Liang Rou blinked at Mo Fan's resonant, resolute words.
The faint amusement in her eyes shifted into something else—something more considered.
She looked him over: mud-caked from head to toe, spine straight as a pine tree.
A slow smile curved her lips.
"Oh?"
She smoothed her sleeve with a light touch.
"Then I'll look forward to seeing it."
After a few more pleasantries, the sun had already begun its westward tilt.
Li Banxia and Liang Rou drew out their farewell with the full warmth of old friends reluctant to part.
Shen Qiu stood apart from them beside the crane—whether she was still angry at Mo Fan or simply embarrassed, it was impossible to tell.
Either way, her expression had settled back into its default frost, the Ice Queen persona firmly reinstated.
Wu Mang stood behind Li Banxia wearing the specific, highly awkward smile of a man who had been thoroughly humbled...
Trying very hard not to make it worse, not even daring to breathe loudly.
Skree——
A clear, piercing crane-cry split the sky above Hundred Forging Peak.
The great white bird took to the air, tracing a graceful white line across the sky until it dissolved into the distant mist.
The moment the guests were gone, Li Banxia's smile vanished.
She turned to Mo Fan, and her expression was nothing like the lightness from before. Her eyes were filled with worry.
"That Huang Yun—he's a disciple from the same intake as us. A complete playboy, yes. But he's genuine Mid-Stage Foundation Establishment."
She exhaled slowly.
"Maybe... just listen to Qiuqiu. Find an excuse. Go down to the mortal realm and lie low for a few months."
Mo Fan felt a quiet warmth at her concern. He shook his head anyway, and smiled calmly without saying anything.
Seeing him unmoved, Li Banxia pressed harder.
"You need to understand—Azure Cloud Sect has an unwritten rule that goes back generations."
"If two disciples issue a formal wager battle or spar, absolutely no one else is permitted to intervene or interfere. Not under any circumstances."
"Normally, that kind of match is kept civil. It generally stops before serious harm is done."
Her eyes darkened with a trace of wariness.
"But I'm afraid Huang Yun is sinister and narrow-minded! If he deliberately plays dirty and goes beyond what's acceptable—that's when things become truly difficult to handle."
"Oh, what a load of bullshit!"
Wu Mang, who had been bottling it up on the sidelines for the past several minutes, finally cracked.
He slapped his thigh violently and bellowed at the top of his lungs:
"Don't you worry, Youngest Junior Brother! Your Senior Brother has your back!"
He beat his chest with both fists, his expression fierce enough to frighten small animals.
"What bullshit rules?! I've beaten that Huang Yun into the dirt more times than I can count! Seems like a few years without a good thrashing has made his skin itch again. Hmph!"
Listening to both of them—their concern so open, so completely undisguised...
Mo Fan felt something behind his ribs shift. That layer over his heart, obscured by death-qi, thawed just a few degrees.
"Thank you. Both of you."
He bowed deeply, and meant it.
Then he straightened, and his voice settled into something more serious.
"Rest assured. Xiaoqi isn't the type of reckless person to throw his life away for the sake of face.
If I'm willing to accept the challenge, I naturally have a way to deal with it. I have no intention of acting cocky."
He paused.
A carefully calibrated look of awkwardness crossed his face.
"It's just... in order to deal with Huang Yun, I do have one presumptuous request of you both. I hope it's not too much trouble."
Hearing that the youngest junior brother actually had a request, Li Banxia actually exhaled a long sigh of relief, a gratified smile appearing on her face.
"Asking for help is actually a good thing. I was more worried you'd bottle everything up inside and try to handle everything alone."
"It's not magical artifacts, nor is it pills."
Mo Fan laid out his perfectly constructed excuse.
"Senior Sister knows—I'm a Waste Spirit Root walking the body cultivator's path. Those standard cultivation manuals within the Sect are useless to me."
"But high-tier body tempering techniques from the Scripture Pavilion require a massive amount of Sect Contribution Points to exchange."
He sighed with practiced helplessness.
"I originally planned to keep working odd jobs at the Main Peak's Forging Hall and build up the points gradually. But with Huang Yun moving this aggressively, I don't have that kind of time."
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking genuinely sheepish.
"So... I was hoping to temporarily borrow two hundred Contribution Points from Senior Brother and Senior Sister. Just enough to exchange for a Foundation Establishment-stage body tempering secret manual..."
Li Banxia stared at him for a moment.
Then she burst out laughing.
"Is that all? I thought it was some huge matter."
"Consider it a gift. Senior Sister will sort it out for you today."
