In another quarter of Jian City, joy bloomed where fear had lingered far too long.

  Steward Liu was almost floating as he walked. The past few months had been a waking nightmare. Colleagues who once shared wine with him had cut him off without a word, as if his shadow itself carried contagion. Doors closed. Conversations died the moment he approached. Only last week had he finally dared to breathe freely, after receiving word from his superiors that the criminal Chen Mo was most likely already captured.

  Liu clenched his fist, glee flashing across his face.

  “Good riddance. That demon deserved to be torn apart,” he muttered, regret pricking him only because he had not witnessed the end with his own eyes.

  But fate, it seemed, had decided to reward his endurance.

  Today marked his ascent.

  An experienced pharmacist by trade, Liu had seized the moment the Sun family announced their need for one. He spared no effort, offering insights into Organ Refinement medicines, especially the shadowy, unorthodox formulas that never appeared in public ledgers. His knowledge, honed through years of quiet dealings, had proven irresistible.

  And so, by day’s end, the appointment was made official.

  From this moment on, Steward Liu would serve as Master Sun Bo’s personal pharmacist, overseeing all matters related to herbs, elixirs, and medicinal trade.

  As Liu smiled to himself, satisfaction warming his chest, he remained blissfully unaware that the demon he believed dead was closer than ever—resting calmly within the very web he had just stepped into.

  Ten months slipped by like sand through clenched fingers.

  Chen Mo vanished from the world.

  The courtyard became a sealed domain, its gates rarely opening, its silence heavy enough to press upon the air. Day and night lost meaning as he immersed himself wholly in cultivation. Refining, resting, refining again. Pain followed by stillness. Stillness followed by deeper pain. The cycle repeated without mercy.

  Only one thing anchored his sense of time.

  The panel.

  Each completed circulation of the Primordial Body Art pushed the numbers higher, steadily, relentlessly. No sudden leaps, no hollow miracles—just progress carved out through endurance. And yet, that steady ascent ignited something fierce within him. Every increment was proof. Every rise a promise fulfilled.

  The medicine was consumed to the last drop. Not a single thread of its potency was wasted. His organs grew dense, resilient, alive with a tempered vitality that bordered on the monstrous. Blood flowed with furnace-like stability. Breath carried weight. Even in stillness, his body hummed with contained force.

  The outside world moved on without him.

  Plots unfolded. Alliances shifted. Rumors faded and were replaced by new ones.

  Chen Mo cared for none of it.

  He watched the numbers climb, and with each increase, his resolve hardened. The panel did not lie. The path was real. The goal was no longer distant.

  At last, the long-awaited moment arrived.

  Chen Mo’s consciousness was abruptly drawn into that familiar, unfathomable space, a realm where time lay folded like ancient scripture, its pages layered upon one another without beginning or end. Within it, he witnessed himself across countless eras, enduring tempering after tempering under the tyrannical guidance of the Primordial Body Art.

  Flesh shattered and reformed.

  Marrow burned and was reborn.

  Viscera were crushed, refined, and reconstructed again and again.

  There were no pills here, no borrowed essence, no external crutches. His organs were refined through endless cycles of destruction and rebirth alone, until blood roared like molten rivers and every breath carried the oppressive weight of heaven and earth. His body became a living crucible, vitality surging without limit, qi circulating in perfect, merciless harmony.

  Then, in a single silent instant, the impossible occurred.

  At the convergence point of overwhelming qi and boundless vitality, a spark ignited within his dantian—pure, radiant, self-born.

  True qi was born.

  No external catalyst.

  No medicinal trigger.

  No stolen fortune from heaven.

  It was the natural culmination of a body refined to its primordial extreme.

  This innate true qi was vast, domineering, and alive. It flowed freely at his command, reinforcing each strike, hardening flesh, and stirring the air itself with every movement. It was nothing like the thin, impure innate energy of ordinary cultivators who relied on pills and forced breakthroughs, power borrowed at the cost of unseen fractures and hidden debts.

  Where others paid future prices for present strength, Chen Mo paid only blood and endurance.

