The silence in Han Li's chamber was no longer oppressive. It was his own. The acrid scent of blood and demonic energy had dissipated, replaced by the familiar, dusty smell of old wood and parchment. He sat in the simple wooden chair, the weight of the last two years—and the last two hours—settling onto his shoulders not as a burden, but as a mantle he had finally grown strong enough to wear.
From within his robes, he retrieved two items. The first was the worn spatial pouch that had once belonged to the true Physician Xiao. The second was a pair of sealed letters, their paper yellowed at the edges, preserved by a wisp of gentle, long-faded Qi. His master had been meticulous even in his final deceit, hiding the truth in plain sight. One letter was addressed to Han Li. The other, thicker one, was sealed for The Xiao Family, Yan City.
With careful fingers, Han Li broke the seal on the family letter. Inside were two pages. The first was a genuine, loving message to his sister, full of mundane details about the mountain air and new herb specimens—a masterpiece of normalcy meant to allay any suspicion. The second page, folded and hidden within the crease, was different. The handwriting here was tighter, sharper, etched with a palpable urgency.
Han Li,
If you are reading this, then the heavens have shown a sliver of mercy. It means you saw through the veil, you survived the harvest, and you have finished the thing wearing my face. You have my gratitude, and my profound sorrow for leading you into this den.
The demon, in its arrogance, spoke freely of its need for a specific vessel. It seeks a ' chaos Spiritual Root'—a mythic constitution said to hold the seed of Clestail ascension . It believed you might be a carrier. Whether you are or not is irrelevant now; the demon's interest is the reason you were brought here, and the reason it is dead.
My child, the path ahead is yours. But if you seek a place to grow, to vanish and become formidable, go to my family in Yan City. Show them this letter. Ask them for the map and the token. It is an 'Ascension Token' for the Drifting Mist Valley. With it, you may gain entry when the time is right. Before that trial, you may test your mettle at the 'Immortal Gathering' held biannually at Seven Peaks City.
I have… a final, selfish request. My life was not without conflict. In Yan City, I made two ruthless enemies. With me gone, they may seek to settle scores with my family. I do not ask this because I saved your life—that act was my own choice, and my own joy. I ask this as your master, who has nothing left to give but this plea: please, ensure their safety. Just this once.
There is so much beauty in this world I failed to appreciate while chasing the Dao. Mountains at dawn, the laughter of children, a quiet cup of tea. See it for me.
Xiao Yao
Han Li held the paper until the slight tremor in his hands stilled. He read it again, committing every word, every stroke of the brush, to memory. The words painted the ghost of the man he'd known—kind, burdened, and ultimately, brave in his final deception.
"Okay, Master," Han Li said to the quiet room, his voice firm. "I'll remember. Rest in peace."
The time for stillness was over. Now was the time for consolidation.
He moved to Xiao Yao's old chamber, untouched since the demon's possession. He wasn't looting; he was reclaiming a legacy. Every medical tome, every alchemical journal, every scroll on herbology was carefully gathered. From a hidden floorboard, he retrieved three jade vials of pristine, high-grade Foundation-Setting Pills—the real Xiao Yao's personal stash, untouched by the demon. He then went to the private herb garden, using a small shovel to carefully extract every valuable plant: Silverthread Ginseng, Ghost-Face Orchids, Three-Year Sunrise Buds. Their root systems, caked in spiritual soil, were placed gently into his spatial pouch.
Back in his own chamber, he emptied Xiao Yao's pillow. Hidden within the husks were seven small crystal vials, each containing a concentrated, purified spiritual extract—the demon's own high-quality reserves, meant for its own use. Han Li's eyes glinted. This was the capital for his next journey.
For the next two days, his room glowed with the soft, pulsating light of a summoned alchemical cauldron, a phantom construct of pure Qi. The air grew thick with the fragrance of melting snow, scorched earth, and blooming lotus as he worked.
Whoosh… Hiss…
The sound of spiritual fusion was a constant song. He refined:
· High-Grade Condensation Pills for steady, sustained advancement.
· Bone-Maturing Pills to further toughen his physique beyond his tier.
· Mortal Longevity Pills, priceless treasures to the secular world, perfect for barter or fulfilling promises.
· And finally, using the last drops of the dragon-essence extracts, two new creations: Dragon's Breath Qi Pills for instant, explosive energy recovery, and Dragon's Scale Fortification Pills for temporary, massive defensive boosts.
Dozens of pills, glittering like captured jewels, were sorted and stored. He was no longer a disciple scrounging for resources; he was a well-provisioned cultivator ready for a long campaign.
As he sealed the last vial, he froze.
"Oh no. I almost forgot… the jade."
The small, milky-white jade slip given to him by the tower senior felt warm in his hand. 'Its interior space flows faster. A year inside is a day outside. For spirit herbs… perhaps sixty years of growth per external hour.'
Sixty years per hour. The concept was so vast it was meaningless until tested.
Heart pounding with a mix of scientific curiosity and sheer greed, Han Li focused his spirit on the jade. With a soft pop of displaced air, he vanished from his chamber.
The space inside was a small, grey, featureless cube of earth and misty air, no larger than his room. The spiritual energy was thin but untainted. With deliberate care, he planted five seeds of a mid-grade spiritual herb, the Bluebell Skygrass, used in common energy-recovery pills. He poured a vial of spiritual water over them, then willed himself out.
---
Han Li spent the next hours in methodical preparation. He stood at the courtyard well in his torn and bloodied robes, pouring bucket after bucket of cold water over himself. The grime of battle—both physical and spiritual—swirled away in rust-colored currents. He scrubbed his skin until it felt new, then donned a fresh, simple robe of deep azure blue. A visual reset.
Back in his room, he watched an incense stick burn down. The ash fell in quick, successive segments, marking the passage of five external hours. On the table, the jade slip pulsed with a soft, internal light.
Now.
He focused, touched the jade, and re-entered.
The sight that greeted him stole the breath from his lungs.
The five Bluebell Skygrass seeds were gone. In their place stood a dense, radiant cluster of plants, each stalk as thick as his wrist and towering over his head. Their leaves shimmered with a deep, sapphire phosphorescence, and the air hummed with condensed spiritual energy. The stems were woven with intricate, silvery patterns that only appeared after centuries of maturation. He reached out, his fingers brushing a leaf that felt like cooled metal.
Not decades. Not even a century or two.
The plants he had planted were over three hundred years old.
A slow, incredulous smile spread across Han Li's face. "Success," he whispered to the humming air. "It is a success."
His mind raced with implications. With this, he could mature rare herbs in a day. He could cultivate plants thought extinct. He could fuel his alchemy with materials that would make sect elders weep with envy.
With reverence, he dug out the ancient, spiritually-charged herbs, careful to preserve every root fiber humming with power. He willed himself out, the world snapping back to the slow, mundane pace of his chamber.
The jade slip was cool in his palm once more. This changed everything. It wasn't just a tool; it was a new axis for his cultivation path. For security, he threaded a strong, thin cord through a barely-visible hole at the slip's top and tied it securely behind his neck, tucking it under his collar where it rested against his skin, a cool and constant secret.
He packed the rest of his belongings—the pills, the scrolls, the letters—into his spatial pouch. The cottage was just a shell now, a stage for a play that had ended.
Han Li took one last look around the room that had been his prison, his school, and his battleground. Then he turned, stepped outside, and closed the door without a sound.
The mountain path stretched before him, winding into the mist-shrouded valleys below. The legacy was secured. The acceleration had begun. His steps, firm and deliberate, carried him away from the past and into a future he would now forge at a speed none could predict.