Wu Mang roared with hearty laughter beside her.
"Exactly! Junior Brother, you're treating us like outsiders! Just ask!"
Mo Fan thanked them repeatedly.
Internally, he was perfectly clear on what this was: a flawless cover story.
The real purpose of the technique wasn't to fight Huang Yun.
It was to provide a visible explanation for the physical progress that his continuously rising Necromancer tier would inevitably produce.
Half a day later.
Through Li Banxia's assistance, Mo Fan obtained a Foundation Establishment-stage body tempering manual—the [ Pale Wood Body Forging Art ].
The technique was slow to advance, but extraordinarily solid.
Azure Cloud Sect's body cultivation philosophy emphasized continuous, unbroken vitality and an enduring aura.
After expressing his thanks, Mo Fan used closed-door bitter cultivation as his excuse and returned to his stone house deep in the canyon.
CLANG.
The heavy stone door sealed shut behind him.
Mo Fan sat cross-legged on the bed...
Impatiently opened the manual radiating a faint, clean scent of wood and grass, and began to study it meticulously.
Ah. I see.
Something clicked behind his eyes in sudden realization.
This was a proper, orthodox Sect technique. The difference was immediately apparent.
The [ Iron Bone Art ] was blunt—it relied on brutal external physical battering and poison corrosion to forcibly destroy and proliferate muscle fibers.
This was something else entirely.
The [ Pale Wood Body Forging Art ] worked by utilizing a highly specific breathing rhythm to cultivate along the eight extraordinary meridians.
It was a deep-level cultivation of cleansing the marrow and cutting the bones from the inside out.
It would massively increase one's skeletal density, the depth and richness of one's aura and qi-blood, and the body's overall strike-resistance toughness.
Mo Fan didn't hesitate. He discarded all distracting thoughts, adopted the breathing pattern prescribed by the manual, and began his closed-door cultivation.
Breathe in... breathe out...
As the rhythm deepened, he felt his blood and qi transform...
As though they had become thousands of tiny iron hammers, frantically and ceaselessly striking against every bone and meridian in his entire body.
It hurt. And underneath the pain, there was something else—an addictive, numbing resonance that reached deep into his marrow.
Early the next morning, when Mo Fan surfaced from his deep meditation—
"Urgh—"
Before he even opened his eyes, an extremely pungent, foul stench hit him. Somewhere between sour and rotten. He nearly gagged.
He opened his eyes, frowned, and looked down.
...Hiss.
His skin—normally a deep, tempered bronze—was coated in a thick layer of black sludge. Dense and viscous as crude oil, clinging to every inch of him.
This... this is the impurity expelled from cleansing the marrow and cutting the bones?!
He could barely believe it.
Within this physical body of his that had already been tempered thousands of times through brutal conditioning...
There was actually still so much invisible waste hidden.
He went straight to the mountain spring in the courtyard. It took three full buckets of water before he thoroughly washed off the layer of black mud.
When it was done, he stood still for a moment and felt it—the surge. An explosive, unmistakable increase in raw physical power.
Mo Fan clenched his fists slowly and smiled with satisfaction.
This. This is what true Body Cultivation is supposed to feel like.
Half a month passed in the blink of an eye under Mo Fan's extremely regular routine.
Mo Fan's days fell into a rhythm so consistent it became almost meditative.
During the day, he sealed himself inside and drove through the Pale Wood Body Forging Art—purifying his blood and qi, consolidating his foundation.
At night, he took his undead underlings into the outer edges of the mid-level mine shafts, running live combat drills and grinding experience.
Day after day. Tempering after tempering.
Something in Mo Fan's bearing underwent an extremely profound metamorphosis. A quality that was difficult to name.
Like a peerless fine sword that had finally been sheathed in the most unadorned, simple scabbard.
The edge was still there. It just no longer needed to be visible.
Until—
Early one morning half a month later.
Mo Fan finished a round of body cultivation as usual and was heading to the courtyard to wash up.
SHHRRIIING——!!!
A deafening, sharp sword-cry tore through the sky above Hundred Forging Peak without warning...
Sharp enough to split the air, loud enough to feel like the clouds themselves were being ripped apart.
Mo Fan looked up.
Several streaks of extremely dazzling, blazing cyan sword-light sliced down through the overcast sky above the canyon.
Arrogant, unrestrained, carrying an undisguised, berserk killing intent that fell to the earth like shooting stars.
Mo Fan stood in the courtyard and watched them descend.
"So. What's meant to come... has finally come."