The law enforcement department moved with ruthless efficiency.

  Lian was arrested before he could even think of escape. Anyone who had ever crossed paths with Chen Mo was dragged into the underground dungeons. Jia Tao. Zhou Heng. Even the attendants from the storage facility. None were spared. Shackles clinked, iron doors slammed, and the smell of damp stone mixed with fear. Torture and interrogation awaited them all. Truth would be squeezed out, bone by bone if necessary.

  Inside Li Zhen’s office, the atmosphere was heavy.

  Elder Feng sat opposite him, his posture straight, his expression calm. As a Bone Forging expert and Ah Gu’s direct superior, his presence alone carried weight.

  Li Zhen spoke first, his tone cold.

  “Your people have caused quite a mess this time, Lord Feng.”

  Elder Feng’s eyes narrowed slightly, but his voice remained steady.

  “We are all members of Silver Crane School. Anyone who betrays the school will pay the price.”

  Li Zhen nodded faintly.

  “I will assign Zhang Qiang to take over the storage and transportation facilities.”

  Elder Feng paused for a breath, then replied,

  “Fair enough.”

  Li Zhen leaned back slightly.

  “And the others?”

  Elder Feng answered without hesitation.

  “Lord Zhen, I believe law enforcement will eventually find that criminal. As for the rest… Ah Gu is a Muscle Refinement expert and has always been loyal to the school. As for Lian…” He paused, eyes flickering with indifference. “I leave him to your judgment.”

  Li Zhen hummed in approval.

  “That arrangement works.” His gaze sharpened. “However, the missing resource quotas…”

  Elder Feng replied smoothly,

  “The Alchemy Department’s output has been exceptional this month. I believe shortages will no longer be an issue in the near future.”

  A smile finally appeared on Li Zhen’s face.

  “Then I will rely on Brother Feng.”

  Elder Feng cupped his hands and turned to leave, his expression once again unreadable. Yet inside, his mood was dark. Those incompetent fools had cost him face, and worse, allowed Li Zhen to press him today. This slight would not be forgotten.

  Li Yuxue entered her father’s office and immediately sensed his good mood. The tension that usually clung to Li Zhen was absent, replaced by a faint smile.

  Li Yuxue asked impatiently,

  “Father, has that Chen Mo been found?”

  Li Zhen laughed lightly.

  “Yuxue’er, you’re here? Sit, sit. Your father is in an excellent mood today.”

  Li Yuxue frowned, puzzled.

  “So he’s already been caught?” Her eyes lit with anticipation. She longed to confront that wretched boy who had dared to lie to her face and toy with her.

  Li Zhen waved his hand dismissively, still laughing.

  “What boy? Who even cares about him anymore? Hahahaha!”

  He continued, clearly amused.

  “That boy actually rendered us a great service. Not only did we take over the facility smoothly, he even made Feng lose face today. Hahahaha! Honestly, if he were ever found, I’d be tempted to reward him instead.”

  Li Yuxue’s expression stiffened.

  “Father, how can you say that? He betrayed the school. He must be found and tortured!”

  Li Zhen cleared his throat, his laughter subsiding.

  “He will be found. But judging by how cunning that boy is, it won’t be easy.”

  Li Yuxue thought for a moment, then said eagerly,

  “Maybe he fled back to his village. Father, you must let me join the team hunting him down.”

  Li Zhen felt a headache coming on. In truth, he had already lost interest in Chen Mo. An early-stage Skin Refining brat without school backing was doomed sooner or later. Still, appearances had to be maintained.

  He said calmly,

  “Don’t worry. His portrait will be sent to the county yamen as a wanted criminal. Zhang Qiang will also visit that boy’s village to investigate.”

  He paused, then added,

  “You can join him then.”

  On the other side, Ah Gu stood solemnly before Lord Feng. The air between them was thick, oppressive, as if even breathing required permission.

  After a long silence, Feng finally spoke, his voice calm yet heavy.

  “Do you realize what you’ve done?”

  Ah Gu lowered his head.

  “My lord, I know… but that wretched Lian was utterly incompetent. He—”

  Feng raised a hand. The room fell dead silent.

  “No excuses,” Feng said coldly. “I need to see that boy’s head soon. That is the only thing that can save you.”

  His gaze sharpened, pressing down like a blade.

  “I don’t care if you have to dig through every mountain and ravine. Either his head comes back… or yours does. Do you understand?”

  Ah Gu’s heart trembled.

  “Yes, my lord. Rest assured.”

