Chapter 117: Popping Pills (Please Add It to Your Collection)

Following an intense battle, a new trading fair was launched under the initiative of Wu He.

During the fair, Yang Ze successfully traded the two remaining bags of spiritual soil he possessed, gaining another seventy contribution points. This brought his total back into the triple digits, enough for him to imprint another martial art.

After leaving Qingyang Hall, Yang Ze did not go far. Checking his identity token, he located Lin Hui and caught up with him. He now had one hundred and thirty-five contribution points, enough to repay the one hundred he owed Lin Hui. Unable to refuse Yang Ze’s persistence, Lin Hui allowed himself to be led back to Qingyang Hall, where the transfer of one hundred contribution points was completed.

Only after they stepped out again did Yang Ze finally breathe a sigh of relief. He had no choice; he owed Lin Hui too much, and not repaying at least a portion made him feel as if he were being held under someone else's thumb.

"Junior Brother Yang Ze, I must say, you are quite impatient—all this hurry just to pay back a debt. I wasn't going to charge you interest, so why the rush?" Lin Hui teased.

"Yang has never liked owing others. If I didn't return these one hundred points to Senior Brother Lin, it would truly weigh on my conscience," Yang Ze replied with a smile.

"It seems Junior Brother Yang is someone who really dislikes being in debt. However, you should still thank me for today’s affair. If I hadn't given you a hand, that miserly Wu He would never have brought out so many medicinal herbs at once," Lin Hui said with a devious grin.

Seeing this, Yang Ze felt a bit distressed and said bluntly, "If that’s the case, Senior Brother, doesn't that mean I owe you another favor?"

"Heh, no need for favors. Just remember to treat me to a meal when you have the time. And remember to prepare a bit more silver—next time, I expect a truly luxurious feast! Hahaha! I won't bother you any longer; you were injured today, so you should hurry back and recover. The martial arts tournament is approaching, so don't let any lingering injuries hold you back." With a laugh, Lin Hui walked off into the distance.

Watching Lin Hui’s retreating figure, Yang Ze’s expression grew heavy. Lin Hui had always given him a mysterious feeling; he was clearly just an enrolled disciple at the seventh stage of True Essence, yet he did not seem like an ordinary one. Yang Ze had no idea how to probe Lin Hui’s background, and he feared that acting rashly might offend him, so he pushed the thought to the back of his mind. Regardless of what kind of person Lin Hui was, he at least seemed worthy of friendship, and in a way, Lin Hui was the only friend Yang Ze had on Qingyang Peak.

After Lin Hui had disappeared from view, Yang Ze did not linger and turned to head down the mountain.

Back at his living quarters, Yang Ze sat cross-legged on a straw mat. As he channeled his internal True Essence, his body shuddered, and he coughed up a mouthful of dark blood that splattered before him. Wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth, Yang Ze felt his meridians flowing freely; by circulating his power, he had finally purged the last of the residual fist energy from his body.

It was fortunate that Lin Hui had used his own True Essence to help dissipate most of that force; otherwise, Yang Ze would have had to seal the energy within his body, which would have required much more time to recover from later. It was precisely because Lin Hui intervened that Yang Ze discovered they both practiced the same cultivation technique, the "Qi-Nurturing Art." Otherwise, two different types of True Essence colliding would surely have caused a rejection.

After this battle, Yang Ze had a better understanding of his current combat prowess. It seemed he was no longer inferior to an average martial artist at the ninth stage of True Essence.

In his clash with Wu He, he could have blocked that final blow, but he chose not to, allowing himself to be struck instead. He did this because he did not want to expose his true strength. There were too many people present; if it were known that he could fight a ninth-stage practitioner while only at the eighth stage, others would surely take notice of him during the tournament.

Wu He might have held back during that fight, but Yang Ze had also not used his full strength. He had yet to unleash his "Wind-Riding Blade Strike," and currently, no one on Qingyang Peak knew he had mastered other blade techniques. Furthermore, Yang Ze had always kept his Blood Fiend Blade hidden, never revealing it in public. Only when wielding that blade was he at his strongest.

