Li Yan was unaware that while he was descending the mountain, far behind that immense stone stele at the lofty summit—and deep within a stone cave—a tall, elderly man had just opened his eyes. The old man, clad in rough gray hemp robes, sat cross-legged on a low platform. Though his head was full of silver hair, his face retained the soft, cherubic features of an infant, with a healthy, rosy glow. Muttering to himself, he said, "That little brat is truly amusing. Since when did Xiao Zhu Peak accept such a disciple? His so-called mixed spiritual root is surprisingly pure in spiritual energy, yet his body remains this shattered poison body. He's been in seclusion for so long he's lost touch with the outside world. If not for the anger of that stone stele, I wouldn't even know how many years have passed. This stele truly has the temperament of a child—people with low cultivation take even a glance as a personal affront."
The towering elder continued his soliloquy. With a tentative lowering of his head—almost as if the motion had been neglected for ages—his movements appeared clumsy and stiff. "This little fellow's shattered poison body is, in fact, an extraordinary twist of fate. In several hundred million years, there have been only three like him. And yet his cultivation method is so peculiar: Although his mixed spiritual root implies a jumble of energies, every aspect of his internal spiritual power is extremely refined. How can it be that all his elemental energies are so pure? Has he perhaps mastered some bizarre technique? I've never heard of such a method, or maybe he ingested some celestial material or earthly treasure…" The elder's voice faded into deep contemplation as he bowed his head further.
What Li Yan did not know was that, even now, his shattered poison body—his internal cultivation state, even the nature of his mixed spiritual root—had been read from thousands of li away by this very man. Fortunately, the old man's insight came only because Li Yan's progress had been sufficiently advanced; only after he had risen in grade and spent another half-year in training did his inner state reveal itself clearly. By that time, not only was his water spiritual vat filled to overflowing with energy, but his other vats (for wood, fire, and earth) were also brimming—only the gold spiritual vat contained merely half the expected power. Had he come here when he was still at the early two-layer stage of the Qi Condensation period, the elder's suspicions might have been far more casual. In his initial stage, when he practiced the Gui Shui True Scripture, the five elements were unified; then only his water vat was populated while the remaining four stayed empty until activated by training—through the process of mutual nourishment, the highest-energy vat would eventually be refilled. This fortunate circumstance had spared Li Yan from a potentially disastrous situation.
Recalling all that had transpired over the past several months, Li Yan's lips curved into a slight smile. Now, he felt that in just a few more months he might finally break through into the third tier of the Qi Condensation period.
He continued ascending along the narrow, bamboo-lined path. Occasionally he encountered other disciples from nearby peaks; a mere exchanged glance was enough before they parted ways. After walking for a while and with human footprints gradually fading away, Li Yan turned down a few winding paths until, at last, the familiar terrace appeared before him.
Standing on the terrace, Li Yan surveyed the ground below. He noticed patches of earth that had taken on a slightly different hue, and he also saw that a few of the slender bamboo at the edge of the terrace had become withered and scorched—all evidence of the damage wrought by his experiments with immortal techniques. In the beginning, he had worried that practicing his immortal arts here might leave the area in utter ruin, uncertain whether the sect would hold him accountable for such damage. However, in the ensuing days he had observed a curious phenomenon: areas marred by his spells would, unless utterly destroyed, gradually mend themselves over the span of several days. The same regenerative process occurred on the courtyard's floor and among the surrounding "ink" bamboo. Although spells might break or scorch them, the tenacious force of their buds ensured that, within a couple of weeks, robust new shoots would replace the damage.
Observing these natural recoveries, Li Yan speculated that Xiao Zhu Peak must harbor secret forces unknown to him. Otherwise, why would the rocks repair themselves so slowly, and why does the ink bamboo display such undaunted vitality? Perhaps only by completely uprooting them could one eradicate their life force. Even so, the phenomena reassured him that he would no longer practice immortal techniques within his courtyard. After all, the stone tables and benches had already been replaced several times, and some of the shattered poison toxins were interfering with the campus's protective formations, consuming precious spirit stones. Aside from the eight low-grade spirit stones he received each month, he had nothing else to spare.
