Back at the hut, Wuji set down the two wooden boxes and the heavy pouch with a dull thud.
Meiyin looked back from where she was sitting. She had been eating quietly from a clay plate.
"Brother, you're back. What did you buy?" she asked, still chewing.
"Yin Yin," Wuji said with a grin. "We're rich."
He loosened the pouch and tilted it forward. Gold coins spilled into a pile, some falling on the ground.
Meiyin gasped. "So much!" She stood up and walked toward him, her eyes wide. But then her expression changed to worry.
"Brother, where did you get all this?" she whispered. Where excitement should have been, worry flickered in her eyes.
"Don't worry," Wuji said as he sat on the straw bed and pulled out a thick stack of banknotes. "Remember the papers I was making? I sold them. I made all this," he said, motioning to the banknotes in his hand.
"Are books worth this much?" she asked, standing directly in front of him.
"It wasn't just the books," Wuji said, spreading the banknotes on the straw bed. "It was the content. You wouldn't understand now, but just know this: our lives are about to change."
He looked up at her, a soft smile breaking through. "Once my plans play out, we'll head to the far city. I'll get you into school. You can become the physician you always dreamed of."
Meiyin's brows furrowed. "Can't we leave now?" she asked gently. "We don't matter to anyone here. They'd probably be relieved if we disappeared at any time. With the money and your skills, we could just leave. We could live a quiet life."
Wuji didn't answer.
He looked at the gold coins on the ground. Then he looked at her and at the walls of the hut. He could leave. The road was open. But he wouldn't. The time was not right.
He had promised Yin Li revenge.
Moreover, Yin Li's resentment still lingered within him. It affected his thoughts, shaping his emotions and stirring in quiet moments like a ghost refusing to let go.
These feelings—this warmth and care—didn't belong to him.
They were Yin Li's. But maybe they weren't entirely foreign. Maybe they were parts of him that yearned for connection.
However, he also knew that connections could sometimes be a weakness, but now, now they were a motivation.
Maybe part of him didn't want to go back to being the mad scientist driven by nothing but cold ambition. Maybe, for once, he didn't mind being a little soft.
Wuji glanced at Meiyin and looked down at the two boxes of herbs.
"I hope I don't become coldhearted after I've taken my revenge," he thought. Then, turning to her, he said, "All right, enough worrying."
He crouched beside her and opened the boxes. A rich, sharp, medicinal scent poured out. Meiyin leaned in.
"These herbs are strong," Wuji remarked. "Easily a hundred years old."
"With these, I might reach third-rate in four days."
"Four days?" Meiyin blinked. "But Wang Da bragged about it for three whole days when he became third-rate in a week. I thought you said you weren't talented, brother?"
"I'm not," Wuji said, closing the boxes. "But I have herbs, and not just simple herbs, but century-old herbs. And that was just an estimate. I don't know the real time."
He stood up, looked at her, collected the banknotes, and gave them to her. "I'll go buy some food and meat. Hide the gold and the banknotes under the bed. Stash the herbs somewhere safe, too. In case anyone comes sniffing around."
"Okay," she said as she immediately began to hide them.
Wuji smiled a little and stepped outside.
The village market was calm as usual. No noise. No buzzing from the usual gossipers. "My fellow villagers...how industrious, I guess after few days enuchs would be walking among us," Wuji muttered mockingly.
He bought seventy Jin of meat at the butcher shop, tied it to his back, and went around buying dumplings, dried buns, and sweet rice cakes for Meiyin.
As he walked back, he felt a few pairs of eyes on him—the usual stares.
"Where's that gambler?" he thought, glancing toward the alleys and behind the carts.
He used to loiter at the village market, but the two times he had come before, he hadn't found him. "Good," Wuji thought, gripping the bag tighter. "One less problem for me."
After a few minutes, he returned to the hut and gently placed the wrapped meat outside, followed by the other bags of food. Sweat clung to his brow, and the sun felt like it was trying to roast him alive.
