The cellar was darker than expected, with only faint light seeping through cracks in the bricks above, barely illuminating the hay pile in the corner. Ye Ningzhou sat cross-legged, placing the sand wolf core on his knees—it was roughly the size of a fist, its surface glowing with a faint cyan light. Warm to the touch, he could faintly sense the energy flowing inside, like a trapped living thing.
He adjusted his breathing according to the cultivation method Wang Cheng had left, his fingertips brushing the core's pattern. This was what Amu had died for; every glimmer of its light was steeped in blood. Ye Ningzhou dared not slacken, focusing intently as he tried to draw the spiritual power from the core into his body.
But the meridians of a mortal were like a river blocked by yellow sand.
The moment spiritual power touched his skin, it scattered. Only a tiny wisp seeped into his meridians, and before it could reach his dantian, it dissipated. Cold sweat beaded on Ye Ningzhou's forehead. He tried again, with the same result. Gritting his teeth, he pressed the Dao Seal fragment at his chest against the core—the fragment suddenly burned hot, as if coming alive, actively absorbing the core's spiritual power and transforming it into a warm current that overbearing ly surged into his meridians.
"Ugh!" Ye Ningzhou grunted, feeling as if his meridians were being pierced by iron needles, pain making his whole body tremble. But this time, the spiritual power didn't dissipate. Instead, like a current carrying gravel, it erosion the blocked meridians, leaving a faint burning sensation in its wake.
When he opened his eyes after what felt like ages, he noticed the core's cyan glow had dimmed slightly, yet his fists felt stronger than before—a punch against the stone wall had left a faint white mark.
"Body-Forging Realm… early stage," Ye Ningzhou murmured, a flicker of light in his eyes that quickly dimmed. This little strength was nowhere near enough to face Xiao Wanlei, let alone withstand Butcher Li's giant axe.
Just then, there was a sound of wooden planks shifting above the cellar. Ye Ningzhou tensed, but heard Wang Cheng's voice: "Boy, come out and eat something."
Climbing up, he saw Wang Cheng sitting on the threshold, his left leg still twisted, holding a chipped bowl with coarse rice topped with a few wild vegetables. "Eat while it's hot," Wang Cheng said, passing the bowl over. The stump of his missing fingers on his left hand was wrapped in cloth, stained with dark red blood.
Ye Ningzhou took the bowl, noticing the rice was mixed with fine green grass crumbs. It tasted slightly astringent, but a strange warm current slid down his throat into his stomach, resonating with the spiritual power in his body and easing the burning pain in his meridians. "This is…"
"Bone-Coagulating Grass," Wang Cheng took a puff of his pipe, his eyes clouded by smoke. "Plenty of it in the Hanhai Plains of the Eastern Region. Worthless, but it can temper your mortal bones." He paused, coughing, "Don't expect to become strong overnight. Your constitution is special; absorption is slow. Take it step by step."
Ye Ningzhou bowed his head to eat, suddenly noticing Wang Cheng's bowl contained only plain rice, no wild vegetables. "Uncle Wang, you…"
"I'm old—eating or not doesn't matter," Wang Cheng waved a hand, his gaze falling on Ye Ningzhou's chest. "The Dao Seal felt hot?"
Ye Ningzhou froze, then nodded.
"That means it's helping you," Wang Cheng tapped his pipe against the threshold. "The Abyss Guardian's Dao Seal is inherently connected to the body. It stirs when you cultivate, helping you withstand spiritual power's impact and speeding up recovery—your grandfather survived three days in a mass grave because of it." He fixed Ye Ningzhou with a stare. "But remember: it's to protect your life, not to make you reckless."
Ye Ningzhou's grip on the bowl tightened.
"Revenge is fine," Wang Cheng's voice grew heavy, serious and unyielding. "But don't let hatred blind you. Your parents and Amu wouldn't want to see you turn into a mindless killer." He pulled a cloth packet from his arms and handed it over—inside were a few dried jujubes, wrinkled but fragrant with sweetness. "Eat one a day. Remember this taste—don't let the stench of blood drown everything else out."
Ye Ningzhou clutched the dried jujube, its rough skin burning like a hot iron against his palm.
In the days that followed, Ye Ningzhou immersed himself in cultivation in the cellar. By day, Wang Cheng would return with Bone-Coagulating Grass, mixing it into his meals; by night, he'd circulate his breath by the faint light, tempering his bones with the sand wolf core. The Dao Seal grew warm every day, especially when he pushed his limits—a surge of warmth would flow just in time to repair his strained flesh, like an invisible hand shielding him.
His strength grew incrementally. From shattering tiles with a punch, to snapping wrist-thick wooden sticks, by the fifth day, he could even budge the cellar's stone mill—all five hundred catties of it—by half an inch.
"Mid-Body-Forging Realm now," Wang Cheng watched, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I'll teach you a boxing style: Mountain-Crushing Fist. It's only mortal-grade, but perfect for your mortal bones."
Enduring his leg pain, he demonstrated in the yard. The moves were simple—straight punches, hooks, elbow strikes—yet brimmed with brute force, each blow seeming to crack the earth beneath his feet. "No fancy tricks," Wang Cheng panted. "Mortal bones rely on raw grit. Channel spiritual power into your fists, aim for the enemy's weak spots—remember: fighting isn't about looking good. It's about being the last one standing."
Ye Ningzhou copied him, practicing each move with meticulous focus. His fists thudded against the wall, numbing his knuckles, but he didn't care. The Dao Seal burned at his chest, spiritual power flowing with each punch, lending even this mortal boxing style a sharp edge.
As the sun set, Wang Cheng leaned against the doorframe smoking, watching Ye Ningzhou repeat the punches, his shadow stretching long, pocking the ground with shallow craters. "Your grandfather loved practicing like this, too," he muttered suddenly.
