Chen Mo’s lungs burned, his legs pumping like pistons as Mo Yan’s shadow stayed glued to him, an unstoppable force of Bone Forging mastery. Every alleyway, every corridor, even the shattered floorboards couldn’t slow the expert; Chen Mo realized that within the city, no amount of weaving or hiding could break this relentless pursuit.

  His mind snapped to a solution: the wilderness beyond the city walls. If he could escape the urban maze, the noise and commotion might buy him time—more experts would eventually join the hunt if he stayed, and he would be cornered.

  Without looking back, Chen Mo leapt the city wall, ignoring the alarmed shouts of guards below. Mo Yan’s presence was a looming shadow right behind him, terrifyingly close, his aura radiating power that could crush steel. This was no ordinary retainer—this man was worthy of the Sun family’s trust, a predator unmatched in speed and strength.

  Death pressed at Chen Mo’s back, and he gritted his teeth. There was no hesitation. He activated Threaded Movement Burst. The first surge of speed tore him from sight, his figure evaporating into a streak of shadow. Breathless and coiled, he used the second burst immediately after, doubling his velocity once more for a mere hundred breaths—the limit his current realm safely allowed.

  Mo Yan froze for a fraction of a heartbeat, stunned by the sudden acceleration. Then, with a roar that shook the night, the Bone Forging expert poured his strength into pursuit, fully committing to the chase. Every movement was now the edge of death, a test of speed, skill, and sheer nerve. The wilderness lay ahead, dark and open, and Chen Mo knew the next moments would determine whether he survived—or became nothing more than a footnote in Sun family vengeance.

  Chen Mo’s heart pounded, his body still trembling from the immense exertion. The world around him blurred into streaks of shadow and moonlight as the third activation of Threaded Movement—an unsanctioned, desperate burst—propelled him like a meteor into the wilderness. Every breath burned, every muscle screamed, but the adrenaline and sheer terror kept him moving.

  Behind him, Mo Yan skidded to a halt, eyes wide, aura flaring as he searched the darkness. The thief was gone. No trace, no residual qi, nothing to follow. For a Bone Forging expert of his caliber, losing track of a target was almost unheard of. Frustration and disbelief twisted his face as he realized that despite his full power, Chen Mo had simply vanished into the night.

  Chen Mo slowed gradually, still alert, crouching low among the trees. His chest heaved, sweat mixing with the dirt on his face. He allowed himself the tiniest sliver of relief—but only the tiniest. He knew that Mo Yan would not give up, and soon reinforcements from the Sun family or the city guards could be sweeping the area. For now, he had escaped, but the hunt was far from over.

  Chen Mo’s body screamed in protest as the third burst of Threaded Movement slammed through his muscles and joints. Every fiber felt like molten steel being stretched beyond its limits, his lungs burned with a fiery ache, and his ribs throbbed with each ragged breath. He was pushed past the edge of pain, a trembling shadow dragging itself through the underbrush, barely holding himself upright.

  Even as his speed tore him from Mo Yan’s pursuit, his limbs shook violently, sweat and blood mixing as he clutched his sides. Every step felt like dragging lead, but his instincts forced him forward. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he found a small hollow between twisted roots and rocks, hidden from sight. Collapsing into the shadowed nook, he leaned against the cold earth, trembling, his chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged gasps.

  For the first time, Chen Mo allowed himself to acknowledge the cost of his own power. The bursts had saved his life, but the pain was nearly unbearable. Still, in the darkness, he began patching himself up, rubbing herbal ointments he always carried and mentally preparing for the long night ahead—he knew even a moment of rest could be precious, but his muscles were screaming for recovery.

  After a brief, shallow rest, Chen Mo forced himself upright, his body still shrieking with pain, every joint protesting, muscles spasming like coiled steel snapping under tension. Each step sent hot agony coursing through him, but his mind remained razor-sharp, scanning the darkness for every detail: the direction of the wind, the patterns of the underbrush, the faintest sound of movement behind him.

  He moved deliberately, silently, dragging himself deeper into the wilderness. Every stride was calculated—he pressed lightly on the forest floor, avoiding broken branches, loose stones, and disturbed leaves. His breathing was shallow but controlled, masking any noise that might betray his presence. Despite the blistering pain that threatened to paralyze him, Chen Mo’s senses were fully alert; he traced every footprint he left, adjusting his gait to erase any trace as if he had vanished from the world entirely.

  No careless movements, no bursts of reckless speed—tonight, survival depended entirely on cunning, patience, and precision. One wrong step, one slip, one misjudged shadow, and the pursuit could catch him. The wilderness stretched before him like a vast, dark chessboard, and Chen Mo moved like a ghost across it, each agonized step a testament to his resolve and the cold clarity of a mind that refused to falter even when the body screamed in protest.

  By the next morning, the outskirts of the city swarmed with city guards and Sun family retainers, scouring the wilderness for any trace of Chen Mo.

  Inside the Sun mansion, Sun Bo sat at the head of the hall, flanked by his two protectors, Mo Yan and He Zuo.

  He Zuo snickered, a sharp edge of mockery in his voice: “Old Yan, you really went senile—how could you let a thief slip through your hands? Hahaha!”

  Mo Yan’s face remained grim. He could endure Sun Bo’s words, but mockery from He Zuo stung deeply. He resented that thief with every fiber of his being.

  Sun Bo shook his head. Though Mo Yan and He Zuo were assigned to him as senior protectors by the Sun family patriarch, he respected them greatly for their skills and dedication. He could order them around for his personal protection, yet they ultimately answered only to the family head back at the capital. “To think a thief could outrun you, Senior… it’s remarkable. At least he only took silver—he didn’t touch the documents or deeds. That’s fortunate, yes?”