Meiyin stepped out of the hut, grabbed the food, and carried it inside without saying a word. Wuji followed, carrying the meat.
Together, they began slicing the meat into chunks. Thick cuts thudded against the wooden board, and the smell of raw blood mingled with the musty scent of the hut. Once prepared, they set a few slices over the fire to cook.
As the meat simmered, Wuji leaned against the wall and watched the pot bubble.
"Should I add one of the herbs?" he wondered. "No, that would be too wasteful. I should divide the herbs into four portions and add them gradually."
He took one herb from the box, sliced it in half, and dropped the top portion into the boiling pot.
Immediately, a rich, medicinal fragrance flooded the room.
Wuji's lips curled. "Those nobles really know how to pick their herbs. I should thank them properly by making sure not a drop of this soup goes to waste."
Steam rose, carrying equal scents of meat and medicine. A few minutes later, Wuji stirred the pot and took a sip with a wooden spoon.
The moment the soup touched his tongue, flavor exploded across his mouth; earthy and savory, with a bitter undertone that made his spine tingle.
He felt something. Maybe it was real. Maybe it was a placebo. But his blood felt warmer, and his limbs felt lighter.
"I'll test it after training," he thought, narrowing his eyes slightly as he sat down to wait for the meat to cook perfectly.
Two hours later, the meat was finally ready. The rich scent of boiled herbs and fat lingered in the air. He set the pot down, turned off the fire, and walked to the back of the hut.
At the back of the hut, Wuji assumed the horse stance, which is the foundation stance of the Iron Marrow Body Scripture.
Then he began his training, although calling it training would be generous. It was controlled self-mutilation. It was a brutal ritual disguised as a martial arts manual.
This was the truth behind many so-called "common martial arts manuals" passed down in the Jianghu—exercises that promised strength but exacted a bloody price.
Wuji slammed his legs into the earth again and again. With each impact, it felt like his bones were on the verge of snapping.
The goal was simple: destroy the body to rebuild it stronger. This hardened the core, thighs, and legs. If one fully mastered the technique, their bones would become three times tougher, qualifying them as a third-rate martial artist. But mastery demanded suffering.
By nightfall, when moonlight spilled through the thin clouds, Wuji collapsed. He had pushed himself for seven hours straight. Not a single part of his body was unscathed.
Fractures the size of hairlines ran along his leg bones and the rest of his skeleton. Blood, sweat, and dirt clung to him like grime. He looked more like a defeated beast than a man.
He crawled toward the hut, each inch of the journey a trial in itself. By the time he reached the door, his limbs were trembling. He pushed it open.
Inside, two candles flickered dimly. Meiyin looked up. Her eyes widened in horror.
"Brother, why—"
"Get me the meat with the herbs," Wuji cut in, his voice hoarse. "Don't worry about me."
He slid down the wall, pressing his back against the cool, cracked mud.
Meiyin rushed to place the meat pot beside him. He didn't wait. He dug in with shaking hands, barely chewing.
Nothing happened for several moments. There was no warmth or healing, only pain.
"I can't wait minutes for the meat to digest," Wuji thought bitterly. "This pain is tearing me apart."
But he had no choice. If the meat and herbs weren't broken down in time, the regeneration wouldn't be triggered. Without it, his body might start feeding on itself.
If he triggered it forcefully, the amount of damage his body had taken would exceed the amount that could be healed by his reserve energy.
After finishing the fifteen-kilogram pot of meat and half century-old herb, Wuji let the pot slip from his hands. He dropped flat on the ground.
He exhaled slowly, looked to the right at Meiyin, "Go back to sleep. I already told you—it's just part of becoming a martial artist," he said to Meiyin, who had been sitting nearby watching him with worried eyes.
She hesitated for a moment, then nodded and returned to the straw bed. She glanced back once more before lying down.
