After entering Courtyard Seventeen, Fang Lin did not leave again for twenty days.
The courtyard was small, quiet, and ordinary enough to be ignored. Willow branches hung over the outer wall, and the weak sound-blocking formation hummed softly whenever the street outside became noisy. To others, Chen Yuan was only a Middle Qi Conjunction rogue cultivator who had rented a cheap place to recover.
No one cared about him.
That was the best protection.
Inside the cultivation chamber, Fang Lin sat cross-legged with several spirit stones arranged around him. His true cultivation remained hidden beneath Phantom Transformation and Shadow Breath, while his surface aura stayed at Middle Qi Conjunction Realm.
He did not use the grey stone's active resonance.
Rivercloud City was too crowded. There were too many cultivators, too many formations, too many hidden eyes. A wide sweep of divine sense might tell him many things, but it might also tell others that someone unusual had entered the city.
Fang Lin had not survived this long by being curious at the wrong time.
He opened his eyes and took out the memory imprint of the Black Mountain Suppression Art.
The technique was not a cultivation method. It did not change the foundation, nor did it require him to walk the earth path of Black Mountain Gate. It was a skill technique built around pressure, body force, suppressive Qi, and the control of heaviness.
For ordinary Black Mountain Gate cultivators, dark-earth Qi was the root.
For Fang Lin, the structure mattered more.
Pressure could come from Qi.
It could come from the body.
It could come from the soul.
It could even come from killing intent if controlled well enough.
Fang Lin's fingers tapped lightly against his knee. His eyes were calm, but a faint heaviness sat behind them.
Luo Cheng had tried to use this art to suppress him.
Now Fang Lin would take it for himself.
That was fair enough.
The dead rarely complained.
On the first day, Fang Lin studied the first skill.
Black Mountain Descent.
A black mountain phantom had once appeared behind Luo Cheng and pressed down with crushing weight. Fang Lin remembered the feeling clearly. His bones had creaked under it. His breathing had slowed. The ground beneath him had cracked.
That pressure had not been perfect, but it had been useful.
Fang Lin stood in the middle of the cultivation chamber and raised one hand.
"Black Mountain Descent."
A faint pressure gathered above him.
It formed for half a breath, then collapsed.
The room became silent.
Fang Lin looked up at the empty air.
His expression did not change, but his brow tightened slightly.
Too much earth structure.
The original technique expected dark-earth Qi to act as the frame. Fang Lin did not have that foundation. If he forced it, the skill would become clumsy and unstable.
He closed his eyes and circulated the Nine Nether Phantom Body.
Grey body force moved beneath his skin.
Then he used Mountain Bearing Frame to feel how pressure entered the body, how weight descended, and how force could be guided through structure rather than element.
On the second attempt, the pressure formed again.
It still collapsed.
On the third attempt, it lasted for one breath.
Fang Lin exhaled slowly.
Better.
For five days, he practiced only Black Mountain Descent. He used no flashy power and did not release any real killing intent. He simply gathered pressure, formed it, lowered it, dispersed it, and began again.
By the fifth night, when he whispered the technique name, the air above the chamber sank.
"Black Mountain Descent."
A heavy pressure descended silently.
The floor trembled.
Dust lifted, then settled as if pushed down by an invisible palm.
Fang Lin stood beneath it without moving. Sweat slid down the side of his face, but his eyes remained steady.
Basic Mastery.
Not strong enough to crush a true enemy yet, but stable enough to use in battle.
A quiet breath left his mouth.
One skill down.
Three left.
On the sixth day, Fang Lin began studying the second skill.
Black Mountain Guard.
This skill formed a pressure field around the user's body. It was not a true shield. It did not block attacks like a defensive treasure. Instead, it used heaviness to weaken incoming force, stabilize posture, and prevent the user from being thrown off balance.
This suited Fang Lin.
Very well.
He had the Nine Nether Phantom Body. He had Mountain Bearing Frame. If Black Mountain Guard could be merged with them in the future, his close combat defense would become even more stable.
Fang Lin arranged several formation flags taken from his spoils and created a simple impact array in the room.
Then he activated it.
A dull force struck his chest.
His body shook.
The impact was not strong, but it helped him test the technique.
"Black Mountain Guard."
Heavy pressure gathered around his body, but the first layer formed unevenly. The impact slipped past one side and struck his ribs.
Fang Lin's mouth twitched faintly.
Not from pain.
From irritation.
A defensive skill that defended only half the body was almost honest enough to be insulting.
He adjusted his breathing and tried again.
