Deep cultivation did not mean forgoing food and water entirely. As a True Essence realm cultivator, Gao Han had not yet achieved the state of Bigu, or abstinence from sustenance—a feat reserved only for the mighty Undying Kings of the higher realms. Still, as one's cultivation deepened, the need for physical nourishment dwindled. For Gao Han, a single meal every seven days sufficed.
Between his sessions of swordsmanship enlightenment, he sensed his cultivation base rising once more, and could not help but sigh in admiration. "Truly, a spirit stone is peerless. Legend has it that in the heart of the Cang Domain, direct disciples of the great clans consume spirit stones as common fare. I wonder how swiftly their cultivation progresses… I should dearly like to compete with them one day."
Yet for all his ambition, Gao Han knew he remained far too weak. He had yet to make his mark even within the Spirit Kingdom; to speak of the Cang Domain was premature, especially with the Southern Cang Region lying between them—a realm of power incomparably vaster than the Spirit Kingdom.
The cultivation chambers beneath the Zheng residence were reserved exclusively for prodigies, whether recruited from beyond or born into the clan itself. Sequestered in secret, they were shielded from the prying eyes and malice of the royal faction. Ordinary disciples, even those of direct lineage, were granted no such privilege. Zheng Ling, for instance, though the clan leader's own son, lacked the talent to set foot within these chambers.
Gao Han was a singular exception. Before Zheng Yunqing could even arrange for his secluded training, he had openly defied the royal faction and wounded a prince—an act of sheer audacity that had placed him firmly in the crosshairs of the imperial family. Concealing him within the chambers was no longer feasible; the Zhengs could not sacrifice their entire enterprise for one man.
The month-long reprieve had been granted only because the Spirit Kingdom's Young Generation Tournament loomed, leaving the great clans too occupied to fixate on Gao Han. And since he required a quiet space to master his sword art, he had been assigned a chamber as a matter of convenience.
Gao Han understood this perfectly well, yet cared little. In his eyes, seclusion without engagement only widened the gap between oneself and others, rather than closing it. One who knew not their own flaws could never mend them. Though cultivation in the wider world was fraught with peril, it forged constant growth, forcing him to confront his weaknesses and refine himself. This was the life he truly craved.
Since all within the chambers were prodigies immersed in unbroken cultivation, the Zheng clan provided generous provisions, delivered daily by the most trusted servants. Three meals were left at each chamber door without fail, whether consumed or not.
Having finished his sword practice, Gao Han's stomach rumbled. He rose and stepped outside, just as a servant was placing his meal by the entrance. As chance would have it, the door across the hall swung open, revealing a youth of eighteen or nineteen, his bearing arrogant and his nose tilted skyward. His cultivation was formidable—second-layer True Essence—slightly weaker than Ning Hai, yet a remarkable achievement for his age, a testament to his extraordinary talent.
"I'll take that tray," the young man said, casting a disdainful glance at Gao Han before addressing the servant haughtily.
The servant paled at the sight of him, stealing a nervous look at Gao Han before stammering, "B-But Young Master Qian, this is for this gentleman. If you could wait just a moment longer—"
"Silence! I said I'll take it!"
Enraged that a mere servant would dare defy him, the youth raised a hand to strike.
"Enough. He may have it," Gao Han said. Fighting over a meal was beneath him. Besides, the youth was a talent recruited by the Zheng clan, which had granted him the peerless Seven-Sword Art. To cause trouble now would be unseemly.
The youth would not let the matter rest, however. "Hmph! A coward, then. To reach the first layer of True Essence and still be spineless—trash." He spat on the ground in contempt.
The servant, trembling with fear, hurried toward the youth with the tray, only to stumble as if losing his balance, sending the food flying toward him. Yet Gao Han saw through the act at once; the stumble was forced, clumsily acted, and entirely unnecessary.
"Die!"
Furious and humiliated, the youth reacted with lightning speed, drawing two golden coin darts from his waist. Whistling through the air, the essence-infused darts were razor-sharp and blisteringly fast, slicing clean through porcelain bowls and wooden trays without a sound, leaving surfaces as smooth as mirrors in their wake.
Having cut through the airborne food, the darts continued unabated toward the servant.