  He bowed deeply, then turned and left in haste, his back already soaked with cold sweat.

  Unaware of the chaos he had unleashed and the ripples spreading through the martial world, Chen Mo sat cross-legged in the hidden cave, the faint flicker of torchlight dancing across his face. His mind was utterly focused on the newly acquired Primordial Body Art.

  Changing cultivation methods was never a simple task. The body had been conditioned over years, with meridians carved in certain patterns, qi flowing along familiar channels. Abruptly redirecting that flow could easily rupture vessels, cause internal backlash, or even shatter the mind if mismanaged. Even seasoned practitioners risked collapsing into coma or death when attempting such transformations.

  Chen Mo’s situation was even more delicate. The Primordial Body Art demanded a completely new breathing rhythm, precise timing of qi intake and discharge, and entirely different meridian pathways—some of which intersected, some of which twisted in loops counter to his current conditioning. A single misstep would send his Skin Refining foundation into chaotic backlash, wasting all his painstaking progress.

  Yet, he moved deliberately, tracing his fingers along invisible meridians in his mind, feeling qi shift and weave, rerouting old channels to accommodate the new patterns. Each inhale and exhale, each pulse through his body, was a delicate negotiation between old and new. Slowly, carefully, the transformation began to take hold. With utmost patience, he allowed the Primordial Body Art to integrate into his very flesh, his senses sharpening as his body accepted the new way of cultivation.

  It was meticulous, painstaking work—but for Chen Mo, it was a challenge he welcomed. Mistakes were fatal, but mastery meant a path to a power far beyond any ordinary martial artist.

  A full day passed, the cave silent except for the faint rustle of wind through the cliffside trees. When Chen Mo finally opened his eyes, he could feel it—every muscle, every vessel, every pulse of qi inside him had changed. The Primordial Body Art had finally fused with his body. The new cultivation method was integrated, every meridian adjusted, every pathway recalibrated.

  He didn’t hesitate. With a flick of his fingers, he opened his panel.

  Name: Chen Mo

  Age: 15

  Realm: Skin Refining (Middle Stage) 190/300

  Martial Arts: Primordial Body Art

  Chen Mo’s eyes widened as he stared at the numbers. His breath caught. “What the…fuck!” he cursed under his breath. His cultivation had regressed! The years of effort, the countless points earned, all seemed…smaller, reduced.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  But as he flexed his fingers, as he punched the air, as he felt the pulse of qi surging through his veins, a smirk crossed his face. Slightly…slightly more power than before.

  “So…Middle Stage is comparable to Peak Stage now!” he murmured to himself, disbelief and excitement warring in his chest.

  A thought flashed through his mind: when I reach Peak Stage with this…maybe I can contend with a Muscle Refining expert?!

  The idea was intoxicating, but Chen Mo quickly dismissed it. Even if it were true, he would never risk testing that theory. Experience had taught him well—recklessness was fatal. For now, survival and growth were his only priorities.

  A lot of resources would be needed to continue cultivating the Primordial Body Art. Chen Mo knew the Silver Crane School wouldn’t let him off easily, and hiding in the mountains could only buy him temporary safety—it wasn’t a long-term solution.

  He thought inwardly, coldly calculating: the best way now is to leave Lian County completely. Jian City was the nearest major city, about five days away, and he would need to find a caravan heading there, leaving everything else behind.

  He considered the consequences—his actions might implicate acquaintances, even innocents—but he quickly dismissed the thought. What could he do? He was alone, and even his formidable strength had limits. Saving others was troublesome, offered no benefits, and would waste precious time.

  Eventually, Chen Mo’s conscience settled. He felt no guilt—only the sharp clarity of a lone path, where survival and power were the only things that mattered.

  Chen Mo didn’t waste any more time. If he hesitated now, the net would tighten. He left the hidden cave behind and rushed toward Lian City’s western gate, changing into his old hunting attire along the way. With a bamboo hat pressed low, he blended into the flow of people and entered the city without incident.

  The western district lay under the influence of the Crimson Fist Hall. This side of the city was loud, smoky, and full of iron clangor. The most famous blacksmiths in Lian City gathered here, their forges burning day and night. The Crimson Fist Hall controlled nearly seventy percent of the mines around the city, and as a result, this district was both prosperous and dangerous.

  Chen Mo kept his head down. He waited until dusk, letting the streets grow crowded and chaotic, then turned toward the docks. His destination was the black market. He deliberately chose routes far from the Silver Crane School’s sphere of influence, never lingering too long in one place.

  Still, he remained cautious.

