his hands, his limbs, utterly confused. Despite running an impossibly long distance with a crushing weight on his back, he didn't feel broken—he felt empowered.
He could clearly sense the flow of soul power inside him. Clearly perceive the twitch of every muscle, the shift of every breath.
It was as though every part of his body now answered directly to his will.
"If I fought now, I could take on ten of my old self at once…"
Then it hit him.
"It was the Flesh Becoming Saint ›rune‹!"
He recalled the subtle hum from the mark on his forehead just before he slipped into that strange trance-like state. No doubt—that was what triggered it.
"So this is how it works…"
Understanding began to unfold in his heart.
Unlike normal cultivation methods that forced a fixed technique, the 『Flesh Becoming Saint Art』 didn't teach you a one-size-fits-all method.
Because not every being was the same.
Your physique, your abilities, even the nature of your world—all played a role. Give someone a spell from the immortal realm, but no spirit root? They can't cultivate. Even with a spirit root, try practicing in a modern city with no energy? Still pointless.
That's why—the rune didn't force-feed cultivation scripts.
It only guided.
It opened the right senses, nudged you into self-realization, and let you walk the path tailored to your body, your soul, and your world.
The most brilliant teacher, after all, never gives answers—only the wisdom to find them.
Eyes lighting up with newfound understanding, Yunchuan saw Bibi Dong ahead and instinctively began slowing down. He adjusted his breath. Calmed his heartbeat. Gradually let the post-battle adrenaline drain from his overclocked system.
And with the calm came the crash.
His joints flared. Muscles twitched and throbbed. Limbs ached with sharp prickling pain—like every tendon had been set on fire.
That so-called "energized high" was slipping away fast.
His steps grew sluggish.
Dragging his legs like lead, he finally reached his mother's side. His vision swam again, and this time, he lost his footing completely.
He collapsed—
"Got you."
Before his face hit dirt, warm arms caught him. A soft floral scent enveloped him.
Bibi Dong's embrace was warm and gentle, even though he was soaked in sweat. Her beautiful face curved into a quiet, proud smile as she looked down at her unconscious son.
"You really gave it your all," she whispered.
Flying high above the horizon, she carried him home.
…
The next time Yunchuan opened his eyes, he was surrounded by a pale mist. A rich herbal fragrance filled his nose. It took him a few seconds to even remember where he was.
He blinked. Once. Twice.
"...I'm in a medicinal bath?"
Looking down, he saw he'd been stripped and lowered into a large soaking barrel. The light blue liquid shimmered gently and gave off a calming glow.
Even more surprisingly—his aches were gone.
His entire body felt light, vibrant—even refreshed.
The pain from earlier had completely faded, erased by the medicinal infusion.
Just then, the door creaked open.
Chrysanthemum Douluo walked in with a shallow wicker basket of freshly prepared herbs. When he saw Yunchuan awake, his brows lifted in surprise.
"Little Chuan? You're already up?" He stepped forward with interest. "Impressive. Looks like your body's far stronger than I expected. You absorbed the medicine that quickly, huh?"
Yunchuan looked up. "Elder Chrysanthemum."
Of course. If there was anyone in Spirit Hall who understood herbs, it was him—the man whose Martial Soul was the immortal-grade chrysanthemum, Qirong Tongtian.
Who else would Bibi Dong entrust with preparing a recovery bath for her son?
A Titled Douluo personally brewing post-training medicine…
There was no stronger sign just how deeply his mother cherished him.
(End of Chapter)