Having mastered the Illusory Sword Art, Gao Han emerged from the tomb once more as afternoon drew near. This time, he made no grand display, but slipped out quietly instead.
A hundred meters from the graveyard, Fan Xiaoniu and Yue'er were peering anxiously in his direction.
After Gao Han had retreated awkwardly into the tomb the previous night, the two had lain awake until dawn, too flustered to continue their intimate embrace.
Yue'er had scolded Fan Xiaoniu relentlessly, leaving him inwardly exasperated. Was this something one person could be blamed for?
Yet he dared not speak his mind, and bore her reproach in silence.
At the sight of them, Gao Han moved with two light bounds and stood before them. At a loss for words, he scratched his head in embarrassment.
The pair were equally flustered, and dropped to one knee. "Greetings, Young Master!"
Seeing Gao Han scratch his head, Fan Xiaoniu followed suit. "Young Master, we… we are truly sorry about last night—"
"Enough! Hush, not another word!"
Gao Han quickly clapped a hand over Fan Xiaoniu's mouth. If he kept talking, Gao Han would not know how to face them. At their age, such behavior was only natural.
He helped them to their feet and laid out his plan.
Nearly five months had passed since he had left the sect, and the six-month deadline was fast approaching. With his physical strength now at the True Essence realm, he was fully qualified to advance to an inner-sect disciple.
Inner-sect disciples also enjoyed additional privileges, including a private courtyard built upon a spiritual vein, which would accelerate cultivation speed.
Moreover, Fan Xiaoniu and Yue'er were far too weak to remain in Hengyuan Valley. At their current level, even an ordinary wild beast could take their lives, to say nothing of demonic beasts or high-ranking cultivators.
Gao Han intended to bring them back to the sect, pass the inner-sect examination, and let them cultivate in his residence.
As for looking after them, he had no worries. Wu Yan, an outer-sect disciple under his charge, could help the three support one another.
Three days later, the three set off on the road back to the sect.
During those three days, they feasted heartily. It had been over half a month since Gao Han's last bout of gluttony, so he ventured out and hunted game.
The haul left Fan Xiaoniu and Yue'er gaping: a wild boar the size of a small hill, and two fierce tigers over four meters long.
The pair could manage no more than two tiger legs between them before they were full.
Gao Han, however, devoured half the boar and an entire tiger, and still looked as though he could eat more. One might have thought he had not tasted food in a lifetime.
"Heave! Ha! Heave! Ha!"
Heavy, rhythmic grunts sounded along the road.
Summer was in full sweltering bloom. Past midday, the sun blazed overhead, and the scorching heat left everyone drenched in sweat. Travelers lounged lazily on horseback or in carriages; none wished to trudge wearily in such oppressive heat.
All but one man stood out. Bare-chested in the summer heat, he bore a massive boulder on his back, squat-jumping forward step by step.
The boulder weighed a full three thousand jin. Though it measured little more than one zhang on each side, it was far denser than ordinary stone.
Gao Han had searched specifically for it in Hengyuan Valley, spending an entire day to find just the right rock.
"Young Master, won't you ride up? Let Xiaoniu and I walk instead!" Yue'er looked at him with concern, her heart aching at the sight.
"Young Master, if you wish to train, do it in the morning or evening, when it is cooler!" Fan Xiaoniu watched anxiously, terrified that Gao Han might collapse.
The boulder on his back weighed thousands of jin—even together, the two could not move it an inch. How could Gao Han bear its weight?
Yet Gao Han paid their words no heed, continuing his squat-jumps. Each step left a deep impression in the hard earth, a clear trail of footprints stretching behind him. Sweat soaked his body from head to toe.
If he had channeled true essence, not a single drop of sweat would have formed, even if he pushed himself to exhaustion. His true essence would have warded off the heat and kept his body cool.
But before beginning his physical training, Gao Han had sealed his true essence and cultivation with soul power. Every move he made relied purely on physical strength.
Crystal beads of sweat dripped from his forehead, shattering into countless droplets upon the dusty ground.
His skin had turned bright red, burned by the unforgiving sun.
More than twenty days had passed since they left Hengyuan Valley, and Gao Han had traveled this way every single day. Even at night, he did not rest, balancing the boulder on his head while cultivating.
Fan Xiaoniu and Yue'er rode comfortably on the black-maned horse, making it seem as though Gao Han were their servant.
At first, he could barely endure the strain, feeling as though his skull would split open. But as time passed, the pain in his head faded.
It was not that his nerves had gone numb. Rather, the spiritual energy he absorbed during nightly cultivation automatically flowed to his most injured areas—primarily his head—merging perfectly with his skull and hardening it.
Even Gao Han did not realize that his unplanned persistence had tempered his skull. It was now hard enough to withstand a slab of stone three centimeters thick being smashed against it without injury.
A stroke of unexpected good fortune indeed. For low-level cultivators like him, the head was among the most vulnerable parts of the body, and few body-refining arts could strengthen it.
Everyone who passed by eyed Gao Han with respect. To leave such clear footprints on solid ground meant the boulder on his back was extraordinarily heavy.
Anyone who could bear such weight while squat-jumping for so long was no weakling—at the very least, a peak Qi Condensation cultivator.
Gao Han longed to collapse from heatstroke, but the frigid frost within his Sea of Consciousness kept him ruthlessly clear-headed.
He felt every stabbing pain in his muscles and every suffocating wave of heat, each torment nearly unbearable.
Gradually, the number of travelers dwindled. They were drawing near the Qiling Mountains, the sacred ground of the Misty Sect—a top-tier eight-star power.
Few dared to wander here for pleasure, and none foolish enough to stir trouble. Even Fire Cloud Manor, a seven-star power, would not provoke the Misty Sect within its own mountains.
Once they entered the Qiling Mountains, travelers became scarce, with only the occasional passerby.
Those who did pass were either new disciples seeking entry or existing members of the Misty Sect.
Most were wealthy, powerful, or highly skilled, and paid Gao Han's grueling training no mind at all.