Almost exactly as Li Yan had suspected, the so-called "Shattered Poison Body" refers to the process of splitting every bit of one's flesh, blood, bones, and meridians into small fragments—almost as if the body were being dismembered piece by piece. Each tiny portion of flesh, bone, and sinew is continually refined, transformed, and then redivided, so that internally the body appears utterly shattered. These words, spoken once by Li Wu-yi when he introduced the concept, were at that time nothing more than abstract description for those who had never cultivated such a poison body; only when one experiences it firsthand can its nuances be truly appreciated. Li Yan, in his initial interpretation, believed that this very condition had already taken root within him. As for the "excruciating pain during separation" that Li Wu-yi mentioned, Li Yan had not felt any such torture—nor had he experienced any discomfort even up to that point. Deep inside, he assumed that the formation of this condition had occurred while he was on the brink of unconsciousness, so the torment that others described had never really been his experience.
The jade slips, which document the cultivation methods of the Shattered Poison Body, omit any detailed explanation—simply because the three revered predecessors who authored them had never had to contend with a case like Li Yan's, whose poison body had not formed all at once. Their own experiences had involved an instantaneous formation where every fragment was separate; with each breath, individual pieces would split when exhaling and merge when inhaling, all in a perfectly coordinated rhythm that both nourished and strengthened each independent toxin source. In contrast, Li Yan's situation was different: his internal structure was still largely a connected whole, save for only slight separations at certain meridian nodes. In simpler terms, Li Yan's poison body was nothing more than an incomplete work—a rough draft, if you will—and that was precisely why he was yet to discover a conclusive method to perfect his condition.
In his mind, one obstacle was his unwillingness to seek advice from others. Doing so would risk revealing the greatest secret of the Gui Shui Xianmen—a matter that even his peers dared not discuss openly. Moreover, no one would suspect that Li Yan was merely a "half-product" when compared with those who had fully formed Shattered Poison Bodies. Even Li Yan's own understanding of the phenomenon was partial at best; as they say, the closer one is to a predicament, the harder it is to see its true nature. Such was his conundrum.
After analyzing his predicament and accepting that his current state was no more than an embryonic stage of the poison body, Li Yan began to plan his next step: he must find a way to truly separate the twelve key meridian nodes in his body. The fact that he had already attained the initial stage of formation indicated that the first step had been successful. What remained was to fully separate these nodes—either by using his spiritual sense or his innate Qi. The worst possibility, he thought, was that only through an incomplete formula from a junior master or by receiving a backlash from that master's final, desperate strike at the moment of death could he ultimately form a genuine Shattered Poison Body. For the first two possibilities, he could try to remedy things on his own. If it were one of the latter two, however, he might be left utterly stranded. At least for now, he had a direction—even if he could only guess at its true correctness.
Resolute in his determination, Li Yan stood and went out to fetch a basin of fresh water, using it to wash his face and regain clarity. He knew he could not cavalierly experiment with his "Cloud Rain Technique" for something as mundane as cleansing; firstly, he might fail to cast the method properly and, secondly, the output of the technique was not guaranteed to be the kind of substance he wanted. Although the ancient texts had assured him that the toxins released under such conditions were harmless to the main body, he was not willing to take any risks at that moment. After swallowing a Pi Gu pill to stabilize his condition, he rested quietly for half an hour before returning to the cultivation chamber.
Inside the chamber, after steadying his mind and calming his internal Qi, Li Yan carefully directed his Qi toward the meridian node nearest his dantian. In the very next moment, he shaped his Qi into the semblance of a tiny blade and directed it toward the suspicious fissure. His reasoning was based on a clear observation: in his early practice, there had been no Qi leakage, but only later did he detect the subtle loss—indicating that Qi, when forced against a tight meridian gap, could indeed expand it. With this in mind, he decided to try using his Qi as a tool for "cutting" the fissure further.
