The injury to Jiang Muchen's left shoulder turned out to be worse than he'd expected.
He woke three times in the night, each time drenched in cold sweat, pain tearing through bone and nerve. After the third time, he stopped trying to sleep. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, he circulated the Manifold Spirit Resonance Sutra, guiding spiritual energy toward the injury.
Dragon-infused energy flowed through his meridians, wrapping the fractured bone like warm spring water. The pain eased—but the recovery was still agonizingly slow.
At the Qi Condensation stage, the body was fragile.
Dawn had barely broken when the courtyard gate creaked open.
It wasn't Wang Duobao and the others—they'd stayed at the market until midnight and were surely still asleep.
It was Shi Gang.
He carried a wooden bucket filled with dark liquid that reeked sharply. Setting it down, he grinned.
"You're up early. Good. Get in."
Jiang Muchen glanced at the bucket. "This is…?"
"Bone-Tempering Brew," Shi Gang said. "From the Body Cultivation Hall. Best thing for fractures. Soak an hour—you'll be lifting your arm in three days."
"Thank you, Senior Brother."
"No thanks needed. I owe you." Shi Gang crossed his arms. "From today on, I train you. But first—you heal."
Jiang Muchen removed his shirt and lowered his injured arm into the liquid.
The cold was instant and brutal—like thousands of icy needles drilling into the bone. He clenched his jaw, veins standing out on his forehead.
"Hurts, doesn't it?" Shi Gang said calmly.
"That's body cultivation. Pain is the price. I soaked in this stuff for three years. Every day felt like being skinned alive."
He paused, then added, "Your body is the ship. Spiritual energy is the sail. A weak ship won't survive, no matter how good the wind."
Jiang Muchen closed his eyes and endured.
An hour later, the liquid had faded from black to pale gray—its potency mostly absorbed. The pain in his shoulder had halved, replaced by a numb itching that signaled healing.
"That'll do," Shi Gang said, dumping the brew outside. When he returned, he tossed Jiang Muchen a thin booklet.
Foundations of Body Tempering.
"Entry manual for outer disciples," he said. "First three layers build the base. Nothing secret—you can train it."
Jiang Muchen flipped it open. The first section was Skin Tempering—circulating spiritual energy repeatedly through the skin to increase resilience.
"Start with this," Shi Gang said. "Twice a day, an hour each. When your skin can resist ordinary blades, you're in."
"How long?"
"Depends on talent," Shi Gang shrugged.
"Took me two months. You… probably three."
Three months.
Jiang Muchen calculated. The competition would end in two days. After that, three days' rest—then the trial realm would open for a month. The timeline barely worked, but it worked.
Shi Gang hesitated, then said, "By the way—I saw people from the Azure Underworld Sword Sect whispering during your match. Be careful. Zhao Wuji plays dirty."
"I know," Jiang Muchen replied. "You've dealt with them?"
Shi Gang snorted. "Last year's exchange tournament. One of Zhao Wuji's juniors lost and used Bone-Corrosion Powder from his sleeve. Nearly ruined my arm."
"Zhao Wuji claimed it was an 'accident,' paid some spirit stones, and that was that. From then on, I learned—some people polish their blades with smiles."
Jiang Muchen filed it away.
The courtyard gate burst open again.
This time it was Wang Duobao, pale and gasping.
"Brother Jiang—something happened!"
"What?"
"The market—there's a fight! Senior Brother Liu Zhen—he's clashing with Azure Underworld disciples!"
Jiang Muchen stood instantly.
Pain flared, but he didn't slow. "Lead me."
The market was chaos.
A crowd had formed a tight ring. In the center, Liu Zhen clutched his chest, blood at the corner of his mouth. Opposite him stood three Azure Underworld disciples. The leader—a young man with sharp triangular eyes—sneered.
"Liu Zhen, who do you think you are? Sticking your nose into our business?"
"You're robbing people in broad daylight!" Liu Zhen spat.
"That Purple Heart Herb was his first!"
"First?" the man laughed. "Highest bidder wins. Fifty spirit stones—can you match that?"
The stall owner, an old cultivator, trembled silently.
Jiang Muchen stepped through the crowd.
"Brother Jiang…" Liu Zhen tried to speak and coughed blood.
Jiang Muchen supported him, fed him a recovery pill, then faced the man.
"What's going on?"
"Oh? So you're the famous one." The man smirked.
"The servant who uses the Dragon Art. Heard you beat Shi Gang."
"I did," Jiang Muchen said evenly.
"And I want the herb."
"You?" The man laughed. "Why should I care?"
Jiang Muchen tossed a cloth pouch onto the stall.
"One hundred spirit stones."
The crowd erupted.
The herb was worth thirty at most.
The stall owner counted, hands shaking. The stones were real—and clean.
The man's face darkened. "What are you playing at?"
"Buying something," Jiang Muchen replied.
"Bid higher if you want it."
The man clenched his teeth. He'd brought only one hundred and twenty stones—and already spent seventy.
"One hundred and one!" he barked.
"One fifty."
"You—!"
Jiang Muchen tossed another pouch. "Two hundred."
The stall owner nearly collapsed.
The man's eyes burned red. "You're courting death!"
His sword slid halfway out—
A hand clamped down on his wrist.
Shi Gang.
"Zhao Qing," Shi Gang said coldly, "draw a blade here and you're expelled."
Zhao Qing stiffened. "This doesn't concern you!"
"It does now," Shi Gang said.
"Jiang Muchen is my friend."
Zhao Qing's gaze drilled into Jiang Muchen.
"Fine. Enjoy it while you can."
He sheathed his sword and shoved through the crowd.
Back at the courtyard, Jiang Muchen pressed the Purple Heart Herb into Liu Zhen's hands.
"This—"
"You were hurt for me," Jiang Muchen said.
"This will heal you."
Liu Zhen's eyes reddened. He clasped fists and left without another word.
When he was gone, Shi Gang shook his head.
"You made enemies today."
"I know."
"Two hundred stones was flashy."
"Flashy works," Jiang Muchen said.
"For now, people will think twice."
Shi Gang laughed. "You're reckless. But effective."
As he left, Jiang Muchen handed him a small vial—the last of the Condensed Soul Dew.
"For your spirit," he said.
Shi Gang took it silently.
That night, Jiang Muchen studied the map from Su Qingwu.
The Trial Realm would not be peaceful.
But he wasn't afraid.
He began preparing.
Heat-resistant plates. Crude iron boots. Insulation runes.
And finally—he held the cracked jade flute.
"One last time," he whispered.
The flute vibrated softly.
As if answering.