Chen mo paused at the edge of the cliff, eyes scanning every jut of rock and clump of foliage. The sheer drop below glinted menacingly in the sunlight, but to him, it was merely another puzzle to solve. Flexing his fingers, he felt the raw strength in his muscles—years of skin refining and the peak golden stage coursing through him. Every tendon was taut, ready.

  He tapped into his Threaded Movement technique, letting his body flow like liquid, weight distributed perfectly, movements silent and precise. One hand gripped a tree root, the other a rocky outcrop; a foot pressed against a narrow ledge while the other sought purchase on a tiny crevice. Like a shadow stretching over stone, he shifted downwards, careful not to dislodge loose debris, feeling the pulse of the cliff beneath him.

  Minutes passed, yet it felt effortless. Each motion was measured, calculated, yet smooth—his skin impervious to scrapes, his balance perfect. Slowly, methodically, he descended deeper, until a dark hollow caught his attention. Hidden in the cliff’s belly, partially shielded by overhanging rocks and a curtain of moss, a small cave yawned before him. Chen mo landed silently at its edge, crouched for a moment, eyes sweeping the interior. The hideout was small but adequate—a perfect place to rest, observe, and plan his next move.

  He allowed himself a faint nod of satisfaction, already thinking about how he would exploit this natural fortress.

  Chen mo crouched at the cave entrance, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light filtering through cracks in the cliff above. His heart thumped—not from fear, but from anticipation. This was what he had been chasing: the hidden treasure promised by the old map, the reward of patience and careful calculation.

  Every step into the cave was deliberate, muscles coiled like springs, Threaded Movement ready to spring him out if danger lurked in the shadows. Dust motes danced in the faint sunlight, but he paid them no mind; his gaze was fixed on the interior.

  He muttered to himself softly, a rare trace of excitement in his voice: “Maybe…finally, the world will grant a little justice.” For a moment, he allowed himself the feeling—hope, instead of constant calculation, constant survival. The countless dangers he had faced since awakening in this new world, the schemes, the thefts, the killings, all had led him here.

  With a deep breath, Chen mo stepped further into the cave. Every movement was precise, controlled, his senses stretched to the limit. The faintest glimmer of something hidden caught his eye deeper within, and his pulse quickened. This was the moment where strategy met fortune—and he was determined to claim it.

  There inside the cave lay a simple box—very ordinary, no locks, no strange inscriptions. Chen Mo had anticipated something more, some hidden trap or divine marking, yet there was nothing. Nonetheless, there was something—at least, enough to catch his interest. He carefully brushed off the thick layer of dust and opened the box.

  He was silent for a moment. Inside lay a book and two jade slips of unknown origin. Chen Mo picked up the book first; it was in remarkably good condition. His heart beat faster. He was certain now: he had stumbled upon a treasure.

  The sight of the jade slips alone made him tense with awe. From his knowledge of his previous life, he recognized their significance—jade slips like these were the tools of immortals. Martial artists couldn’t use them; perhaps only innate experts could, but Chen Mo was sure now—immortals really existed in this world.

  He opened the book, and fortunately, he recognized the language. His eyes flicked across the pages, absorbing every word.

  The first page contained a message, written with deliberate strokes that radiated authority:

  "I am Jiang Han, an Organ Refining expert whose path fatefully crossed with a fallen immortal on the brink of death. His name was Xuán Lóng. In his final moments, he entrusted me with two jade slips, urging me to seek a member of the Xuan family and deliver them. As reward for this act, he granted me a complete martial method of extraordinary design—capable of leading one directly to innate mastery, without reliance on any external talisman or elixir.

  Years have passed, yet the secret was betrayed, and now multiple forces pursue me. Though my strength is unrivaled in my realm, even the mightiest cannot escape all fates. I have no choice but to leave the jade slips and the manual here, in this secluded cave. I know not if I shall survive to see this fulfilled. May the one who finds these relics in the future carry the burden and fulfill the karma I could not."

  Chen Mo’s eyes narrowed as he absorbed the words. Fallen immortal… innate mastery… no talisman, no elixir… This was no ordinary martial manual. His heart thumped with a mixture of anticipation and disbelief. Could it be… that luck had finally chosen him?

  He glanced at the jade slips again, reverently, then at the book. This was no simple treasure—this was a key that could shatter all limitations he had faced so far.

  Chen Mo’s eyes scanned the pages of the manual, each stroke of the characters seeming to hum with a faint, almost tangible power. After a long moment, he exhaled slowly, letting a low whistle escape his lips.

  “Truly… extraordinary,” he murmured.

  This martial art was unlike anything he had ever seen. It was not just complete—it was multi-layered, with techniques and insights folded upon one another like intricate origami of power. Every principle, every cultivation step, was meticulously designed to refine the body, the qi, and the mind in perfect harmony. The true shock, however, lay in its promise: one who mastered this method could nurture a True Qi so pure and potent that the path to the innate realm could be crossed directly—no talismans, no elixirs, no external spiritual items required. The ceiling of conventional cultivation had been shattered.

  Yet even as awe washed over him, Chen Mo noticed the cautionary notes scattered throughout the pages. The method demanded a relentless consumption of resources. Herbs, powders, even the most ordinary medicinal ingredients—none would last. To follow this path was to burn through materials like wildfire across dry grass, leaving no margin for waste or delay. A single misstep, a shortage in supplies, and the practitioner could stagnate—or worse, collapse under the strain of unchecked energy surges.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Chen Mo’s fingers brushed over the jade slips beside the manual. With these, the manual’s secrets could be preserved, amplified, and perhaps even refined further. His mind raced. The Silver Crane Martial Hall’s teachings, the countless powders he had hoarded, even his peak skin refining—none of it compared. This was a leap, a quantum jump in martial understanding, and the price it demanded… he would pay it, no matter the cost.

