Chapter Seventy-Seven: The Limits of the Human Body

“Could it be that I’ve been going about this the wrong way?” The calculation lingering in his mind filled Zhou Yi with disbelief—over a thousand years, nearly two thousand years of inner strength, were required just to superimpose the seventh layer of the World Diagram. And almost four thousand years’ worth to reach the eighth layer!

This meant he would need at least eighteen hundred years of inner strength to fight Mo Hu to a draw, and thirty-six hundred years to be certain of victory!

“Did I speak too soon, boast without reason?” As he reached this point, Zhou Yi recalled his previous words and felt a wave of speechless frustration.

End it? At this moment, ending things seemed nearly impossible.

Name: Zhou Yi
Spirit: 65
Body: 305
Qi: 50,300
Insight: Mountain Intent
Number of Cells: 9,999 (Second Metamorphosis)
Energy: 9,200
Martial Arts: Lean-on-the-Mountain Blade (Return to Simplicity) 100/100
Lean-on-the-Mountain Mind Method, Fifth Layer (Purple Mountain Realm), 1/100

The attribute panel floated before his eyes, its numbers dizzying. With a thought, Zhou Yi altered its display.

Name: Zhou Yi
Spirit: 65
Body: 305
Qi: 503 (years)
Insight: Mountain Intent
Number of Cells: 9,999 (Second Metamorphosis)
Energy: 9,200
Martial Arts: Lean-on-the-Mountain Blade (Return to Simplicity) 100/100
Lean-on-the-Mountain Mind Method, Fifth Layer (Purple Mountain Realm), 1/100

“That looks much better!” Zhou Yi nodded lightly, but his expression quickly soured as he gazed at the number after Qi, his feelings mixed.

Through this period of arduous tempering and persistence, he had earned five hundred years’ worth of inner strength—more than double his previous amount, an astonishing increase. He had suffered much, but his gains were equally great.

Five hundred years of inner strength—at any other time, Zhou Yi would have laughed to the heavens, but now, though he felt some joy, there was a trace of bitterness. It was a respectable amount, but compared to the thousand-plus years needed, it was a mere drop in the bucket. Even with energy boosts and cheats at full throttle, reaching his goal would not be easy—and, most crucially, it would all take time.

Even if everything went as he hoped, without incident, at his current pace, it would take at least an hour to amass a thousand years of inner strength.

An hour—just two hours! Two hours for a thousand years of inner strength—if someone had told him this in the past, unless they were a fool, he would have agreed to the exchange without hesitation!

But now, two hours meant enduring this level of agony for the entire duration.

It was as if his bones were being shattered and restored again, with chili and salt poured into the wounds. Any imaginable pain could be found in this moment.

Yet Zhou Yi was not truly afraid of pain; he mainly feared himself—he feared not knowing how much longer he could endure.

Although the existence of his golden finger allowed him to break past his limits repeatedly, he was, in the end, only human! And all humans have their limits; he was no exception. The golden finger merely raised that threshold, but now, he had nearly reached it.

“I don’t know how much longer I can hold on!” The thought flitted through Zhou Yi’s mind. Though he felt little different from before, he could tell he was nearly at his breaking point.

Zhou Yi could not say exactly how much longer he could last, but he was certain of one thing—he could not possibly endure another two hours. Even an hour might be beyond his reach.

“Is this really the end this time?” Zhou Yi was unwilling to accept this outcome. He did not want to give up so easily. He was not petty, but neither was he magnanimous. These people had come to his doorstep, seeking his and his companion’s heads—how could he let them go freely?

He could not do it, especially now, when hope was in sight, when he could nearly wipe them out, only to fall short at the last moment.

He was unwilling—Zhou Yi was truly unwilling!

“Is there really no other way?” Zhou Yi’s mind raced, searching for a solution. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Mo Hu.

Mo Hu wore a conflicted expression, his brows deeply furrowed, fingers halted mid-motion before him, the wooden sword hovering not far from Zhou Yi, unmoving.

“He’s afraid!” Zhou Yi’s eyes brightened with inspiration. Perhaps, just perhaps, he could imitate Zhuge Liang and stage an Empty City stratagem, buying some time. He could not endure two more hours under attack from Mo Hu’s wooden sword, but without that assault, two hours—or even two days—would be manageable!

But no sooner had the idea formed than Zhou Yi dismissed it. Mo Hu wasn’t a fool—if Zhou Yi acted too obvious, any idiot would realize he was stalling, and instantly understand that Zhou Yi was at the end of his rope.

It was only by maintaining a display of absolute dominance that Zhou Yi had cowed Mo Hu, causing him to hesitate, resulting in the current standoff. If he revealed himself as a paper tiger, everything would be lost.

More importantly, Zhou Yi didn’t consider himself especially clever. He would never arrogantly claim to be as cunning as Kong Ming—he was far from it! He’d reached this point only through his golden finger and sheer willpower. If it were Zhuge Liang, he’d have relied on strategy from the start, never allowing the situation to deteriorate this way.

He was thinking too much, perhaps because of the unease lurking deep in his heart. Zhou Yi’s mind drifted far afield, until the icy chill of the wooden sword snapped him back to reality.

“Hm?” Startled awake, Zhou Yi saw Mo Hu’s suspicious look and his heart skipped a beat. He realized his actions had aroused Mo Hu’s doubts.

But then, almost immediately, Zhou Yi reconsidered. So what if he’s discovered I’m a paper tiger? At worst, Mo Hu would turn and flee—Zhou Yi couldn’t give chase, couldn’t kill them, but it wasn’t as if Mo Hu could turn the tables and slay him. If Mo Hu could have killed him, this situation would never have arisen.

Zhou Yi’s frustration had always come from his inability to take revenge immediately, to be forced to watch his enemies escape.

“Vengeance waits for no one,” had always been Zhou Yi’s creed.

“Forget it,” he thought.

Ignoring Mo Hu’s expression, Zhou Yi left a sliver of his awareness watching the outside, letting the rest sink into contemplation. “Is there no other way?”

If Mo Hu had really seen through him, then so be it—if he wanted to flee, let him flee. Zhou Yi could recover and seek vengeance later; it was the only option left.