Five days passed in a flash. Ah Gu and Zhang Qiang’s teams had widened the search radius across the mountains, leaving no stone unturned. Zhang Qiang, inwardly impatient, had long since wanted to return—but seeing Ah Gu so relentlessly persistent, he knew he had to ensure Chen Mo was captured first. Letting Ah Gu return empty-handed would mean the man’s head would roll, and Zhang Qiang secretly relished the thought of his rival facing that humiliation. He despised the sleazy, greedy minions of Elder Feng all the more, their incompetence now directly tied to this elusive boy.

  Meanwhile, far from the clamor of the search parties, Chen Mo’s consciousness drifted, pulled into that ever-familiar space shown by his panel—a mental realm where years of toil, calculation, and cultivation converged. The Silver Crane’s reach was drawing nearer, but for Chen Mo, the danger remained distant, at least for now.

  Chen Mo saw himself training for countless years, each moment etched into his bones, until chance finally began to surface.

  His body had endured months of torment. His Skin Refining had reached Stage 3, now iron-hard, impervious to ordinary blows. Each Blood-Boiling Bath left him scorched, every pore screaming as molten qi surged through his veins. Yet his skin held, layered like braided steel, carrying the promise of something greater.

  Now, his muscles demanded evolution. The pain was no longer surface-deep—it originated in the very fibers themselves. It burned and twisted like a relentless hammer striking from marrow to sinew. Veins swelled, coiled like serpents, pulsing with each heartbeat, each throb a promise of emerging power. This was agony, yet not lethal—refinement tearing the body apart only to forge it stronger.

  Outside, subtle changes began to manifest. Muscles thickened, not in crude bulk but in perfect, flowing alignment, like iron cables braided beneath the skin. Veins glimmered faintly, tracing channels of power. Chen Mo flexed, and the air seemed to shiver. A single punch sent a shockwave across the clearing; the great tree before him shattered with a deafening crack, splintering into jagged shards.

  His power had doubled. Each movement now crushed with precision yet flowed with impossible speed. Reflexes sharpened; motions became lighter, but every strike carried the weight of a warhorse. Endurance surged—the muscles that had burned and screamed could now sustain relentless action for hours, each fiber coiled and ready.

  When Chen Mo finally opened his eyes, a calm certainty settled over him. He now knew what true muscle refinement felt like: an Early Stage muscle refining practitioner, fully awakened, with strength rivaling even a Peak Middle Stage expert.

  Chen Mo checked his panel.

  Name: Chen Mo

  Age: 15

  Realm: Muscle Refining (Early Stage) 5/600

  Martial Arts: Primordial Body Art (Incomplete)

  Skills: Threaded Movement – Minor Achievement 102/600

  Archery: Perfect

  He stood up, brushed himself off, and readied to leave. It was time to depart.

  Effortlessly, he scaled the cliff, each movement smooth and silent. His newly honed senses, sharpened by muscle refinement, swept the surroundings. Then, a flicker of motion—voices, footsteps—drifted faintly from near the cliff edge.

  Chen Mo froze. He focused, probing with both his hearing and his perception. Moments later, he caught sight of them: two figures clad in Silver Crane Martial Hall uniforms. Their aura was unmistakable—Skin Refining experts.

  His heart sank slightly. Was it too late to escape? He wasn’t afraid of just these two, but his intuition screamed that more powerful experts must be nearby. If a Bone Forging practitioner were among them, running away would be nearly impossible once he was discovered.

  Chen Mo’s mind raced. Every option—fight, hide, or retreat—was calculated in a split second. For now, discretion was the wiser choice.

  Chen Mo crouched behind a cluster of rocks, his body blending seamlessly with the cliff’s shadow. He was not a hotblooded fool who rushed into a fight without certainty—any rash move could be his last. His mind raced as he silently observed the two Skin Refining experts.

  They were scanning the cliffside with practiced precision, their movements deliberate, methodical. Chen Mo noted their pacing, the subtle changes in their posture, the way their eyes swept the terrain. Each detail mattered. He needed to know the exact number of pursuers, their potential positions, and whether heavier-hitting experts might be nearby.