No sooner had the cutting motion begun than an unbearable, searing pain surged through Li Yan's head. He emitted a muffled groan and nearly lost control of his spirit; his spiritual sense threatened to collapse completely. Within moments, beads of sweat sprang forth, and his body trembled as if it were being washed away by a torrent of water. Struggling to maintain focus despite the pain, he concentrated his spirit to probe the treated node. To his cautious delight, he found that the gap had indeed widened slightly. This small sign of success filled him with a cautious hope—he now had proof that this method was potentially viable; though whether it would leave him nothing but a lifeless husk was a risk he was increasingly willing to take.
Summoning every ounce of fortitude, Li Yan pressed on with the "cut," despite his continued muffled groans and the violent trembling of his body that made him resemble a sieve shaken by a storm. Each passing moment, every inch of time, he risked his life. After what felt like an endless, torturous quarter-hour, Li Yan finally collapsed onto the cold floor, gasping for breath. He lay there, barely conscious, and gave himself time to recover. Slowly, he came to the realization that he was not teetering on the edge of death. A sense of relief washed over him—the preliminary impact of his method had not immediately doomed him.
With tremendous effort, he re-assumed the lotus posture. That quarter-hour had been akin to suffering the greatest punishment imaginable, yet in the end he had only managed to separate one node. Now was the moment to test the consequences: if this single separation failed to work as intended, it might doom his entire cultivation path by permanently severing the channels through which his Qi circulated, leaving him but a hollow shell. Gathering his resolve once more, he summoned his Qi from the dantian and directed it once again toward the altered node. As he watched with bated breath, the Qi slowly made its way toward the gap—but the two ends of the fissure still behaved like two sheer cliffs, stubbornly remaining apart. A chill of apprehension coursed through him. Perhaps the act he had undertaken today would indeed close off any possibility of recovering his cultivation power completely. In the future, his Qi might be hindered from circulating throughout his body, with the residual energy slowly dwindling away.
Yet, just when Li Yan feared that by tomorrow he might be forced back into mortal mediocrity, an unexpected shift occurred. The Qi, as it reached the terminus of that gaping fissure, encountered a remarkable reversal: the flesh and blood tissue at the other edge of the split suddenly leaned inward, bridging the divide. In the blink of an eye, the channel became entirely unobstructed. Without pausing to register his astonishment, Li Yan immediately surveyed the situation with his spiritual sense. Within moments he discovered that not a single particle of Qi had been lost during its passage—in fact, the circulated Qi had grown somewhat more refined, exactly the result sought in proper cultivation. As purification of Qi often leads to an eventual increase in its overall quantity, his measured risk had just paid off.
Li Yan exhaled one long, relieved sigh before slowly dispersing the circulating Qi throughout his body. Now he was convinced that his method held promise. Yet his relief was tempered by grim determination as he realized that eleven more nodes still awaited separation. The thought alone made him shiver with trepidation.
In the ensuing twenty time periods that followed, Li Yan lay sprawled on the floor in an almost contorted posture. The ground beneath him was soaked with sweat, pooled in places as though a small stream had formed from his exertions. The pain he experienced during each moment of separation was so excruciating that, at times, he felt an overwhelming impulse to simply end his life. Every time a separation was made, he forcefully gulped down copious amounts of water to replenish his depleting reserves, only then to move immediately on to the next incision. There was no luxury of delay—he had to complete this dangerous process as swiftly as possible while his numb nerves still allowed him any controlled sensation. Yet even as he hurried, he was painfully aware that the water lost from his body had to be meticulously replaced—otherwise, before he could complete this entire transformation, dehydration would claim him.
Eventually, utterly drained and forced to lie utterly still, Li Yan found himself unable to voluntarily move even a single finger. The idea of returning to his resting chamber filled him with dread, and so he drifted into a deep, unbroken sleep on the cold floor—a sleep that stretched on for two full days and two nights.
When Li Yan finally awoke, his spirit and Qi felt reinvigorated, as though a weight had been lifted. Slowly, he sat up once again, resuming his lotus posture and engaging in quiet meditation for roughly fifteen minutes. As if in a sudden burst of triumph and rebirth, a raucous laughter suddenly erupted from within the cultivation chamber and spread out through the courtyard. Had it not been for the magical formation array on the courtyard walls designed to prevent unauthorized sound from escaping, his mirth would undoubtedly have been heard for miles around.