The second attempt covered his chest but left his back weak.
The third attempt covered the body but was too slow.
The fourth attempt worked, but consumed too much Qi.
For another few days, Fang Lin repeated the process. The formation struck him again and again. He endured, corrected, refined, and adjusted. Nether Life Spirit Qi repaired small strains before they could accumulate.
By the tenth day, the pressure field finally formed smoothly around him.
"Black Mountain Guard."
The impact array released a heavy strike.
The force reached Fang Lin, slowed, spread across the pressure field, and then passed through his body in a controlled manner. Mountain Bearing Frame guided the remaining force into his legs and down into the floor.
Fang Lin did not move.
His shoulders relaxed slightly.
Basic Mastery.
A faint smirk crossed his face.
This one was useful.
On the eleventh day, Fang Lin moved to the third skill.
Black Mountain Breaking Palm.
This skill condensed heavy pressure into the palm and released it in a crushing strike. It was direct, brutal, and lacked the subtlety of Wind Break Palm. But that was not necessarily a weakness.
Wind Break Palm broke through with compressed force.
Black Mountain Breaking Palm crushed through with weight.
If used properly, the two could support each other in the future.
Fang Lin stood before a stone slab in the cultivation chamber.
"Black Mountain Breaking Palm."
He struck.
The palm landed with a dull sound.
The stone slab cracked slightly.
Fang Lin looked at the result and shook his head.
Too shallow.
He had copied the form but not the weight.
Again.
"Black Mountain Breaking Palm."
The second strike sent cracks deeper into the slab, but the force scattered too widely.
Again.
"Black Mountain Breaking Palm."
This time, the slab shattered, but the backlash made his wrist ache.
Fang Lin lowered his hand and circulated Nether Life Spirit Qi through his palm. His face stayed calm, but his eyes narrowed with thought.
Black Mountain Breaking Palm was not simply about striking hard. It required the pressure to arrive first, the body force to follow second, and the palm force to finish last. If the order was wrong, the skill became nothing more than a heavy slap with an impressive name.
A heavy slap could kill weak people.
It could not kill experts.
Fang Lin continued practicing.
By the twelfth day, he raised his hand again.
"Black Mountain Breaking Palm."
His palm landed on a fresh stone slab.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the inside of the slab collapsed first.
The outer surface cracked a breath later.
Fang Lin looked at it quietly.
Basic Mastery.
Good.
On the twelfth day, Fang Lin began the final skill.
Black Mountain Lock.
This was the most difficult of the four.
Black Mountain Descent suppressed an area.
Black Mountain Guard protected the body.
Black Mountain Breaking Palm attacked directly.
Black Mountain Lock targeted the enemy's movement, aura, and body pressure. It did not bind like a rope. It made the enemy feel as if invisible weight had attached itself to their limbs and Qi flow.
Against fast opponents, it was valuable.
Against fleeing opponents, even more so.
Fang Lin placed a copper coin on the table and flicked it into the air.
"Black Mountain Lock."
The coin fell normally.
Fang Lin caught it.
His expression became flat.
Again.
The coin rose.
"Black Mountain Lock."
This time, the coin slowed for the briefest instant before falling.
Again.
Again.
Again.
For two days, the copper coin became his target. Then he used falling leaves. Then small stones. Then his own shadow as a point of pressure control, though he did not merge Shadow Breath into the skill yet.
He was not ready to modify it.
First, he had to understand the original.
On the twentieth day, Fang Lin stood in the cultivation chamber and flicked three copper coins into the air at the same time.
They spun in different directions.
His eyes sharpened.
"Black Mountain Lock."
Invisible pressure spread outward.
The first coin froze for a breath.
The second slowed.
The third trembled, then stopped just before hitting the floor.
Fang Lin raised his hand and caught all three.
His lips curved faintly.
Basic Mastery.
All four skills of the Black Mountain Suppression Art had reached Basic Mastery within twenty days.
Black Mountain Descent.
Black Mountain Guard.
Black Mountain Breaking Palm.
Black Mountain Lock.
Even Luo Cheng had only used Black Mountain Descent and Black Mountain Breaking Palm. Which meant that he had not learnt the other 2 skills.
Fang Lin did not become arrogant.
Basic Mastery only meant the skills could be used without error. It did not mean they were powerful enough to decide battles against strong enemies. He still needed time to refine them, adapt them, and combine them with his own foundation.
But twenty days was enough.
For now.
Fang Lin sat down and closed his eyes.
His body was tired.
His Qi had been consumed repeatedly.
His soul had remained tense for too long.