Now, standing on the terrace with a length of bamboo—as tall as a person—lying beside him along with a large stone, Li Yan paused to steady his mind. He formed intricate hand gestures, recited incantations under his breath, and then uttered a crisp command: "Go!" In the next moment, a red fireball the size of a clenched fist appeared in midair and smashed down onto the terrace floor. With a resounding "boom," the fireball struck with force, yet no sparks flew. Instead, the impacted area on the ground was transformed into something akin to a scarlet, leech-like substance that clung tightly to the surface. The ground visibly swelled with tiny bubbles that expanded and contracted rhythmically; soon, one bubble would vanish only for another to form nearby, and then settle again. Gradually, the vibrant streak of red flame dimmed, and the bubbling became ever smaller and denser until it disappeared completely.
Before the red flame had entirely subsided, Li Yan picked up the large stone resting at his feet and cautiously advanced toward the affected patch. Crouching beside the reddish area, he used the stone to brush across the surface as though peeling away a layer of adhesive. In that instant, something uncanny happened: the moment the stone touched the red mark, a thin trace of dark red flame seemed to cling to its surface. Soon after, the stone's exterior began to show tiny bubbles forming and fading in an endless cycle until, after several measured breaths, the evidence had vanished altogether.
Li Yan regarded this spectacle with an impassive expression. After a few more breaths, the scarlet flame over the impact area disappeared completely. Satisfied that the stone remained intact and that the floor itself bore no further trace of change, he raised his free hand and gently rubbed across the spot on the stone where the flame had been. Instantly, a shower of powdery fragments cascaded from the stone, revealing a deep, vivid red groove as though, with a little more slicing, the stone might be split entirely.
Next, he ran his foot lightly over the ground. What had been an unblemished surface now bore a wide, deep furrow—a brilliant red scar marring the stone as clearly as if it were a wound that, when cut deep enough, would penetrate it.
Li Yan knew then that this was one manifestation among the twelve types of shattered poison toxins within his body. He did not yet know exactly what this particular toxin was called; in the ancient texts he had perused, it was noted that the immortal techniques honed in the Wangliang Sect often differed wildly from those of other sects. For example, disciples of Bu Li Peak might transform the "Firebomb Technique" so that the flame carries a special kind of Gu toxin, while those of Ling Chong Peak could infuse their firebombs with snake venom, and the disciples of Si Xiang Peak might develop flames imbued with a toxic miasma. Such variations drove many cultivators of other sects to despair.
Li Yan, however, still did not know the proper nomenclature for the toxin within him. It was possible that one shattered poison toxin might consist of several intensely poisonous components unknown even to him. Although he had recently devoted himself to studying various treatises on poisonous herbs and venomous insects, the accumulated knowledge was still far from sufficient to support a full understanding of his own condition.
Nonetheless, this did not hinder him from testing its effects. Through months of painstaking experimentation, he had learned to manipulate the twelve fragments of shattered poison toxin in his body in a basic fashion. When he cast a spell, he could call upon one of these fragments to merge with his spiritual energy and be released. At present, however, his technique was still rather clumsy—each immortal technique he employed took on the order of five or six slow breaths to cast fully. In a real battle, such a pace might well allow an opponent ample opportunity to strike him down repeatedly.
Li Yan was in no particular hurry. After all, this was a familiar process. As for mastering a free combination of all twelve fragments, he mused wryly—if he could not even walk in a straight line, who would expect to learn how to run?
Gazing at the stone in his hand and the glaring red scar on the ground, Li Yan nodded in quiet satisfaction. He resolved that from now on he would continue to familiarize himself with the various functions of the shattered poison toxins within him. The toxin he had just experimented with exhibited clear adhesive and corrosive properties. In combat, if such a toxin struck an opponent, it would adhere powerfully to their skin; any attempt by the foe to wipe it away might instead cause a further spread of the toxin.
