The leaves of that old locust tree in the courtyard had, at some unknown point, taken on a withered yellow hue.
Autumn winds rose, leaves rustling down.
Time was like sand slipping through fingers, quietly passing away in day after day of tedious yet fulfilling cultivation.
More than a month had passed since Mo Fan obtained that "Body Forging Record."
During this time, this small courtyard at the edge of the servant district had been unusually quiet. No more heart-stopping assassinations, no scheming calculations, even that perpetually fault-finding Steward Wang seemed to have forgotten Mo Fan's existence.
Early morning, mist hung heavy.
Mo Fan stood in the center of the courtyard, feet gripping the ground like a rooted ancient tree, spine slightly bowed like a crouching tiger gathering force, assuming a posture that seemed strange yet secretly conformed to some natural rhythm.
[ Stance Technique: Dragon-Tiger Stance ]
His breathing became extremely drawn out, his chest rising and falling dramatically with each inhalation and exhalation, faintly producing low rumbles like bellows being pumped.
If anyone had seen him practicing the Iron Bone Art a month ago, they would surely be shocked.
Back then, his training looked like torture—veins bulging across his body, covered in cold sweat, every movement carrying a ferocious, impatient desire to tear everything apart.
But now, his movements were slow and steady, even carrying a strange sense of gentleness.
As the last breath of turbid air left him, Mo Fan slowly concluded the exercise. In that instant, the previously surging Qi and blood around his body instantly calmed, like a peerless sword returning to its sheath, all sharpness concealed.
"Phew..."
Mo Fan opened his eyes and summoned the System Panel.
Though his level still remained at LV. 4, not having increased from simple meditation, he could clearly feel that earth-shattering changes had occurred inside his body.
Those subtle fissures and meridian blockages left from pursuing quick success—corroded by Corpse Poison, ground down by coarse sand—had all completely vanished under the gentle, rich Qi and blood circulation from the Body Forging Record.
If his previous body was scrap iron full of pitting and cracks—hard but brittle—then now, this iron had been reforged and tempered into dense, refined steel.
Mo Fan walked to the water vat, looking at his reflection.
That youth who'd long struggled on death's edge, whose eyes always carried a "don't mess with me" ferocity, was gone.
Now, that strange dark iron sheen on his skin had mellowed considerably, becoming a bronze tone closer to normal people. His muscle lines were no longer rigid as stone, but had become smooth and flowing, seemingly full of elasticity.
Standing there, as long as he didn't deliberately release his power, he looked like just a slightly robust, honest, ordinary farming youth.
That sharp, dangerous aura had been perfectly hidden within his bones.
"This is called... concealing one's edge."
Mo Fan patted his chest with satisfaction. For a Necromancer hiding within an orthodox sect, nothing was better camouflage than "looking like an honest person."
Creak—
Just then, that side room door that had been shut for a month was pushed open.
Mo Fan turned his head, his eyes brightening slightly.
A youth walked out.
Without looking carefully, one could hardly recognize this as the refugee A-Song from before—skeleton-thin, sunken eye sockets, seemingly ready to topple in a breeze.
In his place stood a youth with a ruddy complexion and upright bearing.
Though not yet robust, that gray, defeated air brought by long-term malnutrition had completely vanished. His skin showed healthy blood color beneath, his eyes frighteningly bright—signs of abundant Qi and blood, vigorous life force.
"Seventh Brother!"
Seeing Mo Fan, A-Song immediately broke into a brilliant smile.
Mo Fan looked at this "new version" of A-Song, his heart bleeding inside.
That was money.
During this time, Mo Fan had poured those five large packets of expensive medicinal bath materials, plus the Spirit Beast meat Old Lü stewed in endless variations, all into this bottomless pit.
But the money was well spent.
"Not bad."
Mo Fan walked over, squeezing A-Song's shoulder, feeling beneath his palm a body that finally no longer felt bony. "Finally looking human. Didn't waste all that... cough, didn't waste everyone's effort."
A-Song scratched his head somewhat embarrassedly. "Seventh Brother, I feel like my whole body is full of strength now, and... and that Qi Sense is getting clearer and clearer."
At this, Mo Fan's gaze suddenly fell on the corner behind A-Song.
That was where A-Song liked to move a small stool, bask in the sun, and zone out.
On that patch of barren yellow earth, originally only a few withered weeds grew. But now, that small area of wild grass and several nameless wildflowers were growing exceptionally lush and verdant, even standing much taller than the surrounding grass, green to the point of being glaring.
Even that old vine in the wall cracks, previously near death, had now sprouted tender green shoots.
"..."
Mo Fan's heart trembled.
He activated [ Death Vision ] for a glance.
In that black-and-white world, A-Song was like a small green sun. The wood attribute spiritual energy overflowing from his body, even without formally practicing any spells, was already unconsciously nourishing the surrounding plants.
This was Spirit Root affinity.
This was heaven's gift.
"This kid..." Mo Fan sighed inwardly. "Born to do this."
Compared to himself—a "pseudo-cultivator" who still had to rely on corpses and the System—A-Song was the true heaven's favored.
"Xiaoqi, A-Song, both here?"
Old Lü's voice interrupted Mo Fan's thoughts.
The old man walked over with a smile, holding two neatly folded sets of clothes. He'd used good fabric saved for ages, begging Auntie Wang next door to rush-make them overnight.
One set deep cyan, for Mo Fan; one set light gray, for A-Song.
Though not silk or satin, the stitching was fine, clean, and presentable.
"Tomorrow's the big day."
Old Lü handed the clothes to both, his eyes full of hope and affection, like seeing off children about to journey far. "Put on new clothes, be spirited. Though our servant district is poor, we can't let people look down on us."
Mo Fan accepted the clothes, his fingertips touching the coarse yet warm fabric, warmth flooding his heart.
Tomorrow.
The Outer Sect Ceremony, Spirit Root Testing Day.
Also the watershed moment in destiny for him, A-Song, and everyone in this courtyard.
"Don't worry, Uncle Lü."
Mo Fan clutched the clothes to his chest, turning to look at A-Song beside him, heavily patting the youth's shoulder.
"Are you ready?"
A-Song took a deep breath, those bright eyes burning with unprecedented determination.
"Yes!"
"Then let's go."
Mo Fan raised his head, looking toward that Azure Cloud main peak faintly visible in the morning mist, the corners of his mouth curling into a faint arc.
"Tomorrow, go open your life's door."