Minor Perfection, Martial Artist's Third Refinement, Spiritual Realm Achieved

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[Year 1, I continued to cultivate the Dense White Bone Contemplation, progressing slowly]

Moments ago.

The grove.

The young man stood here, practicing the Tiger Roar Fist. The wind from his fists stirred up dead leaves and branches, obscuring the area.

He was practicing his punches.

"Pact, give me a boost!"

Zhang Fusheng understood that his ability to dodge bullets wasn't due to his reaction speed, but purely his powerful spirit, barely managing to "sense the cicada before the autumn wind stirs."

But it was too dangerous. Every time, he only just sensed it and just barely dodged.

He needed a stronger spirit.

The sixty years of contemplation from Zhong Shan seeped into the depths of his soul like mist and rain, bit by bit, as if he had personally experienced it.

[Year 2, I continued to hone the Dense White Bone Contemplation, seeming to gain some insight]

[Year 3]

[Year 14, I seemed to have reached another bottleneck, but this bottleneck wasn't limited by my talent]

[I remembered what Master had said: ten years of cultivation can lead to great success, a hundred years of accumulating spirit are needed to achieve perfection. What I lacked was spiritual accumulation.]

[To achieve perfection in a meditation technique, even a minor perfection, requires a hundred years of spiritual accumulation.]

[Year 15, I began to silently accumulate the foundation, honing my spirit]

[Thus, day after day, year after year]

[Year 31, I unlocked the second form, the Newly Dead Form]

[When I contemplated myself as a dead person, my physical body in reality also began to decay, life force extinguished, breath gone, just like a recently deceased person.]

[In this state, I have no pain, I don't bleed, and I am difficult to sense or detect. Is this suitable for an assassin?]

[Year 32, I continued to hone my spirit, day after day, year after year]

[Year 49, I finally reached a hundred years of spiritual accumulation. I could progress again, though slowly, it was real.]

[Year 50, I contemplated the true meaning of "He Observes as I Should Be"]

[Year 51, my progress was minimal]

[Year 52, my progress was minimal]

[Year 53, I seemed to have touched the true spiritual realm. I could see my own 'soul'.]

[Year 54, after a century of accumulation, I painstakingly constructed the prototype of the Spiritual Realm. Although it quickly collapsed, it still represented my true approach to the realm of perfection.]

[Or rather, I had already achieved 'minor perfection'.]

[For the next four years, I gradually familiarized myself with how to construct a spiritual realm, how to construct the 'Spiritual Realm'.]

[I understood that the Spiritual Realm is the product of my spiritual world being projected into reality. It is illusory, unreal, yet it truly exists.]

[Year 59, I could already construct the Spiritual Realm at will, but within it, I couldn't create skeletal creatures like those in Master's Spiritual Realm. My Spiritual Realm was empty.]

[Year 60, I attempted to explore and seek knowledge in the realm of true 'perfection'.]

The bits and pieces of sixty years were all added to my body in an instant.

The Tiger Roar Fist was not yet finished.

Zhang Fusheng opened his eyes. Although he was still himself, the world seemed vastly different.

"No wonder Master said that meditation techniques are even more important than actual cultivation."

He spread his hands, embracing the vast, invisible Mysterious Factors around him. These Mysterious Factors surged into his body, following the circulation route of the Great Sun Illuminates Seventy-Two Snow Mountains, quickly traveling throughout his body.

They still couldn't penetrate the deepest layers of his skin, unable to complete the Third Refinement.

But, spirit.

Zhang Fusheng used his spirit to interfere with reality, binding all the Mysterious Factors within his body, transforming them into a sharp sword that fiercely pierced the deepest part of his skin!

The Third Refinement was complete.

The Mysterious Factors were completely infused into his skin, adding five hundred jin of strength. His total strength reached two thousand seven hundred jin.

The next second.

Two thousand seven hundred jin of strength sank into the soles of his feet, and he stomped heavily!

"Rumble!"

The forest floor cracked, and the dead leaves and branches scattered by the impact were instantly blown away. Under the immense recoil, Zhang Fusheng shot out like a cannonball, covering nearly a hundred meters in a single leap!

He landed, then leaped again!

One step covered a hundred meters. In just a few leaps, he had covered over six hundred meters.

He looked up and met the gaze of the gunman on the rooftop, whose face was filled with horror.

The speed is too fast.

The gunman swallowed.

Second Refinement.

No, it's Third Refinement!!

The gunman's scalp tingled. He turned his gun barrel and aimed at the teenager downstairs.

Bang!

The teenager tilted his head slightly, and the bullet whizzed past his ear.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

The gunman fired shot after shot, but the teenager didn't even move. He tilted his head, sidestepped, and raised his hand.

Armor-piercing bullets, each capable of blasting through large trees and coated with hemostatic toxin, grazed past him time and time again.

They didn't even touch a single strand of his hair.

A chill slowly crept over his entire body. Hundreds of meters away, he could still explain it with the 'Mastered meditation technique' from the intel—sharp senses, crisis awareness.

But at this distance of just over ten meters??

The moment he even thought of pulling the trigger, the teenager had already 'sensed' it and started to dodge.

Sweat dripped down the gunman's forehead.

This was the mental strength of a mastered meditation technique, something that was absolutely impossible.

He threw two grenades and turned to flee without hesitation.

Boom!!

Amidst the explosion's fire, a figure shot up into the sky and then crashed down heavily, landing precisely on the gunman's escape route.