Gao Han did not hesitate. His Steelpoint Sword flashed from its sheath, wrapped in surging true essence, and swatted the projectiles away. The darts rebounded even faster toward the youth, who hastily loosed two more coins to intercept them.
Gao Han sheathed his sword and smiled faintly. "There is no need for such fury. It was but an accident." He fell silent, however, for the servant who had been moments away from death had vanished without a trace.
"He is no ordinary man," Gao Han muttered. Any common warrior, even a peak ninth-layer Qi Condensation cultivator, would have frozen in terror amid the pressure of two True Essence experts clashing. A mere mortal would have been pinned to the ground by that aura, unable to flee.
But the youth would not let the confrontation end.
"A first-layer trash dares to oppose me? You have courage, I'll give you that. Come here, call me your adoptive grandfather a few times, cripple your own cultivation, and I'll spare you." He stared at Gao Han as if at a plaything.
Gao Han ignored him entirely and turned to leave.
"Who said you may leave?!"
The youth's shout rang out, followed by the shrill whine of coin darts cutting through the air—dozens of them, at the very least.
Gao Han's patience frayed. He had yielded time and again, yet the youth's insolence knew no bounds. Whirling around, he unleashed Earth-Shaking Might.
A violent wave of true essence rippled outward, shaking the entire underground passage. The hundred-odd coin darts suspended in the air clattered to the ground in a shower of gold. Gao Han could only marvel at the youth's sheer wealth.
His face turned icy. "Push me again, and I'll cripple your right hand."
The youth flew into a mad rage, his eyes bloodshot. "Cripple me? You bastard!" He produced yet another dart, this one unlike the others. Where the previous coins had been golden, this was green, glinting with a menacing, venomous light.
Gao Han's brow furrowed. "Poisoned darts?"
The use of poison was among the most despicable acts in the Tianwu Continent. Those who resorted to it in combat faced public scorn, or even death at the hands of outraged righteous cultivators. Yet poison remained widespread, for its power was undeniable. Rumors spoke of toxins that killed instantly upon drawing blood, slaying the victim before an antidote could be administered.
Gao Han's eyes turned frigid, devoid of all emotion. "You would stoop to such vile tricks? You dishonor the Zheng clan's patronage."
"Spare me your sanctimony! I only use them to further my own ascent. What does it matter if a method is vile? Success is the only true path—the only light."
"Shameless."
"Enough talk! Taste my Thousand Falling Rain! You're dead!"
With a roar, the youth hurled the green dart. It flickered in and out of sight, multiplying rapidly—one became two, two four, four eight—until hundreds of poisoned coins filled the air, surging toward Gao Han.
The youth laughed maniacally. "Watch your step! This dart was steeped in poison for two years, brewed from eight deadly toxins. Even a single scratch will rot your flesh from the inside. Imagine watching yourself decay slowly!"
Gao Han stared at him as one would at a fool, then finally spoke aloud. "Imbecile."
Activating Thousand Searches, his body weaved effortlessly through the gaps in the dart storm, closing the distance in an instant. As the youth gaped in shock, Gao Han unleashed the Seven-Sword Art for the very first time.
Drawing Strike!
A single streak of sword light blazed forth like lightning in the night, impossibly swift. One moment his hand rested on his hilt; the next, his blade pressed against the youth's throat.
"I-It can't be… so fast…" the youth stammered, staring at Gao Han in utter disbelief.
"Nothing is impossible."
On Gao Han's words, the youth's right arm fell to the ground, blood gushing from the stump. His screams of agony echoed through the chambers, jolting every cultivating prodigy within. All wondered who dared disturb their seclusion.
"I warned you I would cripple your right hand," Gao Han said, sheathing his sword as the youth writhed on the floor. "I suggest you do not test my patience again. I have no tolerance for your yapping."
Zheng Yunqing had witnessed the entire scene. The servant was no common man; he had fled directly to Zheng Yunqing's study to report the incident, urging the clan leader to expel the youth from the chambers.
To expel him, in this context, meant to kill him. Letting him live to inform the royal family was too great a risk. Zheng Yunqing hesitated, for the youth's talent was considerable—eighteen years old and already second-layer True Essence. In a decade, he would have reached at least eighth-layer True Essence, a pillar of the Zheng clan.
But the servant spoke only one cold sentence. "He will never amount to greatness. Even if he grows strong, his loyalty to the Zheng clan is far from certain."