  A dangerous smile crept across his face. “Looks like the world finally owes me something,” he whispered.

  The name of the manual—Primordial Body Art—sat heavily in Chen Mo’s mind, almost audacious in its grandeur. Overbearing, yet undeniably fitting for what it promised. He carefully tucked the book into his robes, the weight of its significance pressing against his chest like a promise of untold power.

  His fingers lingered on the two jade slips, smooth and cold to the touch, yet humming faintly as if aware of their new master. Xuan family legacy… he thought inwardly, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. Well, it’s mine now. If fate permits, I will settle the karma that Senior Jiang could not.

  Curiosity gnawed at him, and he attempted to probe the jade slips with his qi, even letting a drop of his blood spill across their surface—but nothing yielded. The slips remained silent, their secrets locked away from mortal eyes.

  Chen Mo sighed, tucking the jade carefully into a hidden pouch. “Perhaps only an immortal can read what lies within,” he murmured. “No rush. We’ll see how the world unfolds in its own time.”

  Chen Mo threaded back along the path he came from, his figure melting into the mountain trails like a returning omen. The cave, the manual, the jade slips—those matters could wait. Loose ends, however, could not. If even one bandit escaped, it would become a thorn buried in his future.

  His pace quickened as he headed back toward the stronghold. The air around him felt heavy, as if the land itself remembered the blood already spilled there. By the time he arrived, the place had fallen into a dead silence. Ruined courtyards, shattered doors, dried blood staining the earth—everything stood exactly as he had left it.

  Chen Mo concealed himself near the main path leading back from the village, suppressing his presence completely. His breathing slowed, his heartbeat steady, his mind cold and clear. He became a shadow nailed to the ground, patiently awaiting prey.

  They would return soon. Tired. Careless. Unaware that their den had already become a grave.

  When they did, there would be no negotiation, no mercy, no survivors.

  Only another quiet massacre, carried out to ensure that the past would never rise to bite him in the future.

  Within the Silver Crane School, Ah Gu and Lian hurried through the stone corridors toward Li Zhen’s office. Their footsteps echoed sharply, each step heavier than the last. Both men wore grim expressions, their thoughts churning, though neither dared voice a word.

  The moment they crossed the threshold, an overwhelming pressure descended upon them.

  Li Zhen sat calmly behind his desk, yet his aura was completely unrestrained. It pressed down like a mountain, forcing the air itself to thicken. Ah Gu’s breath hitched, Lian’s face instantly drained of color, but they still bowed deeply in greeting.

  Li Zhen’s gaze was cold and sharp.

  “Where is that boy, Chen Mo?”

  Ah Gu froze. The question struck him out of nowhere. He had been summoned so abruptly that he had no idea what this was about. Instinctively, he turned toward Lian, who was already struggling under the pressure, sweat rolling down his temples.

  “Lord Zhen,” Ah Gu said carefully, “could you explain what this is about?”

  Li Zhen’s voice was flat, yet every word carried crushing weight.

  “The boy you appointed as a steward has stolen school resources and fled. His so-called assistant has vanished as well. If Chen Mo is not found, you will bear full responsibility.”

  Ah Gu’s pupils shrank in shock.

  Lian, upon hearing those words, felt his legs weaken. His knees nearly gave out as fear surged through him like icy water. His vision swam, and for a brief moment, he truly thought he would collapse on the spot.

  But Ah Gu did not give him that chance.

  He turned sharply, his expression darkening as he barked,

  “Lian! You were the one who recommended this boy. Explain yourself. What is the meaning of this?!”

  Lian’s heart sank to the depths. He knew it instantly—there was no escape. No matter what the truth was, no matter what excuses he offered, he would become the scapegoat if Chen Mo was not found.

  His hands clenched tightly at his sides, nails digging into flesh. Fear and resentment twisted together inside his chest, forming a vicious knot. Deep in his heart, hatred bloomed.

  If he survived today…

  If that little bastard was ever found…

  Lian swore silently that he would tear Chen Mo apart piece by piece.

  Ironically, at that very moment, Chen Mo was busy tearing apart the bandits who had just returned from their mission.

  Their reunion with the stronghold became a funeral procession.

  The fifty men barely had time to register what was happening. Shadows flickered, bones cracked, screams were cut short mid-breath. Against Chen Mo, their numbers meant nothing. Strength crushed skill, speed devoured reaction. It did not take long before the bandit stronghold welcomed another fifty lifeless bodies.

  Chen Mo showed no mercy.

  Even the women the bandits had dragged back as captives were not spared. In this world, mercy was a luxury that invited disaster. Loose ends bred rumors, and rumors bred calamity.

  When it was over, Chen Mo gathered the corpses into a grim mound and set them alight. Flames roared upward, devouring flesh, wood, and blood alike. Fire spread quickly, licking the walls, climbing the buildings, until the entire stronghold was swallowed by a raging inferno.

  From a distance, Chen Mo watched silently.

  He had not slaughtered them for pleasure. There was no satisfaction in it. But he could not gamble on the secret of the cliff and the map leaking out in the future. Not even the smallest chance was acceptable.

  Turning away, he plundered a few remaining rations from the stronghold, slung them over his shoulder, and departed without looking back.

  Soon, only fire remained behind him.

  Chen Mo headed once more toward the cave by the cliff, his figure disappearing into the wilderness as the flames painted the night sky red.