First Hunt
The ten months in the secluded valley passed not as a countdown, but as a deep, deliberate breath. Freed from the shadow of the demon and armed with a true legacy, Han Li's days found a rhythm of their own. He was carefree, not in idleness, but in purpose. His world shrank to the circle of his spiritual sense, the glow of his cauldron, and the silent, accelerated growth within the jade slip at his neck.
He was preparing to leave when the voice resonated in his mind, not as a sound, but as a pressure against his consciousness.
"Your foundation is broad but shallow. Do not step onto the wider path as a sapling expecting to weather a storm. Reach the 8th or 9th Tier of qi refining . Then go."
The senior in the miniature tower, a pendant now hanging securely beside the time-jade, had spoken for the first time since the cottage. It was not a request.
So, Han Li stayed. He consumed the High-Grade Condensation Pills in measured sequences, their energy cascading through his meridians, washing them wider, stronger. He practiced the Bone-Maturing Pills until his bones hummed with a density that felt like forged iron wrapped in silk. The silent valley echoed with the crackle of summoned flame, the whisper of levitating stones, and the swift, tearing sound of his body cutting through the air.
He learned. Not just recipes, but techniques—the fundamental arts of survival.
· The Fireball Technique: A basic combat art, conjuring a compact sphere of searing flame. He practiced until its formation was a thought and its trajectory an extension of his will.
· Imperial Flight: The art of cycling Qi to defy gravity. It was draining, a constant leak of spiritual power, but the freedom of skimming the treetops was invaluable.
· Telekinesis: Moving objects with mind and Qi. He started with leaves, then rocks, then his own dagger, refining his control to a surgeon's precision.
· The Soul-Lock Talisman: A basic talisman-making skill. Using spirit-infused ink and parchment, he learned to craft seals that could briefly disorient a foe or lock a weak spirit in place.
These were the tools of the wandering cultivator. They granted him options. By the tenth month, the energy within him coalesced, broke through a final, thin barrier, and settled into a potent, humming equilibrium.
Tier 9. Qi Refinement, Perfected.
He felt the difference. His spiritual sense, once a vague field of perception, could now actively sweep outwards, painting a detailed picture of the world in a two-kilometer radius. Strength thrummed in his muscles, not brutish, but efficient and ready.
This time, when he packed, no voice stopped him.
He left before dawn on a day kissed by autumn frost. The first blush of sun had not yet touched the valley floor when he passed the boundary stone of his long refuge, not with a dramatic leap, but with a simple, grounded step. He alternated his travel—long stretches of walking to conserve energy, brief bursts of Imperial Flight to cross ravines, and flashes of Swift Lightning Steps over difficult terrain. The flight and the swift steps were draining; walking was his default state, allowing his Qi to cycle and recover.
On the second day, the ancient forest deepened. Giant, moss-covered trees formed a cathedral canopy, and the air grew cool and thick. Han Li walked a worn game trail, his senses relaxed yet alert.
Almost as a habitual exercise, he spread his spiritual sense outward. The world bloomed in his mind's eye—the scurrying of insects, the slow pulse of old trees, the drip of dew. At first, nothing notable. Then, as his sense reached its farthest edge, he detected it.
A disturbance. A ripple of frantic movement.
A human-shaped signature, weak and flickering, about 1.7 kilometers west, moving toward him at a desperate, stumbling run. Behind it… nothing clear. But the forest where the runner had been felt oddly still, as if recently vacated by something that commanded silence.
Han Li's pace shifted from a walk to the Swift Lightning Steps. The world blurred at his edges as he closed the distance in moments, stopping where the trail curved ahead of the approaching figure.
Seconds later, she burst into view.
She was young, perhaps sixteen. Her hair was a wild tangle of leaves and dark strands, her face streaked with dirt and terror. Her simple peasant clothes were torn, scratches lining her arms. She nearly collided with him, her eyes wide and unseeing until they focused on his calm, steady presence.
"S-Senior… why… running…" she gasped, the words tearing from a raw throat. Her breath hitched, threatening to spiral into panic.
Han Li's eyes took in her state. Without a word, his hand dipped into his spatial pouch—a motion too smooth, too fluid for her to comprehend—and emerged with a simple, grey outer robe. He stepped forward and draped it over her trembling shoulders, guiding her to sit on a fallen log.
"Breathe," he said, his voice low and even. He offered her a water skin. "Drink. Then tell me. Who did this? What are you running from?"
The girl gulped the water, coughing once before the story spilled out in a terrified rush. "A crab! A monstrous, fast-running crab! Its shell was… was blue, like a poisoned sky! It's smarter than any beast! It chased me from the riverbank! It took Old Man Feng's entire catch and his raft! It looked at me… it looked at me like it was thinking!"
A crab. Han Li's mind, trained for alchemical ingredients and demonic plots, stuttered for a second. A crab?
'Senior?' He thought, focusing his intent on the miniature tower.
A dry, scholarly voice echoed in his mind. "A Spirit-Shell Crab. A Tier-1 Demon Beast. Its shell is ideal for crafting primary defensive artifacts—scale shields, bracers. Exceptionally resilient for its grade. Its core, when refined with the core of a Tier-1 Thunder Roc in a Foundation Establishment Pill… well, it wouldn't just solidify your foundation. It would forge one with a trace of lightning resilience and watery endurance. A notable advantage, one that might ease future bottlenecks."
'Can I beat it?' Han Li thought back. 'Tier 1… isn't that lower than my Tier 9?'
The senior's mental voice held a hint of amusement. "Hah. You could not. In any realm, a Tier-1 Demon Beast is spiritually equivalent to a human cultivator at the peak of Body Refinement—Tier 13 or beyond, brushing Foundation Establishment. You are a child waving a sharp stick at a fortified wall."
'Should I run, then?'
"Run? Why? Truthfully, you are no match for it in direct contest of power. But this battle is crucial for your future. It is valuable. Listen: in the cultivation world, victory is defined by more than cultivation level. It is defined by formations, artifacts, talismans, techniques, and wit. Raw power contributes perhaps forty percent in a conflict between peers. A higher level simply widens your options. For now, you must hunt it. Use everything you have just learned."
Han Li refocused on the girl. Her story was too specific, her fear too real. A demon beast this close to mortal trails was a problem. And the reward… the senior's words ignited a calculated greed in his chest.
"Sister, where is the crab now?"
"I don't know! I just ran! It must be back by the river bend, east of here! Please, don't go! It's a monster!"
Han Li stood. "Wait here. Do not move from this spot. I will see if it is there."
He didn't wait for her protest. With a final glance, he melted back into the forest, his movements becoming silent, his Qi tightly coiled inward. The grey gloom of the ancient woods swallowed him.
The girl, wrapped in the strange, warm robe that smelled of herbs and clean air, pulled it tight. She had nowhere else to go. So she waited, her eyes fixed on the spot where the calm young man had vanished, listening to the terrifying silence of the forest.