Upon awakening, his first instinct was to verify whether his cultivation process had returned to normal. Circulating his Qi through one full cycle, he was delighted to find that it now flowed as it had before those recent experiments—a veritable return to the state of his earlier practice. In that moment, his heart felt light, and his laughter burst forth uncontrollably as if it were an emotional catharsis for the frustration and trials of the past few days.
In the days that followed, Li Yan temporarily set aside the pursuit of immortal techniques. Besides his steady cultivation of the Gui Shui True Scripture, he dedicated every spare moment to investigating the twelve separated meridian pathways within his body. He examined the intricacies of the separated channels of flesh and blood with a meticulous mind, determined to master every nuance of their behavior.
As time passed—four months in all—the busy, immersive nature of his cultivation left little room for idle thought. Aside from the steady progress in his Gui Shui training, Li Yan spent countless hours poring over the three jade slips concerning the Shattered Poison Body stored in his Sea of Consciousness. In doing so, he attained a renewed and deeper understanding of the twelve separated meridian channels. He came to see that these channels were not identical vessels; each one functioned as a distinct toxin source. Some channels released a corrosive poison, while others only released a particularly potent toxin when exposed to the heat of the sun, the cold of the moon, or even the shimmer of starlight. Yet still others discharged toxins that were colorless and odorless. In some cases, these potent toxic substances, if prepared as an herbal remedy, would require the correct combination of one or several toxin-producing herbs—or even a refined alchemical process—to produce an extraordinary, almost otherworldly concoction.
Under ordinary circumstances, these twelve toxin channels remained separate, circulating and naturally nourishing themselves with every breath. However, the jade slips explained that such spontaneous nourishment was far from optimal. The ideal method, it said, was to stimulate each channel with one's spiritual sense on a daily basis, forcing the toxins to become even more potent. In this way, even before reaching the Foundation Establishment stage, the channels could gradually break down further into even more numerous, finer toxin particles.
Li Yan experimented with this method despite the inevitable anguish it brought him. The excruciating pain he felt was not primarily from the separated meridian channels themselves, but rather from the toll that prolonged stimulation took on his spiritual sense. Every time he concentrated his spiritual essence on these channels, it was as if that portion of his awareness became contaminated with the toxic energy—bringing on splitting headaches, bouts of nausea, and a sensation of ceaseless stabbing pain in his brain as though myriad knives were jostling inside his mind. After a few attempts, the agony nearly drove him to abandon the effort and let his poison body develop on its own. But then, in a surprising twist, he noticed that the very act of stimulating these separated channels with his spiritual sense caused his overall spiritual capacity to incrementally increase. This unexpected benefit slowly transformed his disappointment into elation, for he now understood that the method of boosting one's spiritual sense was incredibly rare and valuable. Although the Gui Shui True Scripture did mention some enhancement effects on spiritual sense, his own practical experience had shown that true growth in spiritual awareness only seemed to occur after ascending to a higher cultivation realm—it wasn't something that could be accelerated at one's whim.
Emboldened by this discovery, Li Yan refused to abandon the procedure. Instead, he resolutely set aside any idle thoughts of the strain it might impose. He meticulously dedicated one hour each day solely to using his spiritual sense to stimulate the separated channels. Even though he knew that overusing this method might eventually push him to the brink of nervous collapse, he persisted; every day, he carved out that precious hour in order to coax even the slightest growth from his spiritual sense. After several days, the results began to show: his spiritual sense grew, albeit at an excruciatingly gradual pace, and the separated meridian channels within him appeared more active, almost as if they were trembling in anticipation of further separation with even a small additional stimulus.
Watching these channels come alive inside his body, Li Yan suddenly entertained another thought. Besides making the channels and the surrounding flesh more active, this stimulation—if applied properly—might also enhance the strength of his corporeal form. After all, if his tissues were being invigorated to such an extent, surely his body should become correspondingly tougher and more resilient. Yet almost just as quickly as the thought arose, he dismissed it. In this world nothing good comes entirely for the taking; with his focus solely on increasing his spiritual sense—and the method, precious as it was, already yielding results—he felt content with his current pace, even if the increase was painfully slow.