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  Mo Yan gritted his teeth. “It’s my fault, Sun Bo. I underestimated him. I never imagined someone could master a movement technique at such a level in this place.”

  He Zuo chuckled again. “I’ll recall our people from the wilderness. Chasing ghosts is useless anyway—if Old Yan himself couldn’t catch him, who can? Hahaha!”

  Mo Yan’s face darkened further. Without a word, he stood and left the room, his frustration burning silently as he plotted his next move.

  Chen Mo lay sprawled inside a dry, narrow cave, the faint smell of earth and stone filling his lungs. He had already swallowed several Clear Pulse Recovery Pills, crushing another between his fingers to mix with ointment before smearing it over his torn muscles. The medicine seeped in slowly, cooling the surface while fire still raged beneath.

  The pain was relentless.

  His muscles throbbed in uneven waves, some fibers spasming, others feeling eerily numb. Every breath pulled at torn tissue, and even the slightest movement sent sharp warnings through his body. The third Burst had crossed a dangerous line. It had forced power out of muscles that were already screaming for rest, stretching tendons past their tolerance and bruising his meridians from the inside.

  Chen Mo exhaled slowly, keeping his breathing steady.

  “If I had used it a fourth time…” he thought grimly, “I’d be crippled—if not dead.”

  This was not fear speaking, but clear judgment. His body had reached its limit. The Threaded Movement was refined, but his realm was still the bottleneck. Borrowing power beyond it came at a brutal price.

  He closed his eyes, forcing his mind into calm clarity despite the agony. The chase was over for now. Mo Yan had lost him. But the lesson was carved deep into his flesh.

  Strength bought recklessly demanded blood as interest.

  Chen Mo clenched his teeth, then let out a slow, pained chuckle.

  “Damn it… when I reach Bone Forging, I’ll pay that bastard another visit,” he muttered hoarsely. “Let’s see then who runs for his life.”

  The words carried no heat, only a cold promise filed away for the future. He took a long breath, steadying the tremor in his limbs, and reached into his storage pouch, pulling out the spoils of the night.

  Silver notes spilled out in thick stacks.

  Chen Mo began counting, one pile after another. His movements were slow at first, fingers stiff with pain, but the more he counted, the faster they moved. His breathing eased. The fire in his muscles seemed distant, muted.

  “…ten thousand… twenty… thirty…”

  When he finished, he froze.

  Then he stared.

  Then he laughed.

  “Sixty thousand taels,” he whispered, disbelief giving way to delight.

  For a brief moment, he forgot the torn muscles, the bruised meridians, the narrow line he had walked between life and crippling ruin. The pain dissolved beneath the sheer weight of silver.

  “Hahahaha…”

  The laughter echoed softly inside the cave, raw but genuine. Even the thought of revenge faded, evaporating like mist under the morning sun.

  Instead, Chen Mo felt something entirely unexpected.

  Gratitude.

  “The Sun family…” he said with a crooked grin. “Truly generous hosts.”

  With this silver, Muscle Refining would be nothing but a stepping stone. Bone Forging no longer felt distant or mythical—it felt inevitable.

  And this time, when he returned, he would not be the one fleeing into the dark.

  A few days later, Chen Mo felt much better. He decided to take a long, winding route back to the city, deliberately avoiding the area he had escaped through. Upon entering Jian City, he went straight to his hotel, indulged in a lavish lunch, and soaked in a hot bath before sleeping until the next morning.

  Waking refreshed, he stepped out and made his way to the city’s central square, as was now his routine, and approached the notice wall. Many new faces had appeared among the portraits, but nothing caught his attention—until he saw his own.

  Shock rooted him to the spot. His wanted poster had been updated. The bounty for his capture had risen to two thousand taels of silver, and anyone providing information that could lead to him was now promised five hundred taels. Even more alarming, the text under his portrait had changed: he was labeled a rebel, an important member, wanted by the crown itself.

  Chen Mo froze, processing the words. What the hell…? The Sun family’s robbery had vanished from the record, but someone had escalated the stakes, turning him from a simple thief into a political target. Now, the imperial authorities themselves were after him.

  His mind sharpened immediately. Every passerby, every merchant, every guard could now be a threat—or a potential informer. One wrong move, and death would be inevitable.

  Chen Mo adjusted his bamboo hat and merged into the crowd, his expression calm but his mind calculating. From now on, every step had to be precise, every shadow carefully measured. The game had changed—he was no longer just surviving; he was being hunted by the crown itself.

  Chen Mo decided to purchase ten more pills from the pharmacy, adding to the eight he already possessed. Confident that this stock would carry him to Bone Forging, he vowed not to return to Jian City until he had broken through. With the strength of a Bone Forging expert, any caravan bound for the capital would welcome him aboard—not as a passenger, but as a protector.

  As Chen Mo slipped away from the city, another figure arrived in Jian City. Commander Qi had come, determined and relentless, prepared to scour the streets, alleyways, and shadowed corners. By any means necessary, he would find Chen Mo, and he would not leave until the fugitive was captured.

  Commander Qi, an Organ Refining expert and a high-ranking official in the Imperial Army, wasted no time. He ordered every city department and even the Mercenary Hall to cross-check every document, register, and record of people who had entered Jian City over the past two months. With this, the search began in earnest. Every suspicious figure was listed, profiled, and tracked, and even the pharmacies were required to report any major purchases made during that period.

  Qi had a sharp intuition: perhaps Chen Mo had stumbled upon some treasure hidden in the cave, and his spending would reflect that newfound wealth. His focus was clear—any unknown figure who had suddenly appeared and spent silver like water became the prime target of his relentless scrutiny.