  His fingers grazed the grip of his newly acquired bow. He had trained for years(panel time), and his archery skill was flawless. Even if the situation turned deadly, he could rely on distance, precision, and speed. Every arrow could take out a target before they even knew what hit them—but for now, he didn’t plan to strike. Observation came first.

  Chen Mo’s sharp eyes scanned the surroundings, calculating escape routes, potential hiding spots, and the angles from which enemies might approach. Patience was his weapon. Patience and the deadly combination of Primordial Body Art and muscle-refined strength.

  For now, he would lurk and watch from afar, waiting for the perfect opportunity to either slip past unnoticed or, if absolutely necessary, strike with surgical precision.

  Chen Mo’s lips curved into a faint smirk. From his hidden perch among the trees, his Threaded Movement letting him blend perfectly with the forest, he watched the approaching group. Their formation was disciplined and precise—Silver Crane Martial Hall experts on a serious hunt.

  As they drew closer, one figure immediately caught his attention: Ah Gu. Not as a rival, not as someone who feared him—Ah Gu had always been his boss, his superior in both rank and strength. Chen Mo allowed himself a small, private grin. So he’s the one leading the charge. Interesting.

  He flexed his fingers around his bow, calculating his next move. He didn’t need to strike yet; observation came first. Ah Gu was methodical, scanning the terrain with trained precision, coordinating the other experts like a conductor with his orchestra. Chen Mo had no intention of confrontation—for now, he would study their movements, learn the formation, and decide only if a fight became unavoidable.

  Patient and silent, he let the group draw nearer, every sense alert, ready to act if necessary—but for now, he merely watched the man who had once commanded him, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips.

  Ah Gu’s expression was dark enough to curdle blood. Five days of searching, the best trackers money could buy, yet nothing. No footprints. No broken branches. No traces of blood or breath. It was as if that boy had never existed.

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  Like a ghost.

  He raised a hand, halting his men as they finished assembling, then asked in a low voice,

  “Any leads?”

  The guard hesitated, sweat beading on his brow, before answering carefully,

  “No, my lord. Nothing at all. At this point… we even doubt he ever came to this area.”

  Ah Gu cursed under his breath.

  “Damn it. Then what is Zhang Qiang doing here? Is he playing games with me?”

  Before anyone could respond, a voice drifted in from the forest, casual and faintly amused.

  “Oh? Any luck yet, Brother Ah Gu?”

  Chen Mo’s gaze sharpened.

  Zhang Qiang emerged from the trees, hands clasped behind his back, a relaxed smile plastered across his face. Behind him followed several men, and beside him walked Li Yuxue, her expression bored, eyes wandering as if the mountains themselves were beneath her notice.

  Chen Mo’s jaw tightened. That damned Zhang Qiang… and that spoiled brat.

  Now, he was truly tempted to act.

  Ah Gu snorted coldly.

  “If you want to leave, Zhang, then leave. You know the way.”

  Zhang Qiang did not take offense. On the contrary, his smile widened, stretching from ear to ear.

  “Haha, then I shall take my leave, Brother Gu. From the looks of it, that boy is either already dead… or hiding somewhere within the city.”

  He shook his head lightly, as if lamenting wasted effort.

  “With his pitiful strength, entering the deeper mountains would be suicide. I merely came to wish you good fortune.”

  With that, he gestured to his men. They turned without hesitation and began withdrawing, their figures soon swallowed by the forest.

  From his elevated hiding place, Chen Mo exhaled slowly.

  It seems I can slip away safely.

  Zhang Qiang was a late?stage Muscle Refining expert. Chen Mo was confident he could escape if pressed, but the risk would be far greater. With him gone, Ah Gu alone posed little immediate threat.

  His eyes flickered coldly as he watched Ah Gu’s remaining men spread out again.

  Burying Ah Gu and his people in these mountains would certainly be satisfying.

  The thought passed like a blade flashing in the dark… then vanished.

  But it would be foolish.

  Killing them would only provoke the Silver Crane Martial Hall into an even more frenzied pursuit. They would comb not only these mountains, but neighboring regions… perhaps even other cities.