Four months later, having thoroughly studied and come to grasp the various toxic properties of these twelve separated channels, Li Yan turned his attention to the next phase: mastering a controlled, skillful utilization of these newfound abilities. His daily schedule became even more crowded. Aside from continuing his cultivation of the Gui Shui True Scripture, he spent countless hours using spiritual sense to stimulate the separated tissues, integrating the unique toxins into his developing immortal techniques. His days were packed to the brim—often, he would forgo proper sleep for several days, substituting hours of deep meditation for restorative rest.
During this period, Wei Zhongran, his master, kept in touch via the sect's token. He inquired about Li Yan's progress and whether his cultivation difficulties had been resolved. When Li Yan reported that he had indeed overcome the earlier obstacles, his master sent along a message of encouragement. He revealed that the sect had allocated special resources for Li Yan's cultivation—every month, Li Yan would receive an additional five low-grade spirit stones and two bottles of "Spiritual Ascension Pills." These resources, tailored specifically to help him perfect the Shattered Poison Body, were granted without further explanation. After that, his master refrained from interfering, which in turn made Li Yan regard him with a measure of genuine affection. Although Li Yan's current impression was that his master harbored no ill intent, a small seed of suspicion still remained.
Meanwhile, Li Yan also became aware of the sect's preferential allocation of resources to him. Though he could not yet determine whether his innate talent was of the "three spiritual roots" level or higher—and thus whether these benefits were only a modest support—he couldn't help but feel bittersweet gratitude toward the sect's unexpected generosity.
As for his fellow disciples, Li Yan rarely encountered any of them outside of brief monthly meetings at the main hall, where he collected his spirit stones and Pi Gu pills. Apart from encountering Fourth Senior Sister and Second Senior Brother on those occasions, he had not seen any of the others; rumors had it that many were either on training excursions or locked away in closed-door seclusions, buried deep in self-cultivation. Even Senior Brother Seven had entered seclusion two months ago, with word that he would soon attempt a breakthrough to the Foundation Establishment stage. The ever-handsome eldest senior, who occasionally made brief appearances before his own prolonged enclosure, had not been seen in months—though some servants mentioned glimpsing him hurriedly venturing out at night on a few occasions.
During monthly collections, however, Li Yan noticed that Fourth Senior Sister and Second Senior Brother regarded him with a curious sort of appraisal. When he inquired about it, they explained that the Spiritual Ascension Pills he received were of outstanding use during the phase of upgrading from the Qi Condensation stage to a minor realm. Typically, only an elite disciple in the Outer Sect might receive two bottles per year, whereas Li Yan was granted two bottles each month. This generous allocation naturally elevated their opinion of him. Second Senior Brother even patted him on the back in a bear-like fashion, clearly proud as he gave Li Yan a thumbs-up. The mixture of admiration and a trace of incredulity played across Li Yan's face as he simultaneously felt both warmth and a chill of uncertainty.
The disciples from the other four peaks, meanwhile, had little to do with Li Yan at all. He did not know them personally, and they—by and large—would not come to him for guidance. In the ensuing months, however, Li Yan encountered further complications—not with his cultivation per se but with the very locations where he practiced. In the courtyard and the cultivation chamber, silent meditation and practice had always been unproblematic. Yet as soon as he began to practice his immortal techniques, whether in the chamber or outside in the courtyard, unexpected issues arose. The culprit, quite clearly, was the very Shattered Poison Toxins that were released along with his Qi. They had already destroyed two sets of stone tables and benches. Faced with the chaos his practice was causing, Li Yan decided that he needed to search for a secluded place where he could safely practice immortal techniques without collateral damage.
After long contemplation, he realized that with his current level of cultivation he could not venture beyond the sect. The world outside was said to be teeming with savage beasts and dire dangers far beyond his capability to combat. Instead, he set his sights on Xiao Zhu Peak. With its immense scale, it wouldn't be difficult to find a quiet, hidden spot there—a place where he could practice without disturbing others.