Even his patience had grown slightly thin.
After a long silence, he opened his eyes and rubbed the space between his brows.
A quiet sigh left him.
"Cultivating inside a rented courtyard for twenty days…"
He looked toward the closed door.
"Even a hidden cultivator needs air."
The thought made his expression loosen for a moment.
He stood, cleaned the cultivation chamber, erased the heavier pressure marks on the floor, and stored the formation flags. Then he changed his appearance again.
Chen Yuan returned.
Middle Qi Conjunction Realm.
Plain grey robes.
A tired face.
A dull iron blade.
Nothing worth remembering.
Before leaving, Fang Lin placed Meng Shi's old vitality leaf deeper inside his storage treasure. He still had not consumed it. The grey seed had pulsed several times during the twenty days, but he ignored it each time.
Not yet.
Rivercloud City was not safe enough.
He stepped out of the courtyard.
Fresh air entered his lungs.
The evening sky above Willow Smoke Lane carried a faint golden-red glow. Lanterns had already begun lighting along the streets, and the smell of food drifted from the market district.
Fang Lin paused at the gate.
For a moment, he simply stood there and listened.
Vendors shouting.
Carriage wheels rolling over stone.
Cultivators arguing over prices.
A woman laughing from somewhere upstairs.
A child crying because someone had dropped a candied fruit skewer into a drainage ditch.
Rivercloud City was noisy, messy, greedy, dangerous, and alive.
Fang Lin's shoulders relaxed slightly.
Then his stomach gave a soft reminder that pills and fasting were not the same as food.
He looked down.
A faint, helpless smirk appeared on his face.
"Fine."
He closed the courtyard gate and walked toward the busier streets.
Rivercloud City had changed from before.
There were more cultivators now.
More expensive robes.
More sharp auras hidden beneath polite expressions.
More young men and women who walked with the confidence of disciples backed by major powers.
The rumors about the Demon Sealing Ruins had clearly spread.
An inheritance had appeared.
The three Rivercloud sects had lost disciples.
A hidden cultivator had vanished.
The Thousand Leaf Immortal Sect had intervened.
Such news could not remain buried.
Not in a city filled with wine houses, information brokers, merchants, and cultivators who would sell a secret for less than they spent on dinner.
Fang Lin walked through the crowd with his head slightly lowered.
After half an hour, he arrived before a tall restaurant built beside a branch of the river.
Cloud River Wine House.
The building had five floors, with carved wooden railings, hanging blue lanterns, and open windows facing the water. The scent of roasted spirit beast meat, steamed river fish, warm wine, and herb rice drifted into the street. Music from a zither floated down from the second floor, soft enough to seem elegant and loud enough to justify higher prices.
Cultivators came and went through the entrance.
Some wore sect robes.
Some wore merchant silks.
Some wore the tired faces of rogue cultivators pretending they were not counting spirit stones before ordering.
Fang Lin belonged to the third group today.
A waiter hurried over when he entered. The young man's smile was bright, quick, and practiced.
"Guest, first floor or second floor?"
Fang Lin glanced around.
The first floor was crowded and noisy.
The second floor had better sightlines and more expensive tables.
"The second floor."
The waiter's smile became slightly more sincere.
"Please follow me."
Fang Lin chose a corner table near the window, where he could see the stairs, the main hall below, and part of the street outside. His back faced the wall.
The waiter placed a menu tablet on the table.
"What would guest like?"
"Spirit rice. River fish. One small jar of low-grade wine."
The waiter nodded quickly. "Cloud River White Wine?"
"Cheapest."
The waiter paused for half a breath, then smiled again.
"Our cheapest is still very respectable."
Fang Lin looked at him.
The waiter coughed lightly.
"One jar of Cloud River White Wine."
After the waiter left, Fang Lin leaned back slightly.
His expression was dull, his aura ordinary, his posture relaxed enough to seem harmless.
But his ears were already listening.
Around him, conversations rose and fell.
At one table, two rogue cultivators argued about mission prices.
At another, a merchant complained that inns had doubled their rates.
Near the railing, three young disciples whispered about a battle that had happened near the eastern market.
Then, from a table not far away, a rough voice spoke in a low but excited tone.
"Have you heard? Disciples from the major powers have really arrived. Not just one or two. The Demon Sealing Ruins inheritance has drawn all of them here."
Fang Lin's fingers paused briefly on the teacup.
Only briefly.
Then he lifted it calmly.
The wine had not yet arrived, but the first useful rumor already had.
His expression remained unchanged.
Inside, his attention sharpened.
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