The piercing chill of extreme cold spread from his fingertips through his entire body in an instant. It was a torture far more prolonged and bone-deep than the bites of the Rotting Bone Ants.

  Hands thrust deep into the bone-chilling [ Frost Sand ], limbs bound with heavy [ Gravity Sandbags ], Mo Fan gritted his teeth, forcibly holding back the breath that almost scattered due to the severe pain.

  The circulation route of the second layer of the Body Forging Record was running wildly inside him.

  In the traditional cultivation world, a body cultivator attempting to break through the "Iron Bones Stage" usually had one foot planted in the gates of hell. Because the erosion degree of extreme cold and heavy pressure was incredibly difficult to gauge, if overdone, the chill would invade deep into the bone marrow. At best, this meant necrotic meridians; at worst, permanent crippling.

  Therefore, those body cultivation seedlings from prominent families required high-tier apothecaries to guard them closely at every step during this stage.

  But Mo Fan didn't need them.

  Because on his retina, there was the most precise, most ruthless gauge of life in this world.

  [ HP: 150 / 150 ]

  Thanks to the extra HP granted by the System and the long-term nourishment of high-tier Spirit Beast meat, his current health status had long surpassed the limits of an ordinary Qi Condensation cultivator. This was the so-called "abundant Qi and blood and glowing complexion," and also a body cultivator's greatest reliance.

  As the freezing aura of the Frost Sand and the heavy pressure of the sandbags continuously ravaged his physical body, that green health bar began a steady decline.

  -5, -10, -15...

  Mo Fan closed his eyes, feeling his muscle fibers tearing under the heavy pressure, his periosteum freezing in the extreme cold, and then being forcibly reconstructed under the Qi and blood scouring of the Body Forging Record.

  This inhuman torture would have caused an ordinary person to suffer a mental breakdown long ago. But Mo Fan acted like a cold bystander, staring dead at the falling numbers.

  [ HP: 45 / 150 ]

  [ HP: 30 / 150 ]

  It wasn't until the glaring red light flashed crazily on his retina, and his health dropped below an extremely dangerous warning line.

  [ WARNING: Vital signs critical! Bone marrow facing irreversible frostbite risk! ]

  [ HP: 20 / 150 ]

  "Now!"

  Mo Fan abruptly yanked his hands out of the Frost Sand, grabbed a high-tier Rejuvenation Pill he had prepared nearby, shoved it into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

  The violent medicinal power instantly turned into a rolling hot current. Coupled with the super-strong control brought by his 55 points of Soul Strength (CPU), his Qi and blood acted like a pack of greedy wolves, instantly pouncing on the bone marrow that was on the verge of necrosis, enveloping, repairing, and strengthening it.

  His health bar began to rise slowly and solidly.

  This cheating-like "HP-Gating Exploit" training method was Mo Fan's habitual trick. Ever since he tried it once with the Rotting Bone Ants at the bottom of the cliff, he had become addicted and couldn't stop.

  He didn't need to rely on feeling to guess where his limit was; the System directly quantified his death line. He only needed to repeatedly dance on the edge of the Reaper's scythe to squeeze the potential of this physical body to the absolute limit!

  This extreme min-maxing allowed Mo Fan to forcefully push the Body Forging Record—a bargain-bin manual originally capped at the Foundation Establishment stage—to its absolute theoretical limit for the Qi Condensation stage during this long seclusion.

  The passage of time became blurred in this remote waste area.

  As the extreme cold spiritual Qi contained in the first batch of Frost Sand was thoroughly squeezed dry by Mo Fan's boiling Qi and blood, turning into a pile of cloudy mortal dirt in the wooden barrel, this hellish routine also passed its initial adaptation period.

  Whenever his weight-bearing reached its limit, Mo Fan would find a clean pool to wash away the bloody grime excreted due to detoxification, change into dry cyan clothes, and show his face in the servant quarters.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  This was to maintain his social camouflage as "honest man Lu Xiaoqi."

  Shortly after he went into seclusion, during a routine handover at the steward's office, he heard intel from the idle chatter of several other stewards that completely relieved him. The inner sect had indeed dispatched elders to investigate the back mountain...

  However, the investigation results were unexpectedly good—there were no residual traces of death energy from demonic cultivator activities, nor any signs of large-scale evil arrays. The Law Enforcement Hall only found trees brutally crushed by terrifying brute force and clean, one-hit-kill physical trauma at the scene.

  The sect's higher-ups finally concluded: It was highly likely that some extremely rare tier-two carnivorous Spirit Beast with immense physical strength passed through, casually clearing out the low-tier creatures in this area. Since no evil Qi was leaked, the matter was filed away and dropped.

  Hiding outside the door and listening, Mo Fan silently gave a "like" to Summon No. 003's purely physical claw strikes.

  In the center of the waste area clearing, the randomly piled rotten wooden stakes and Spirit Beast bones had been forcefully crushed and ground flat by Mo Fan's heavy footsteps—weighed down by gravity sandbags day after day—turning into a ground of pale powder.