The gunman trembled slightly, retreated, and stared at the teenager who looked frail and weak but had an excited expression all over his face.

That's right.

He was excited.

"Monster," the gunman took a deep breath, his expression indifferent. He was about to bite down on the capsule in his jaw when his gaze met the teenager's.

The next second.

The sky turned black.

Click, click, click!

He repeatedly clenched his teeth forcefully, but the poison capsule in his jaw was gone. The sky turned a deep black, and beneath his feet was no longer the villa's rooftop, but dry, cracked, scorched earth.

Desolation stretched in all directions, with only one or two withered trees occasionally visible. The setting sun at the end of the dark sky was like blood.

"Is this... the Spiritual Realm?"

The gunman's heart pounded. He stared intently at the teenager before him. The teenager was decaying, crumbling, turning into a dense, white bone.

"Mhm."

"My Spiritual Realm."

Zhang Fusheng said so, walking closer step by step. He reached the gunman and spoke gently, "Who sent you?"

"Was it Zhou Quan?"

The gunman gritted his teeth and remained silent.

Zhang Fusheng, resembling a white bone, stood within the mental illusion he had constructed, carefully examining the gunman's face.

He shook his head:

"No, it's not Zhou Quan. He's not that stupid. But if not him, then who could it be?"

The gunman still said nothing.

Zhang Fusheng smiled:

"The Spiritual Realm is essentially my mental world. Everything here is as I wish."

He snapped his fingers. The desolate, broken land disappeared, replaced by seventy-two snow mountains. Above them hung a vast and majestic Great Sun.

The Great Sun scorched the gunman, making sweat bead on his forehead, while the frosty seventy-two snow mountains froze his lower limbs stiff.

The sensation of heat and biting cold coexisted on his body.

"Of course, I can do this too."

The gunman saw the dense white bone say so. The next second, the snow mountains vanished, and the Great Sun dimmed, replaced by a colossal mountain range. Flames burned on the ground, and blades protruded from the mud.

Immediately, he felt himself uncontrollably walking towards that mountain range.

With one step, the blade tip pierced his sole, and flames scorched his skin. He cried out in agony but couldn't control his body at all, taking step after step, treading on mountains of blades and seas of fire.

"Still not going to talk?"

Zhang Fusheng exclaimed:

"Such strong willpower. A pot of boiling oil."

The world transformed into a giant pot of boiling oil. The gunman plunged into it, the scalding oil flowing into his body through his seven orifices. He wanted to wail, but submerged in the boiling oil, he couldn't even make a sound, yet he couldn't die!

"Tongue extraction, scissors, iron tree, steamer, bronze pillar."

The Spiritual Realm shifted with Zhang Fusheng's thoughts, the eighteen levels of hell appearing one by one, each torment enacted in turn.

He himself expanded into a colossal giant, holding layer upon layer of hell in his hands, watching the man suffer punishment within.

This was his mental world, shaped and manipulated at will.

Ten minutes.

In just ten minutes, the gunman, who had come on the mission with a resolve to die, completely broke down.

"Tell me! Tell me!!"

He wailed, tears streaming down his face:

"I accepted the public mission at Bar No. 19. As soon as I accepted it, someone kidnapped my entire family and sent me a poison sac and your information. I had no choice, I had no choice!"

The towering, skeletal figure of Dense White Bone Contemplation quietly gazed at the man struggling in the mental hell, letting out a sigh:

"Is that so?"

The gunman saw the terrifying world collapse with a roar, and then sunlight, a gentle breeze, and the distant sound of police sirens.

He was back on the villa's rooftop.

He knelt on the ground, his hands trembling as he opened his phone and handed it over:

"It's true!"

Zhang Fusheng took it and glanced at it. On Feixun, someone had sent the gunman a video. In the video were his bound elderly parents, wife, and child, pleading for his help.

At the same time, there was file information, concerning himself.

'Zhang Fusheng, peak of First Refinement martial artist, Tiger Roar Fist mastered, Spring Thunder Technique minor mastery, meditation technique grand completion.'

His gaze suddenly sharpened.

The sound of police sirens grew closer.

"Do what you need to do." Zhang Fusheng stared impassively at the gunman, who visibly faltered, then let out a bitter laugh.

He bit down on the poison sac hidden in his gums. His face instantly turned from pale to green. In just a few breaths, he collapsed onto the ground, twitching slightly, foam and blood spilling from his mouth. Just before he died, Zhang Fusheng pulled him back into his mental Spiritual Realm.

He wanted to verify something.

When the gunman died in reality, his consciousness, trapped in the mental Spiritual Realm, still existed, though it had become dull and vacant.

Like a remnant soul clinging to mere obsession.

But this was also the first 'life' within his Spiritual Realm.

"As expected, whether it was the skeletal figures in the purgatory illusion or the ancient soldiers in Huang Qiuxian's Spiritual Realm... they were all once real people."

"No wonder I could never create anything like it."

Zhang Fusheng muttered to himself, his expression solemn. The police sirens were getting closer.

It was time to leave.

He glanced at the corpse and sighed softly.

The gunman couldn't live. Whether he had already entered the Third Refinement or had mastered the meditation technique, the fact that he possessed the Spiritual Realm needed to be kept secret.

After confirming the other party's death.

Zhang Fusheng put away his phone and, with a few flashes, vanished from the spot.