Gao Han clutched the manual tightly, flipping through its pages with intense focus.
No rank was inscribed upon it either, yet he could sense its power was at least that of a top-tier Mortal-Rank art—before comprehending its true artistic conception, at any rate. Its ultimate classification would remain unknown until he fully grasped its essence.
To this day, he had only comprehended the conception of the first form of his Cold Mountain Palm, yet that alone had elevated its might to staggering heights.
The Profound Shield Art contained but three levels. Conjuring the profound shield was deceptively simple: one need only circulate their true essence along a specific pathway. Upon mastering the first level, a qi shield would form at the palm, its nature shaped by the practitioner's inherent elemental attributes.
This alone was enough to drive any cultivator mad. A innate fire physique like his sister's would grant a shield that both defended and incinerated foes.
For those with ordinary constitutions, however, the art would merely bolster their defenses.
Gao Han's delight grew with every page. He turned to the elderly vendor and said, "Senior, I wish to buy this manual. What is its price?"
The old man finally opened his bleary eyes once more, glanced vaguely at the tome in Gao Han's hand, scratched his head, and pondered for a moment. "About two million one hundred thousand taels."
Gao Han nearly staggered. About? What kind of merchant gave such an uncertain figure?
He thought little of it, though. Even an ordinary high-tier Mortal-Rank art cost upwards of one million five hundred thousand taels—this was a steal.
With a flick of his wrist, he produced two million two hundred thousand taels in bank notes and offered them respectfully. "Senior, here is the silver. I shall take this manual."
At the sound of a successful sale, the elder shot to his feet without so much as a twitch, his eyes morphing into gold coins as he gazed greedily at the notes, a complete miser.
When he finished counting, he scratched his head again. "Seems you've given me an extra one hundred thousand taels. I have no small change."
Gao Han sighed inwardly. He had waited ten minutes for the man to count merely two notes. Was this elder truly here to sell manuals, or simply to amuse himself?
"Senior, I only carry two hundred-thousand-tael notes," Gao Han said apologetically. "I have no one hundred-thousand-tael notes on me."
"Where is your loose silver?"
Gao Han pulled out all his scattered coins, totaling barely three mace. "This is all I have, Senior."
The sky had grown truly dark. If he did not leave at once, he would be stuck until morning. Without Zheng Kong by his side, escaping the city after curfew would be impossible—save for scaling the walls.
"Very well, Senior. Consider the extra one hundred thousand taels a gift from this junior. I have urgent business and must take my leave." Gao Han bowed and turned to depart.
The elder would have none of it. "You insolent brat! Do you take me for a beggar? Think I'm penniless?"
Gao Han studied the man from head to toe. In truth, he looked less like a beggar and more like one who had been living on the streets for years.
He dared not speak his thoughts aloud, however.
"Boy, I'll have you know I am quite wealthy. Take the manual—and keep your silver." The old man thrust the bank notes back into Gao Han's hand.
Gao Han "reluctantly" accepted the silver, stored the manual and the notes away, and left without delay, leaving the elder ranting with his back turned.
"Hmph! Dare you look down on me… Wait! Give the manual back! I was only joking!" The elder spun around, only to find Gao Han gone.
By the time he spotted him, Gao Han was already too far to chase. He cursed his own foolishness, then sat back down indifferently, as if the lost manual meant nothing.
He muttered under his breath, "He didn't faint from my signature aura—truly a genius. Consider it a gift, to forge a good fate."
With that, he stretched and drifted off to sleep in a cross-legged position.
Gao Han, "moved" by the elder's generosity, galloped out of the Yiwu Pavilion and raced out of the imperial capital on his black-maned steed. He had barely made it through the gates before they slammed shut.
The sun sank below the horizon, stretching his shadow long until it vanished into the distance.
Within the Situ residence, Situ Yan was dressing with great care, assisted by Zheng Yunying. This day was of monumental importance: she would apologize to Gao Han and confess her feelings for him.
As mother and daughter chatted merrily, Situ Jian, who had been sent to fetch Gao Han, stumbled in trembling, as though dreading to cross the threshold.
"Jian! Where is Gao Han? Is he in the front hall?" Zheng Yunying rushed forward at the sight of him.
Situ Han hesitated, then gritted his teeth. "Mother, little sister… Gao Han is no longer at the Zheng residence. He left last night."
Tears welled up in Situ Yan's eyes at the news.