  It was also at this time that Steward Wang finally finished the tedious chores of accommodating the inner sect big shots and remembered to "show concern" for Mo Fan, this proxy steward on the sinecure payroll.

  He brought a few lackeys to the servant district, but Mo Fan kept a very low profile. Not only did he not complain about being tired or bitter, but he also handed over a miraculously found, passably decent low-grade red fox pelt with an honest look on his face.

  You don't smack a smiling face bearing gifts.

  Steward Wang accepted the fox pelt, patted Mo Fan's solid shoulder with satisfaction, and hypocritically encouraged him with a few words like "work hard, the sect won't treat you unfairly."

  The two smiled without their eyes meeting, each harboring their own ulterior motives, both walking away perfectly happy.

  Besides this, as the inner sect gradually stabilized, A-Song's replies also returned to normal. It seemed he had also just recovered from seclusion.

  On this day, Mo Fan, as usual, brought two roast chickens to visit Old Lü. The old man tremblingly pulled out a very neatly folded paper crane from his chest.

  It was a letter from A-Song.

  Roughly every month, that boy far away in the clouds would send a letter back.

  Mo Fan unfolded the letter. A-Song's handwriting was no longer crooked like a few months ago, but had become neat, even showing a bit of edge.

  The letter contained no arrogance of someone who had soared into the sky; instead, it revealed a deep exhaustion and shock.

  A-Song described the suffocatingly cruel competitive environment of the inner sect's Dao Asking Palace. There, even a personal disciple would be stripped of resources if they ranked at the bottom of assessments. He described the Foundation Establishment true legacy senior brothers who flew on swords in the sky and could call the wind and summon the rain with a raise of their hands, and those Golden Core elders whose eyes were as deep and unfathomable as an abyss.

  Seventh Brother, when I was in the servant district, I thought having enough to eat was heaven. Now standing here, I realize that beyond the sky, there is another sky.

  I fight with my life every day, not daring to slack off in the slightest. Because here, even if you stop for a single step, you will be trampled underfoot.

  Looking at the restrained words on the letter paper, Mo Fan fell silent.

  A-Song's letter perfectly confirmed his previous deductions during that "lab meeting" in the underworld—the waters of the cultivation world were deeper than he imagined. That bunch of monsters in the inner sect could absolutely not be easily dealt with just by physical auto-attacks.

  "Therefore, I cannot stop either." Mo Fan put away the paper crane, his eyes profound.

  Finally.

  The two and a half months of Spartan training drew to a close.

  Dawn broke, and the thick fog in the waste area had not yet dispersed.

  Mo Fan stood quietly in the center of the forest clearing.

  Riiip—

  He reached out and directly ripped off the gravity sandbags strapped to his limbs, which had long been battered and soaked full of sweat and blood.

  Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!

  Four sandbags smashed heavily onto the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.

  In the moment his body lost its restraints, Mo Fan even produced an illusion—he felt as light as a feather. With just a light tap of his toes, he could cross several meters in a single bound.

  He clenched his fists, feeling the terrifying physical explosive power lying dormant inside him like magma. Beneath that layer of bronze skin, his bones were like refined steel, his Qi and blood like a furnace. Coupled with the absolute calmness and super-strong perception brought by his 55 points of Soul Strength...

  "The current me..."

  Mo Fan made a final estimate of his strength in his heart. "Even without summoning Mo Yan and the others, without exposing any death energy, relying solely on this physical body, plus the inherent toughness of the [ Pale Bone Scepter ], should be enough to bulldoze through the entire Qi Condensation stage, and even clash head-on with early Foundation Establishment cultivators."

  Of course, this was just an estimate. After all, up until now, he had never truly exchanged blows with an orthodox cultivator under the sunlight. Everything was still unknown.

  DONG—!

  DONG—!

  DONG—!

  Suddenly, from the direction of the Azure Cloud Sect's main peak, came the booming, profound, and distant sound of an ancient bell ringing three times.

  The sound of the bell, like tangible ripples, pierced through the sea of clouds and echoed among the entire mountain range, awakening the slumbering sect.

  This was the Assembly Order.

  The long-awaited Azure Cloud Sect Outer Court Grand Tournament had officially begun.

  Mo Fan turned around and walked to a haystack nearby.

  He picked up the [ Pale Bone Scepter ]—which had undergone biochemical modification and had a bizarre appearance. Using a few strips of coarse linen cloth, he tightly wrapped and bound the staff head, which looked like a white bone claw, layer by layer.

  After a few wraps, this top-tier mage weapon was transformed into a completely unremarkable, even somewhat ugly, heavy iron rod.

  Mo Fan strapped the long rod to his back.

  He changed into a washed-out, even slightly frayed servant's cyan robe. He put on that broken bamboo hat he picked up from nowhere, pulling the brim down slightly to conceal the cold, sharp glint in his eyes.

  "Outer Court Grand Tournament..."

  Mo Fan stretched his legs and strode out of this waste area that had witnessed his inhuman torture, facing the rising morning sun.

  "I'm coming."