  His true qi answered him like a loyal extension of his will—

  forged from flesh and bone that had long since surpassed mortal limits.

  As Chen Mo awakened, it felt as though an invisible mountain had been lifted from his shoulders.

  His body was light, impossibly so, every movement smooth and unrestrained, as if the world itself had loosened its grip on him. Power coursed through his veins, a presence so vast and complete that words failed to give it shape. Compared to this, his former strength at Organ Refinement felt laughably insignificant, like measuring the sea with a cup.

  He slowly rose from his seated position, the ground beneath him untouched, his breathing calm. True, pure qi flowed effortlessly through his meridians, obedient and alive. With a casual thought, it gathered in his palm, where it danced and coiled like a living thing, dense yet perfectly controlled, radiating a pressure that warped the air around his fingers.

  Chen Mo’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  He was certain of it.

  A peak Organ Refinement expert would be erased with a single wave of his hand, body and will crushed before they could even react. Even an Innate expert… Chen Mo let out a soft breath, the corner of his lips lifting. Against his current self, they would not last long either.

  This was not arrogance.

  It was clarity.

  He had crossed a boundary that separated the extraordinary from the mundane, and from this moment onward, the rules that once bound him no longer applied.

  Perhaps it was time to settle old troubles.

  The thought surfaced calmly, without heat or haste. Power did not demand recklessness, and Chen Mo had never mistaken strength for carelessness. Even now, with his newfound might humming quietly beneath his skin, he knew better than to move blindly. A blade swung without thought cut friend and foe alike.

  First, he would plan.

  Chen Mo rose and took a long bath, washing away months of isolation, sweat, and dried blood essence. When he emerged, he changed into clean clothes, simple and unadorned, yet sitting on him with a quiet authority that no ornament could improve. For a moment, he considered summoning Sun Bo, but the idea faded just as quickly.

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  No.

  He would go himself.

  He had endured long enough behind closed doors, counting days by doses and numbers on a panel. The confinement had done its duty. Now, he needed air that had not been filtered through walls, sounds not muffled by formation arrays, and the reminder that the world still turned beyond his courtyard.

  Before leaving, Chen Mo paused.

  With a thought, the familiar panel unfolded before his eyes, cold and precise, yet carrying the weight of everything he had endured.

  Name: Chen Mo

  Age: 16

  Realm: Innate (incomplete martial method)

  Martial Art: Primordial Body Art (incomplete)

  Skills:

  Threaded Movement (Perfect)

  Archery (Perfect)

  Chen Mo studied it in silence.

  Incomplete.

  The word lingered like an unpolished blade. Yet instead of frustration, a faint smile touched his lips. If an incomplete Primordial Body Art had already carried him this far, then a complete one would be nothing short of terrifying. As for the so-called incomplete Innate realm, he knew better than anyone that his foundation was purer and heavier than those who had relied on pills, formations, and borrowed luck.

  Sixteen years old. Innate realm. Perfect mastery in movement and archery.

  The panel was not boasting. It was merely stating facts.

  Chen Mo dismissed it, pushed open the gate, and stepped forward.

  The path ahead was wide, and this time, he would walk it openly.

  Chen Mo appeared like a ghost in front of Sun Bo, silent and sudden, his presence folding into the room without the faintest ripple.

  Sun Bo was buried in ledgers, fingers stained with ink, mind running through profits and losses. He reached for another document on the shelf, then froze. His eyes slid back.

  Chen Mo was already there.

  “L–Lord…!”

  The shock hit him like a hammer. Papers exploded into the air, fluttering down in chaotic spirals as Sun Bo stumbled back, face drained of color. “I apologize for the negligence!” he blurted out. “You could have summoned me, there was no need to come personally—”

  Chen Mo paid no attention to the man’s panic.

  He crossed the room at an unhurried pace and settled onto the couch as if it were his own study. Reaching for a jade flask on the table, he poured himself a cup of Sun Bo’s finest wine. The fragrance rose immediately, rich and mellow, filling the room.

  Chen Mo studied the liquid for a brief moment, then took a sip.

  Warmth spread through his chest, slow and comforting.