Ye Ningzhou paused mid-punch.
"He always said: an Abyss Guardian must first guard themselves to guard others," Wang Cheng's voice was soft, almost to himself. "But he still died protecting a Dao Seal fragment in the Chaos Abyss… sometimes I wonder if it was worth it."
Ye Ningzhou said nothing, just clenched his fist and unleashed Mountain-Crushing Fist again. The wind of his punch seemed to carry Amu's laughter, his parents' warnings, and the unspoken hopes in Wang Cheng's heart.
He popped a dried jujube into his mouth. Sweetness spread, masking the metallic tang of blood in his throat.
The cellar walls grew pockmarked from his fists, every crack crusted with his blood. He trained longer each day, from sunrise to sunset, sweat soaking his coarse coat, pooling on the ground to mix with sand seeping through brick gaps, crusting into a thin layer of salt.
Wang Cheng limped daily to the edge of the Hanhai Plains to gather herbs, his pants legs tangled with thorny seeds, yet he always tucked a few dried jujubes in his arms. He rarely spoke, just sat on the threshold smoking, watching Ye Ningzhou punch, gasp, punch again—until darkness filled the yard, then tossed over a rough porcelain bowl: "Rest. Meat tonight."
The bowl held charred meat—sand wolf or wild camel, hard to tell—yet rich with the smell of fire. Ye Ningzhou knew Wang Cheng had traded his hidden coins with passing caravans for it. He said no thanks, just slid the largest piece into Wang Cheng's bowl, earning a grumble: "Old teeth can't chew that."
The scent of meat mingled with the astringency of Bone-Coagulating Grass in the shabby shop. Ye Ningzhou suddenly noticed his fists had hardened—yesterday, a punch to the stone mill had chipped off a fragment, yet his knuckles only tingled. The Dao Seal burned more often now, especially when he was exhausted, its warmth seeping through his veins as if quietly remolding his bones.
"Mountain-Crushing Fist is about 'gathering momentum'," Wang Cheng suddenly spoke, gesturing with his uninjured hand. "Look at those dunes—wind hasn't flattened them in a thousand years because their roots run deep. Before punching, sink your breath to the dantian, let spiritual power surge up through your leg bones, exploding at the fist—like a dune collapsing. Slow to watch, but heavy enough to crush a man."
Ye Ningzhou tried. Standing in the yard, feet shoulder-width apart, he felt spiritual power trickle down his meridians like water filling a basin. His dantian swelled slightly, then force climbed his spine—past his waist, shoulders, arm—coalescing in his right fist. He punched suddenly; no whistling wind, just a dull thud—the air before his fist seemed to cave, and the water vat in the corner hummed.
"Not bad," Wang Cheng's eyes flickered with approval. "But not enough. True Mountain-Crushing Fist drives spiritual power into an enemy's bones, making even death restless." He coughed, voice dropping. "Like we did to those Marauder dogs back then…"
Ye Ningzhou's knuckles whitened. He knew the unspoken past in Wang Cheng's words held rivers of blood.
Days blurred into punching and waiting. The sand wolf core's glow dimmed, but Ye Ningzhou grew stronger—he could lift the stone mill with one hand, punch through half-foot-thick earth walls. The Dao Seal fragment at his chest burned hotter, sometimes even faintly marking the character "衡" (balance) on his skin.
That evening, Wang Cheng returned with a grim face, Bone-Coagulating Grass spilling from his arms. "That Butcher Li's started patrolling outside town," he panted. "He's got your portrait—ten high-grade spirit stones for you alive."
Ye Ningzhou's heart sank.
"He's also yelling: if you're not found in three days, he'll chop down all remaining Black Stone Town folk to 'sacrifice to his banner'," Wang Cheng's voice trembled—not with fear, but rage. "The bastard's trying to bait you out."
Ye Ningzhou strode to the yard's center, punching the ground. Dirt sprayed, leaving a half-foot crater. "I'll kill him," he said, voice as cold as the Hanhai Plains' night.
"Don't you dare!" Wang Cheng lurched up, his bad leg wobbling. "With your current skill? You'd be feeding him, not killing him! Butcher Li's at Peak Body-Forging Realm, wielding a three-hundred-catty axe. You think half-baked Mountain-Crushing Fist is enough?"
"But those people…"
"Haven't enough died?" Wang Cheng roared, chest heaving. "Your parents, Amu, the townsfolk… they traded their lives for yours. Not for a reckless death!" He pulled out his last half a pack dried jujubes, hurling them at Ye Ningzhou. "Remember this taste! Talk revenge when you can shatter Butcher Li's axe with one punch!"
Dried jujubes scattered, wrinkled, glinting faintly in the sunset. Ye Ningzhou knelt, picking them up one by one. Their rough skin brought back memories: Amu's hand shoving the defense map into his, his parents' final gaze, Wang Cheng hobbling to mix Bone-Coagulating Grass into his meals.
He tucked the jujubes into his arms,turning to the woodshed. The cellar door closed behind him, blocking light but not the burning at his chest—the Dao Seal seemed to remind him: living wasn't for himself, but for those who never got to say goodbye.
Sitting in darkness, Ye Ningzhou clasped the sand wolf core again. It had nearly lost its luster, yet remained warm. He circulated his breath; this time, spiritual power flowed like a rushing river. The Dao Seal glowed at his chest, bathing his vision in cyan light. He as if saw his fist shatter Butcher Li's axe, Xiao Wanlei's talisman arrays exploding before him, the dead smiling in the radiance.
"Wait," he told the darkness, voice quiet but heavy as a mountain. "I'll make them pay back every drop—with interest."