  Information in this era traveled slowly. Even if the yamen and the Silver Crane School moved fast, it would take a few days before his portrait spread throughout the city. That small window was all he needed.

  When Chen Mo entered the familiar black market, nothing seemed to have changed. The same dim lanterns, the same guarded glances, the same unspoken rules. He went straight to the shop he had visited before to buy medicinal powder.

  The old man behind the counter looked exactly the same—expressionless, half-lidded eyes, as if the world itself bored him. It seemed nothing could stir him except the sound of silver.

  When it was Chen Mo’s turn, he spoke calmly.

  “I need Grade Three medicinal powder. Do you have it?”

  The old man finally lifted his gaze.

  “How many?”

  “Thirty packets.”

  Without another word, the old man gestured inward, lifting the cloth partition as he had done before.

  Inside the small room, Chen Mo lowered his voice.

  “Is there something more potent?”

  The old man tilted his head slightly, fingers tapping the counter in a slow, thoughtful rhythm. After a moment, he spoke.

  “Actually, we do have something far more potent… but—”

  “It’s far more expensive. I know,” Chen Mo cut in flatly. “Money is no issue.”

  For the first time since Chen Mo had ever met him, the old man’s expression changed.

  The corners of his lips curved upward, not into a smile, but into something sharper, like a merchant who had finally spotted a fat sheep wandering willingly into the pen.

  “Heh.”

  The old man leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that carried the smell of herbs and old paper.

  “Then you are truly fortunate today, young master.”

  He reached beneath the counter and pulled out a small lacquered box, its surface dull and unadorned. No markings. No seals. Yet the moment it appeared, a faint, bitter medicinal scent spread through the room, dense enough to prickle the nose.

  “This,” the old man said slowly, “is Blood-Burning Body Powder.”

  “It is not something ordinary martial artists should touch. One packet is enough to push a Skin Refining cultivator forward by force, refining flesh and sinew together. Pain like boiling oil poured into the bones. Many cannot endure it.”

  His eyes flicked to Chen Mo, measuring him anew.

  “But if you survive,” the old man continued, “your foundation will be far denser than anything cultivated with ordinary powders. Of course—”

  He tapped the box once.

  “It devours resources like a starving beast.”

  The old man finally smiled, thin and knowing.

  “So tell me, young master… how many packets do you want?”

  “The price?” Chen Mo asked, his voice steady.

  The old man did not rush to answer. He raised one finger, as if weighing the value of the words themselves.

  “One hundred and eighty taels per packet.”

  Chen Mo’s brows shot up. “Are you joking with me?”

  The old man chuckled softly, clearly amused. “Young master is mistaken if he thinks this is a scam. This powder is refined from fire-toad glands and blood-activating herbs. The materials alone are rare. Compared to ordinary medicinal powder, this is on an entirely different level.”

  Chen Mo narrowed his eyes. “How much stronger?”

  “At least three times,” the old man said, then added calmly, “possibly four.”

  Silence followed.

  Chen Mo calculated swiftly in his mind. The Primordial Body Art devoured resources like a bottomless pit. Ordinary powders would barely keep pace. After a brief pause, he said, “Alright. Give me six packets.”

  The old man’s eyes lit up. He turned around at once, movements brisk and lively, as if age had suddenly abandoned him. After a short round of haggling, silver changed hands.

  One thousand taels.

  When Chen Mo stepped back into the street, a dull ache settled in his chest. He had thought himself wealthy after plundering the bandits, yet a single purchase had devoured half of his fortune.

  Still, he did not stop.

  He headed straight to the blacksmith district and spent three hundred and fifty taels on a heavy bow and a quiver of specially forged arrows. The bow’s draw was fierce, its limbs thick and resilient. In the right hands, it could even threaten a Muscle Refining expert.

  Only then did Chen Mo seek information.

  From the black-market brokers, he learned that a caravan bound for Jian City would depart in ten days, escorted by the Crimson Fist Hall. However, joining required registration, identity verification by the yamen, and background checks.

  The moment he heard this, Chen Mo’s heart sank.

  That road was blocked as well.

  With Silver Crane School hunting him, exposing himself to official scrutiny was suicide. His only remaining option was clear.

  The mountains.

  Travel alone, avoid cities, avoid eyes.

  Before leaving, he bought a detailed regional map for fifty taels, committing the routes, rivers, and passes to memory.

  As dusk settled over the western city, Chen Mo tucked the map away, his gaze calm and resolute.

  Wealth could be earned again.

  Opportunities could be seized later.

  For now, survival came first.