Beat the Grass and Startle the Snake

The Marrow Cleansing Pill truly deserved to be called a pill from the abyss. It lived up to the abyss's name.

Even though this was already Qin He's second marrow cleansing, it still washed out a thick layer of grime.

The effects were also quite obvious.

Inner Strength +18

Cultivation +15

The growth in those two areas was only one aspect. On the other hand, the tempering of his inner strength and magical power was equally apparent.

Inner strength was the outward manifestation of the essence, blood energy, and acupoint energy within the body.

After cleansing the essence and purging the marrow, the three energies became more refined and shed their impurities. Naturally, his inner strength became purer as well.

Magical power was the energy carried by cultivation, and it too underwent a qualitative improvement.

As he learned more and more skills, and gained more experience using them, Qin He finally understood what cultivation was.

Cultivation was a composite built upon magical power, incorporating one's personal experience, techniques, knowledge, and essence, energy, and spirit.

Put vividly, cultivation referred to overall strength, while magical power referred to raw power.

The same Short Knife was merely a Short Knife in a novice's hand, but in an expert's hand, it could become a divine weapon.

An increase in magical power would inevitably raise one's cultivation, but how much it rose varied from person to person.

Conversely, an increase in cultivation did not necessarily mean a change in magical power.

A vivid example was that Charm Corpse.

If a monk or Daoist with formidable magical power, reaching nine qian, failed to hold fast to his true heart and succumbed to temptation, what would happen?

Even if you were a god of magic incarnate, you would still die. Yet an old monk seasoned by countless encounters might use four ounces to deflect a thousand pounds, suppressing the Charm Corpse without needing especially powerful magical power.

That was the gap in overall strength.

Such situations arose because there were too many paths of cultivation in this world. Every ruler had its short measure and every inch its long measure; each path had its weaknesses. No one dared claim that powerful magical power alone would let them run rampant beneath heaven.

Thus, cultivation referred to one's rank.

Inner strength was much the same. If you did not know how to use it, you could not bring out even fifty percent of ten portions of inner strength. Then you would be unable to defeat an expert with only sixty percent inner strength.

Qin He was actually facing just such a situation. His cultivation was basically propped up by magical power, while his inner strength was mostly brute force, with not much technique behind it yet.

But Qin He was not in a hurry. Slowly but surely, it would improve.

Besides, haste would get him nowhere. No matter how one put it, Qin He had not been in this world for very long.

He sniffed the foul stench on his body and nearly vomited up the buns he had eaten yesterday. He hurried off to wash, only to find that there was not much water left in the vat. So he simply grabbed a change of clothes, flipped out over the roof, bounded silently from the Corpse Burning Facility in a few light leaps, and plunged headfirst into the canal.

Water Play Technique + Breathing Technique + Night Vision Technique.

The moment Qin He entered the water, he found it utterly welcoming.

Water Play Technique: a white streak in the waves, a flood dragon in the water.

Breathing Technique: he could exchange breath and breathe underwater.

Night Vision Technique: the pitch-black waters were as bright as day in Qin He's eyes.

Qin He swam with indescribable comfort and exhilaration.

The grime on his body dissolved in the water, and its fishy stench drew over schools of fish. The big fish fled for their lives after getting a whiff of it, while the little fish all rolled belly-up.

Qin He wanted to catch a big one, only to discover that no matter how much of a white streak in the waves a man might be, he was still a man. Racing fish in the water was simply asking for trouble.

He could not catch any fish, but he did find a turtle.

Buried beneath the silt on the riverbed, it stared at Qin He with its mung-bean turtle eyes, thinking he had not noticed it.

Qin He swam over. The turtle secretly cried out in alarm. It had failed to hide, and with a kick of all four legs, it tried to flee.

If Qin He could not catch fish, could he not catch a turtle?

He swam after it, reached out, and grabbed it. The turtle struggled, stretching out its long neck to bite him.

Qin He flicked it with a finger and knocked it unconscious. Looking closely, he saw that it was as big as a pot lid—enough for several meals.

After going ashore, drying himself off, and changing clothes, Qin He was carrying the turtle by the neck and about to head back.

At that moment, someone approached from the opposite side.

Dressed all in black, with a curved saber in hand and killing intent written across his face.

After leaving Liu Residence, Gantuji wound his way through the streets for a long while before arriving at a secluded courtyard.

The courtyard was registered under the name of an ordinary traveling merchant. Though old, it was deep and surrounded by lush trees, and it sat on relatively high ground, safe from prying eyes.

This was the nest of Di Barbarian spies that the Flying Fish Guard had been desperately searching for.

After An Baogu vanished, Gantuji, as an assistant officer born among the Bayala, naturally became the leader.

Gantuji summoned Logu and Amintu.

Both were skilled men among the Bayala.

The assignments were given: one would kill, while the other would follow and observe.

The moment the two heard they could kill again, both fought over the killing assignment.

Gantuji suddenly understood somewhat why Liu Changan had privately said that men like them ought to earn merit on the battlefield, rather than lurk in the Capital City.

This was plainly a task that might cost them their lives, yet the two of them were actually scrambling to take it.

Gantuji was reluctant, but he had to make this choice.

An Baturu was the spiritual leader of the Bayala. He could die, but he could not die without rhyme or reason.

In the end, Gantuji sent Amintu to kill and Logu to follow and observe. He instructed them that if they found themselves outmatched, they were to retreat at once and not force the attack. Logu in particular had to return immediately to report.

After the two prepared themselves, they avoided the Night Patrol city guards, left the city, and arrived near the East City Corpse Burning Facility.

After observing for a while and finding nothing unusual, Amintu charged toward the Corpse Burning Facility with his saber in hand.

Amintu felt somewhat unaccustomed to it. Whenever he had charged before, he had always had his anda beside him. He had never charged alone.

But Amintu was not afraid, because Gantuji had promised that once the mission was complete, he would be allowed to tie up a Han woman and bring her back to the nest.

Amintu liked Han women. The women of the White Mountains and Black Waters, and those of the grasslands, were too rough. Han women, unlike them, were fair and tender.

Just as Amintu was indulging in his fantasies, someone suddenly turned in from the roadside ahead.

His hair was dripping wet, and he carried a Big Turtle in one hand.

Amintu had fished back home as well, but he had never seen such a large turtle.

The two stared at one another, both slightly stunned.

A Han man!

Amintu reacted first. He strode forward, leapt into the air, and slashed down at the man's neck from above with his saber, without the slightest hesitation.

He was fast. As an inner strength expert, his sharp curved saber descended in the blink of an eye.

Yet in the next instant, something that startled him happened. The man cursed something Amintu could not understand, took one step backward, and vanished from where he stood.

Amintu's heart jolted. He hastily checked his momentum, spun around, and slashed with his saber.

It was an instinct forged through countless battles. If someone vanished before his eyes, they must have moved behind him.

Turning and slashing was both attack and defense.

Yet he struck empty air. There was no one behind him.

Not only behind him—there was no one in any direction.

That man had simply disappeared.

Amintu felt as though thorns were pressing against his back. Had he encountered a man, or a ghost?

He looked around in every direction. Just as he faced the canal again—

The man abruptly appeared, and a massive turtle shell rapidly filled his vision.