"You fool! Then go find him! Ask Zheng Kong—he's Gao Han's closest friend!" Zheng Yunying pinched his ear and snapped.
Situ Yan's eyes lit up with hope at her mother's words, and her tears ceased.
"Why must fate be so cruel to me?" Situ Jian wailed. "I… I already asked Zheng Kong. He said Gao Han has left the imperial capital."
Situ Yan burst into tears, her sobs mingled with the quiet whimpers of her brother.
After a long while, Zheng Yunying comforted her daughter until her tears subsided, with Situ Jian chiming in awkwardly.
"Sister, you must focus on your cultivation. Otherwise, you will only fall further and further behind Gao Han."
Situ Yan noticed the odd tone in his voice and turned to look. She broke into a soft smile at the sight of him.
Situ Jian's face was bruised and swollen, his ear bright red, his cheek puffed out. No wonder his words sounded strange.
"Your brother speaks the truth," Zheng Yunying said solemnly, no longer chastising him. "Gao Han is no ordinary mortal; he is destined for greatness. He will have countless women by his side. If you do not grow strong, will you be content to be a mere ornament, wasting away until your lifespan ends and you turn to dust?"
Situ Yan nodded firmly. "Mother, I will train hard. I will not be a decoration. I will grow strong enough to stand beside him and help him."
From that day forth, the young lady of the Situ clan rarely left her home. Instead, a graceful figure could often be seen practicing in the rear martial arena.
High above, a bright moon hung in the sky. Two hundred miles south of the imperial capital, several figures hovered in mid-air, locked in a tense standoff. On the ground, over twenty men encircled a few young clansmen, their gleaming blades radiating murderous intent.
"The Lu, Gu, and Hu clans—you've brought all your forces to bear. Yet I see no one from the Zheng clan. Could one of these four masked figures be that old ghost from the Zheng or Situ clan?"
The surrounded man spoke calmly, showing no sign of panic. Moonlight illuminated his face: it was Duan Muhua of the Duan clan. The others were the seven Spirit Fusion experts who had plotted in the imperial palace.
On the ground lay the Duan clan's three young disciples, surrounded by the twenty peak ninth-layer True Essence warriors.
"Duan, you old cur! Enough talk. Hand over the secret art, and I shall grant you a whole corpse," Lu Shuang sneered coldly.
"Do you fear the Duan clan's vengeance?" Duan Muhua bluffed, still acting unafraid despite his peril.
"Vengeance? You overestimate yourself, Patriarch Duan. The Duan and Jian clans have declared themselves seven-star powers—neither will live another month. What vengeance can you possibly exact?" spoke a middle-aged man clad in black night robes. He grinned sinisterly. "Rest assured. After we kill you, we shall pay the Duan clan a visit. I do hope the women of your clan are fair and delicate."
The entire group burst into raucous laughter.
Suddenly, another peal of laughter echoed through the darkness, drawing near. A cloud of fire drifted across the night sky, the laughter emanating from within.
Duan Muhua's composure shattered at last. He muttered grimly, "This is grave trouble. Huo Wubian of Fire Cloud Manor—even I cannot be certain of defeating him."
All eyes turned to the fire cloud as it descended upon the battlefield, hovering high above the others like a sovereign. The man within wore fiery-red robes embroidered with white clouds—the exclusive attire of the Fire Cloud Manor's master.
Huo Wubian was tall and powerfully built, his eyebrows crimson as flames, his countenance fierce and imposing.
Lu Shuang and the others grew solemn. As the Spirit Kingdom's greatest power, Fire Cloud Manor's master was a fearsome cultivator, rumored to have reached the second layer of Spirit Fusion. Lu Shuang and his allies were only first-layer experts—no match for him at all. Yet one glance at the black-robed middle-aged man calmed their nerves.
Huo Wubian wasted no words. He gathered his aura, waves of scorching fire qi erupting from his body and dyeing the sky red, as if night had turned to dusk.
"Duan Muhua, I know you hold back your true strength. Still, you cannot defeat me. Take this."
Huo Wubian slammed his palm downward, setting the void ablaze. Sheets of fire materialized in the air, bearing down upon Duan Muhua with searing heat.
Clang!
Duan Muhua lifted his right leg, which turned to the hue of stone. A mountainous phantom formed behind his limb, and he struck fiercely at Huo Wubian's palm.
After a single breath of deadlock, a devastating shockwave rippled outward. Sand and stones flew across the area, the ground splitting open with massive fissures, and nearby trees were torn in two by the force.