  Chen Mo steadied his breathing, his grip on the bow loosening slightly.

  Let them keep searching.

  A hunter who survives does not bare his fangs for momentary pleasure.

  Hidden among leaves and shadow, Chen Mo melted deeper into the forest, already planning his next move.

  Li Yuxue, walking beside Zhang, frowned as she watched Ah Gu’s team fade into the forest.

  “So… we’re just leaving it like this? What if Ah Gu actually finds him?”

  Zhang shook his head, calm but calculating.

  “Unlikely. That boy’s clever enough to vanish without a trace. But we do have another lead worth following.”

  He opened a small dossier and pointed.

  “The courtyard rented by Zhou, the accountant, was recently discovered not far from the facility. Traces of dried blood were found there—so we’re assuming Zhou was killed.”

  Li Yuxue’s brow furrowed.

  Zhang continued, his voice steady.

  “Our investigations show that Zhou contacted his cousins several times in the recent period. If we can track them down, we might uncover the boy’s movements and finally catch him.”

  Li Yuxue nodded, though a shadow of doubt lingered in her expression. Something about this feels off… too convenient.

  Chen Mo slipped through the forest like a shadow, utterly undetected. With his newly strengthened body and refined Threaded Movement, each step was effortless, smooth, and silent. He moved with the precision of a wind-blown leaf, blending into the foliage as though he were never there.

  Once he had gained a comfortable distance from the Silver Crane search teams, he crouched on a ridge and pulled out the map he had purchased. Jian City lay five days away from Lian City along the official road, but Chen Mo had no intention of following it. The official road, though heavily patrolled and maintained by the martial halls, would draw unnecessary attention. Instead, he chose a mountain route—far enough from towns and travelers to remain unseen, yet not so deep into the wilderness as to invite danger. The journey would take him roughly seven days, slower but secure, allowing him to avoid the scrutiny of any martial hall patrols.

  He traced his fingers along narrow passes and hidden trails, planning rest stops and places to replenish his rations from the mountain streams. There was no need for haste or risk—he could move at his own pace, confident that no bandits dared challenge the martial hall’s trade routes, and caravans on this road were always escorted by at least skin refining experts. The path was calm, predictable, and perfectly safe for someone of his skill.

  Chen Mo folded the map, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Seven days through quiet mountains… smooth, uneventful, and all mine to navigate.

  With that, he stood, adjusted his hunting attire, and disappeared into the tree line, Threaded Movement carrying him forward with perfect control. The mountains stretched ahead, tranquil and steady, as if waiting to guide him to Jian City without incident.

  Chen Mo moved steadily through the mountains, each step precise and measured. The Threaded Movement made him almost invisible to the world, allowing him to traverse narrow ridges and steep slopes without leaving a trace. Streams ran clear along the valleys, providing water, while wild fruits and the rations he carried kept him nourished. Each day, he paused only briefly to rest and meditate, circulating his Primordial Body Art and reinforcing the strength in his newly refined muscles.

  The journey was quiet. No bandits dared the martial hall roads, and Chen Mo’s chosen path kept him well away from settlements. The forests whispered in the wind, the mountains remained still, and the sun traced the arc of the sky with comforting predictability. He moved with patience, carefully avoiding unnecessary exertion, letting his body recover each night under the stars.

  By the fifth day, the terrain began to flatten slightly. The forests thinned, revealing distant hills and the faint glimmer of rooftops below. Chen Mo climbed a final ridge, halting for a moment to survey the land. In the valley beneath him, Jian City lay sprawling and orderly, its high walls rising with calm authority against the horizon. The city gates were bustling faintly, but nothing here threatened him.

  Chen Mo crouched on the ridge, letting his sharp senses drink in every detail—the layout of the walls, the placement of watchtowers, and the approach routes. The city was just as he had imagined: fortified, alive, but not dangerous to someone as careful as him. A faint smirk touched his lips. Five days of steady travel, no risk, no surprise attacks… and now, Jian City awaits.

  He tucked the map away, adjusted his gear, and began planning his descent toward the city outskirts. The long journey through the mountains had been uneventful, but from here on, every step would require careful calculation. Yet Chen Mo was ready.