The hut fell silent. Then it came, not the cold feeling he'd grown used to from his regeneration, but something different.
A different wave of sensation. It rolled through him from the inside out like a heat wave that carried no warmth. His skin tingled.
His muscles twitched. His bones itched deep within, as if ants were crawling inside the marrow, driving him mad.
"Is it the herb causing this?" he thought, gritting his teeth.
The regeneration had begun. It wasn't just healing anymore; with the herb mixed in, his body was rebuilding itself.
Cells that had absorbed the essence of the meat and herb were duplicating, repairing, and strengthening. He could feel it all with terrifying clarity: every bone shifting, every tendon adjusting, and every new cell sparking into life.
It was bizarre. Unnatural, yet wonderful.
Several minutes of silence and stillness passed. Then Wuji opened his eyes.
The fatigue he usually felt after training was gone. The soreness was gone, too. His mind was clear. Too clear. He stood up and tested his balance.
The person who had been crawling across the ground minutes ago felt like a different person entirely.
"Worthy of being a century-old herb, and it was only half," he muttered to himself. "I feel like I could start training again already."
He took a step toward the door, but something felt off. He felt an unfamiliar heaviness.
His second step confirmed it. It was as if he were dragging invisible heavy chains.
"...Ah. Yes, that must be it," he immediately understood.
"My bone density increased. But my muscles haven't caught up. I've traded speed for durability."
He fell silent for a moment, then grinned slightly. "Now, I'm a walking fortress."
He didn't panic. The issue was temporary. With time and proper training, the imbalance would correct itself.
The important thing was that his foundation had changed.
He stepped outside. The moon was still high. The night air was sharp and cold.
Wuji got back into the horse stance and continued.
Days passed. With the mountain of gold coins he'd scammed from the nobles and the Third Elder, food, meat, and herbs were no longer a problem. Wuji trained without restraint.
Within the first three days, he sensed a breakthrough approaching. His weeks of training had finally brought him to the threshold for third-rate martial artists. But even as the signs of breakthrough appeared, he knew this wasn't his limit.
Most martial artists would have broken through the moment they hit that barrier of feeling no further improvement could be made.
They feared pushing further, fearing internal injuries that could cripple their future. But Wuji was different.
With cellular regeneration, he could afford to go further. Push deeper into the training. What would destroy others fueled him.
The imbalance between his growing bones and underdeveloped muscles, which would have crippled anyone else, became just another layer of training.
Each day, his body changed. By the end of the fourth day, his bones were four times denser than those of the average person. Then fivefold.
Most would have stopped at the third fold as for four fold that was only done by talented martial artist even nobles with a lot of resources wouldn't dare. But Wuji didn't.
He trained harder, fueled by meat, herbs, and a mindset that treated pain as data. His body groaned beneath its own weight. But he pressed on.
Sixfold.
Sevenfold.
At sevenfold density, his bones felt as if they were carrying a mountain. Every step thundered inside his skeleton. Breathing took effort. But he didn't stop.
Why would he? To him pain wasn't an obstacle. It was proof. Proof that he was becoming something the world had never seen before.
Wuji sat cross-legged on a mat inside the hut. The remains of his straw bed were scattered behind him. It had collapsed under his unusual weight the night before.
He'd expected that. The bed had been creaking for days, and it was old to begin with.
He closed his eyes and took a slow breath. A smooth, complete, and balanced wave of energy moved through him.
The weight in his limbs lifted. His muscles and bones aligned like interlocking gears. His body had accepted the change.
"After weeks of training, I've finally broken through to the third level," he muttered to himself.
Just as he was about to examine the changes to his body, a faint tremor passed through it, like a ripple moving across still water.
Then, unprompted, the panel flashed into view before him. Wuji's breath caught. The panel had never activated on its own before.
At the top, he saw the words "NEW TRAIT AWAKENED."
Below [Cellular Regeneration] a new line glowed faintly: [Anatomical Insight]