  He had never drunk before. There had always been pressure, pursuit, cultivation schedules packed tighter than armor, every breath measured, every moment spent racing against fate. But today was different. For the first time, he was no longer running.

  It was acceptable to indulge.

  He set the cup down lightly and glanced at Sun Bo, who was still standing stiffly amid the fallen papers.

  “Relax,” Chen Mo said calmly. “If I wanted ceremony, I wouldn’t have come myself.”

  His gaze was deep, tranquil, yet carrying an invisible weight that made Sun Bo’s heart pound. Something had changed. The lord before him felt lighter, freer… and far more terrifying.

  Sun Bo swallowed hard and bowed again, this time with genuine reverence.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Chen Mo leaned back, the cup warm in his hands, and let the wine slide down his throat. He savored it slowly, the aroma filling his senses, before finally speaking.

  “Sit,” he said, voice calm but carrying authority. “Let’s drink, and talk about our future plans.”

  Sun Bo nearly jumped, but quickly obeyed, lowering himself onto the couch across from Chen Mo. “Yes, yes, my lord…” He straightened his posture and quickly continued. “To answer your lordship, I have already recruited the best pharmacist in Jian City. I figured that since the lord may need superior médecine, it’s best to have someone under our watch. I assure you, my lord, Steward Lui has been extremely helpful. With his assistance, we’ve opened many new channels and secured resources that were previously inaccessible.”

  Chen Mo, still sipping the wine unhurriedly, caught the name “Steward Lui” and froze for a moment. The name flickered across his memory, long forgotten after the initial subduing of Sun Bo. Yet here it was again—medicine still flowing through that very man. Chen Mo’s lips curved into a faint, dry smile. He never believed in fate, yet couldn’t help but think: a hilarious coincidence, indeed.

  He set the cup down deliberately, letting the moment linger. “Interesting,” he murmured, eyes glinting. “Seems even after all these months, some threads never truly sever.”

  Chen Mo leaned back, a playful glint in his eyes. “Interesting… call him here. Let’s see this Steward Lui.” He set his wine aside. Might as well reward the poor fellow for his diligence, he thought.

  Sun Bo immediately waved over a nearby servant. “Summon Steward Lui at once, and hurry.”

  The servant hurried off, bowing deeply. Sun Bo, still catching his breath from the sudden command, added quickly, “My lord, just state your needs and we will fulfill them. Thanks to your previous reward, business has never been better.”

  Chen Mo’s gaze didn’t waver. “Good. But there’s no need for pleasantries this time. I’m here for information—specifically about Xu Haoran.”

  Sun Bo’s face drained of color. Today had struck him with shocks one after another, and a ridiculous thought crossed his mind that if this continued, his heart might truly give out before the year ended.

  He swallowed hard and forced himself to answer. “My lord… Lord Xu is a genuine Innate master. In Jian City, no, in the surrounding provinces, his name alone—”

  Chen Mo interrupted calmly, his voice smooth as still water. “So am I, Master Sun.” He lifted his gaze, eyes cold and clear. “And I intend to kill that bastard.”

  This time Sun Bo truly lost his composure. He shot up from his seat, knocking the chair backward with a loud clatter. “M-my lord… is this… is this for real?”

  Chen Mo looked at him as if he were asking whether fire was hot. “Would I joke about such a thing?”

  The air in the room suddenly trembled.

  A pure, domineering force unfurled from Chen Mo’s body. True qi manifested, visible to the naked eye, coiling around his fingers like translucent flames, alive and obedient. The wine in his cup quivered, ripples spreading across its surface without being touched. The pressure bore down like an invisible mountain, heavy yet perfectly controlled.

  Then, as abruptly as it appeared, it vanished. The room returned to silence, as if nothing had happened.

  Sun Bo stood frozen, eyes stretched wide, breath caught in his throat. He had never met an Innate master in his life, but he knew this much: only Innate experts could manifest qi outwardly, shaping it with will alone. There was no mistaking it, no room for doubt.

  His lips trembled, but no words came out.

  Only one thought echoed wildly in his mind.

  The man before me… is an Innate.