Taking a deep breath, Yang Ze felt a lingering pain despite having cleared the energy from his body. A strike from a ninth-stage True Essence martial artist was no laughing matter; he was only flesh and blood, and had he not broken through to the eighth stage, he would never have dared to take that hit head-on. He began to circulate the Qi-Nurturing Art to slowly recuperate. He needed to heal completely; otherwise, if the injury dragged on and turned into a chronic ailment, it would be troublesome.

...

The night passed without incident. By daybreak, Yang Ze finished his recuperation, exhaled a long breath of stale air, and awoke from his meditative state. After a night of rest, he felt his vitality had returned to its previous state.

Remaining indoors, Yang Ze sat on his mat and took out a branch of Dust-Wood, which Wu He had given him for its properties of nourishing Qi and soothing the mind. Looking at the strangely shaped branch, he had no desire to swallow it whole, so he went to a simple stove in his room and brewed it into a decoction.

An hour later, Yang Ze downed the bowl of medicine. As the liquid entered his body, it turned into a warm current. The black stone pattern on his chest glowed, and as soon as the warmth emerged, the stone converted it into energy and infused it into his body. Absorbing this energy, Yang Ze felt the True Essence within him climbing steadily once more.

Six hours passed before the energy was completely absorbed. Yang Ze opened his eyes, a sharp glint flashing through them. In just six hours, his True Essence had surged significantly—enough to equal ten or fifteen days of bitter cultivation for others.

"The Black Stone is truly a miraculous object. Others would gain little benefit from simply boiling this herb into a soup; only when refined into pills by an alchemist can its effects be maximized. Yet, every medicine has its toxicity, and even the finest pills leave behind toxins that are extremely difficult to clear. But with the Black Stone, even raw herbs can be converted directly into energy for absorption, and it's all absorbed without waste. For me, there are no toxins and no wasted potential. It seems that if I want to increase my cultivation rapidly, I must consume more drugs. Following the standard, step-by-step path would take far too long to reach the next realm."

Yang Ze quickly realized how to speed up his progress, but as an eighth-stage practitioner, he knew he had to be moderate. If he overdid it and his meridians couldn't handle the strain, he would be finished.

"I cannot be too hasty; at most, I can take this once a day. It’s a pity that I don't have enough contribution points to imprint new martial arts." Sighing, he realized that three months was a very tight deadline. "But my Wind-Riding Blade Strike hasn't reached perfection yet, so new martial arts aren't an urgent need. If I can fully master these few techniques, I will certainly secure a place among the enrolled disciples!"

With this thought, he tapped his right hand, and his long sword slipped from its scabbard, resting across his knees. Looking at the blade, the notch once caused by the Blood Fiend Blade had deepened slightly. This sword was, at best, a mediocre-grade mortal weapon, and after several battles, its existing defects had worsened.

"Persevere. The martial arts tournament is my real opportunity to strike!" Yang Ze’s gaze was like lightning. He would endure; only at the final moment would he unleash his full power.

For the remaining time, Yang Ze shut himself in his training room to cultivate relentlessly. Seven days passed before he emerged. This week of bitter practice had not exhausted him; instead, his spirit seemed even more vibrant. He had consumed all the herbs Wu He gave him, and he was still savoring the effect of that sixty-year-old ginseng—it was truly extraordinary, more potent than two Dust-Wood branches combined.

Seven days after breaking through to the eighth stage, Yang Ze felt he had already come a long way in this realm; it would not be long before he reached the ninth stage.

"Calculating the time, I have reached my third month since entering the academy. I must quickly finish this month’s three missions; I cannot let them hold me back in the end."

Since arriving at the Misty Martial Academy, the thing that vexed Yang Ze most were these cursed missions. The contribution points were meager, yet he was required to complete three every month. The key was that while they weren't difficult, they were incredibly time-consuming. If he could avoid them, he certainly would, but there was no choice.

With this in mind, he turned and headed toward the Mission Hall. When he arrived, the hall was crowded as usual. Seeking the lowest-tier tasks, Yang Ze joined the back of the line. Just as he stood there, the person in front of him turned around.

Seeing the man, Yang Ze’s expression shifted immediately, and he called out in a low voice, "Zheng Hong!"

The man standing before him was the very person who had once been sent by the Water Sect to invite him to join, and who had caused him trouble time and again. However, ever since the sect rules had been enforced, this man had stopped bothering him and had not appeared since. Yang Ze had not expected to see Zheng Hong here today.