At the same time, this deadly poison would relentlessly erode and burn inward through its host, gradually reducing everything it contacted to ash until its toxic force was exhausted. What was especially terrifying was that he had yet to determine the exact composition of these poisonous constituents or whether they could ever be counteracted. In any case, with his current abilities, even if he managed to land a blow against someone like Wei Zhongran—a master at the Golden Core stage—it would probably amount only to a minor irritation. The gap in their strengths was simply too vast. Whether measured by raw magical power or by his understanding of toxins, Li Yan was still only at a beginner's level.
As for the eldest senior brother and other experienced cultivators, it was unlikely that they would take much hope in his methods either. For within the Wangliang Sect, many were masters of poison; his own knowledge of toxins was virtually nonexistent. In light of this, he had already decided to allocate some time to learning from his senior brothers or from that portly master about this subject.
After confirming the effect of the shattered poison toxin through his tests, Li Yan paused to reflect and commit the insights to memory. After a while, he once again calmed his spirit and began to recite incantations. In a series of measured breaths, he activated the "Flowing Sand Technique." In front of him on the terrace, roughly one zhang of ground began to undulate slightly—just as before. He reached down and haphazardly picked up a long piece of bamboo lying by his feet and, with a casual throw, sent it flying across. With a dull thud, the bamboo embedded itself into the rocky surface of the terrace; astonishingly, the hard stone seemed to yield like loose sand, allowing the bamboo to lodge more than a zhang deep.
Immediately, Li Yan withdrew his hand gestures and stepped closer to the impact site. Gently, he ran his toe over the ground; instantly, the ground transformed from its previously soft state into that of an unyielding, solid mass of rock.
Taking a step back, Li Yan extended his spiritual sense toward the ground. In a single, measured breath, something eerie occurred: the piece of bamboo, which had been embedded in the rock, began to exude a thick, dark liquid from its lower end. Its branches and leaves swiftly curled and softened, and within moments it transformed into a puddle of black water.
Crouching down, Li Yan dipped his finger into the black liquid on the ground. He then approached the edge of the stone terrace and applied a smudge of it to another piece of bamboo. Yet to his astonishment, the bamboo trembled slightly; soon, it too began secreting a repulsive, malodorous black liquid. After several long breaths, the affected bamboo collapsed onto the ground, having been transformed entirely into another pool of black water.
Earlier, Li Yan had combined a different type of shattered poison toxin from deep within his body with the "Flowing Sand Technique." Under normal circumstances, the "Flowing Sand Technique" was a trap designed to ensnare an enemy's legs so that one could later strike decisively. For a cultivator in the Qi Condensation stage, those above the eighth tier could usually trap an adversary's legs as deep as an adult thigh, while those below the eighth tier might only trap them up to the calf—hardly enough to disrupt an opponent's hand attacks. It was only upon reaching the Foundation Establishment stage that one could completely bury an enemy, ensuring their demise.
Yet in the hands of a Qi Condensation disciple of the Wangliang Sect like Li Yan, the "Flowing Sand Technique" was a formidable weapon in its own right. The flowing sand, imbued with potent toxins, could take on various forms. In the instance of the toxin he had just tested, once it infected an opponent it would, under the control of his spiritual sense, allow him to time its lethal activation precisely.
After experimenting with these two toxin–technique combinations, Li Yan then devoted himself to a focused practice of his immortal techniques. He knew that his abilities were still rudimentary—the casting process was far too slow to be practical in a real battle.
Several hours later, when Li Yan finally ceased his practice for the day, he found that during nearly half a day his internal spiritual energy had been completely expended. He sat in meditation to restore his energy, then resumed practicing his immortal techniques until he was utterly exhausted.
Surveying the scarred bamboo grove and the battered terrace, Li Yan did not immediately return. This was unlike his previous habits—in the past, after finishing his practice he would rest briefly and then descend the mountain. Today, however, he lingered. For today marked the end of the year, the close of the year on the desolate continent of Huangyue.