A Hundred Feet High, Further Progress

Liang Qisheng's heart stirred—he found it truly unbelievable.

This was nothing short of miraculous; even a photographic memory couldn't capture it.

It was directly turning someone else's experience into his own, completely and thoroughly integrated.

At this moment, his understanding of medicinal properties and principles made him feel that even ordinary pharmacists might not match his skill.

After all, the herbal knowledge of a typical pharmacist might indeed fall short of that of a mountain herb gatherer.

One couldn't compare one's own profession to another's means of survival.

Herb gatherers were more familiar with the pharmacology of what they picked, so when preparing medicinal effects, they made no mistakes.

Those things were imprinted in Liang Qisheng's mind, waiting only for him to fully comprehend and turn them into his own use.

Before long, Liang Qisheng took out the herbs he needed.

Then, he found a copper pot and set it over the stove fire.

After boiling it down, he drank it all in one gulp.

In just a short while, Liang Qisheng discovered that the wound on his chest no longer hurt, and the surface scars had healed.

The wound even began to itch, and the inside was changing as well.

After drinking the medicinal broth, Liang Qisheng felt a kind of fatigue.

Not just physical, but mental exhaustion too.

He had experienced many things today, so he decided to rest for the night first.

He would deal with the rest tomorrow.

When the rooster crowed, Liang Qisheng flipped over and sat up.

He first checked his chest and found that the injury was far better than before.

Some scars from sharp blades had turned red and fused, as if new flesh was sprouting; in a few more days, he would fully recover.

Liang Qisheng stood up and moved his body slightly.

His exhaustion was completely swept away, and his spirit was full.

However, having not eaten all day, he felt genuinely hungry.

After all, a martial artist tempers the body, refining bones, tendons, and flesh—every change requires a massive amount of nutrition.

It was said that some old martial masters could eat half a sheep in one meal; the saying "poor scholars, rich martial artists" was exactly this.

Liang Qisheng took down the meat hanging from the beam, washed some rice, and put them both into the pot, intending to cook a pot of meat porridge.

After waiting a moment, he extinguished the fire, lifted the lid, and a fragrance wafted into the air.

Liang Qisheng, not caring that it was scalding hot, ladled it out and began eating in big mouthfuls.

Like a glutton gulping down food, his intestines churned rapidly, secreting gastric juices.

He was simply too hungry; he leaned over the counter, almost wanting to eat the pot itself.

After eating and drinking his fill, he also had some dried meat, then sat contentedly to the side to rest a while.

With food in his stomach, Liang Qisheng's energy finally fully recovered.

He stood up again and checked the data in his mind.

"There are still thirteen merit points left. The Hundred Herb Scripture was just an interlude, a method to assist martial training, strengthen the foundation, and temper the bones and tendons."

"...Next, I should still improve Black Tiger Fist! After all, martial power is the foundation of survival—there's no mistake in that."

Without hesitation, he added the last thirteen merit points.

Liang Qisheng felt a tiger's roar ring out directly.

Boom! Boom!

In his mind, a figure evolved.

Then the figure split into another person, followed by a third, a fourth, all the way to a seventh figure.

Each person was practicing the stance of the Black Tiger Fist, but their starting moves were different.

From the first form to the sixth, and the last figure began evolving from the seventh form.

Black Tiger Descends the Mountain!

The figure's body lowered, like a fierce tiger released from its cage, hind legs tensed, front legs slightly bent, both fists thrust forward.

His fist technique was like a black tiger, its bloody maw wide open, its roar shaking the heavens, exuding a suffocating tiger's might.

For a moment, Liang Qisheng felt all the flesh and blood in his body begin to boil.

An invisible force, like an electric current, surged from below upward, spreading throughout his entire body.

The skin tightened, the muscles quivered, the bones softened slightly, and the tendons vibrated.

All the "skin, flesh, sinews, and bones" that a martial artist must train were being tempered.

This force rose from below, traveling up along the legs, flowing all the way to the crown of the head.

Liang Qisheng's entire body burned with heat; his blood felt nearly boiled dry, and wisps of white steam rose from the top of his head.

"The tempering is still not enough! Push harder!"

A dead tiger still commands awe.

What's more, Liang Qisheng was no dead tiger now—he was in his prime.

Coordinating with the Merit Transformation technique, his hands never ceased their motion.

He set up the frame of the Black Tiger Fist, his tendons locking his skin and flesh like chains, his whole body taut as he practiced move after move without pause.

Hungry Tiger Devours Sheep!

Liang Qisheng lifted his legs slightly, stepping forward with his right foot. The air cracked, and his sleeves whipped through the air like a leather strap.

The bones of his entire body snapped like a string of firecrackers. His right leg advanced, bending slightly forward as he paced in a ritualistic step, while his left leg stretched straight behind him like a drawn bow.

His arm bones seemed to click forward in succession; both fists transformed into claws, one claw thrusting out like a fierce tiger pouncing on its prey.

Even a fox borrowing a tiger's might still inspires fear—how much more so when a man borrows the tiger's form, truly possessed by the beast, his body swift as lightning?

With every movement, Liang Qisheng stirred up a wave of air, producing the sound of a tiger's roar.

The force, which had been weakening, surged upward directly.

His skin quivered, and his muscles contracted violently.

His bones itched, and his tendons vibrated like bowstrings, "twang, twang, twang," as if someone were pulling a bow to its full moon.

These changes cascaded like dominoes, bringing a deep, bone-level numbness and itch.

It constantly eroded Liang Qisheng's will, making him want to scratch with his hands.

"Can't move! I'd rather die than move!"

Yet Liang Qisheng knew in his heart that his body's tempering had reached a critical point.

If he stopped midway or relaxed his movements, the breath in his chest would dissipate instantly, the tiger form would vanish, and all his effort would be wasted.

At this moment, he truly felt waves of sour numbness surging from his skin.

His entire body felt as if countless ants were biting him fiercely—a sensation enough to drive anyone mad.

Not only that, but his muscles were also being violently pulled, as if invisible hands were constantly tugging at them from within his body, causing excruciating soreness that made his entire muscle group tremble violently.

He gritted his teeth until blood seeped from his gums, and large beads of sweat fell from his forehead, hitting the ground.

A small puddle had already formed on the floor in front of him.

Liang Qisheng had been practicing boxing for three years, after all, and he knew the principle of "first flourish, second wane, third exhaust."

Enduring the various pains and numbness from his body, he kept his boxing frame steady and unbroken.

Finally, with a "pop" sound, the outer layer of skin seemed to tear open directly, revealing fresh new skin beneath.

At the same time, he couldn't help but let out a low roar.

The muscles inside his body gave a sudden jolt, and an invisible force yanked his body forward.

When Liang Qisheng straightened up, he felt the old strength completely shed.

From deep within his muscles and bones, which had been sore and exhausted to the extreme, a new power suddenly surged forth, like a spring bubbling and flowing.

A fresh force burst from within his body, and he instinctively threw a punch outward.

Immediately, a loud boom echoed through the air ahead.

"I can actually create a sonic boom now... Does that mean I've already reached the Flesh Refining realm?!"