Zheng Yunqing drew a deep breath and made for the chambers, arriving just as Gao Han sheathed his sword over the fallen youth.
Gao Han recounted the entire incident calmly—the provocation, the poisoned darts, the youth's admission that he meant only to use the Zheng clan for his own gain. Zheng Yunqing's gaze softened with regret, then hardened into resolve.
The youth was dragged away and beheaded publicly, charged with using poison in combat. The prodigies in the chambers trembled, resolving to keep two iron rules: never betray the Zheng clan, and never provoke Gao Han—the ruthless god of death who kept his word to the letter. Had he threatened beheading rather than maiming, the youth would have died on the spot.
Zheng Yunqing clapped Gao Han on the shoulder with a warm smile. He knew that, for now at least, Gao Han stood firmly with the Zheng clan. Gao Han understood the unspoken message as well. Zheng Yunqing could have ordered the execution in private, yet he had done so openly within the chambers—a clear warning to any disloyal prodigy to fall in line.
Gao Han did not press the matter. He requested a fresh meal from Zheng Yunqing and returned to his chamber, leaving servants to clean the bloodshed.
The incident was little more than a minor interlude in his life, a single note in the grand symphony of his existence—or perhaps less than that.
Back in his seclusion, Gao Han finished his meal and returned to contemplating the characters of the Seven-Sword Art. They flashed through his mind endlessly, whether from a chain reaction of enlightenment or sheer exhaustion.
Without warning, the frost energy within his body surged toward his soul sea. He had long sensed this cold carried a soul-stinging sharpness, yet until now it had circulated only through his physical meridians, leaving his spirit untouched. Now, it froze his soul directly.
He felt as if encased in a block of ice, though his body remained unharmed. The chill was spiritual, not physical; no warmth could chase it away.
Gritting his teeth, he fought to hold back cries of agony, yet the searing cold of his soul made his jaw chatter violently. His consciousness grew hazy, his vision blurring. He struggled to restrain his true essence from flooding toward his soul, but it moved beyond his control, drawn irresistibly inward.
"If this continues, I shall perish," he thought. Though he possessed an ice-attribute physique, his body and soul were separate entities. He could feel his ability to think slipping away.
Desperate, a flash of inspiration struck him. He had forged his body with ice—why not temper his soul with frost as well?
He could scarce fathom how bold the idea was. The soul was humanity's most mysterious essence, both mighty and fragile. Its power was vast, yet it could not bear the slightest harm. No one in history had ever dared to temper their soul; failure meant complete annihilation, with no hope of reincarnation. A failed body-refining attempt left the soul intact, but a failed soul-tempering meant total destruction.
Yet he had no other choice. To do nothing was to let his soul freeze entirely, his life force fading away until his body became an empty husk. He had no option but to gamble everything on success.
Gao Han redirected his spiritual focus from restraining his essence to nurturing his soul. Soul and spirit were intertwined; ordinary men could not perceive their souls, for they lacked control over their spiritual power. But for cultivators, growing strength granted mastery over spirit, allowing them to strengthen it and even weaponize it into will.
Having already comprehended sword intent, Gao Han's spiritual power far surpassed that of ordinary cultivators. The next step after intent was will, a realm even many Spirit Fusion experts never attained. Those who failed to grasp it before Transcending Mortality would have it forged automatically, yet such inborn will was weaker than that earned through personal enlightenment.
He let the frost energy batter his soul unrelentingly, losing all sense of time as he instinctively guided the cold toward the core of his spirit. There, a faint, glimmering ice sphere began to form, radiating chill that merged with the oncoming frost.
The freezing agony faded, replaced by waves of profound comfort, as if his soul were indulging in a heavenly intoxication. It greedily absorbed his true essence until sated.
His soul sea now lay blanketed in frost, a glacial realm of ice and snow. The sharp, slanted stroke of sword intent and the shifting horizontal line of shadow intent within his soul were both remolded by the frost, their black and white hues fading into transparent ice. Though uncanny in appearance, they retained their original power and gained the ability to freeze all things, doubling their might.
Gao Han's eyes fluttered open. A stream of cold air shot forth, striking the steel pillar across the chamber and coating it in a thin layer of ice. This was the power of his soul—frost forged in the spirit, unleashed through his gaze.