"Nine hundred ninety," he said hoarsely. "Nine levels left."
He snapped his broken pinky back into place with his thumb, and the pain made his vision go black. Then he kept climbing.
Nine hundred ninety-one, nine hundred ninety-two, nine hundred ninety-three. The Sanskrit on the wall began to burn, every character turning into golden flames that scorched his fingertips. Su Han's palms were covered in burn blisters. When they burst, the fluid that seeped out touched the stone wall and evaporated in an instant. He smelled his own flesh burning. It made him want to vomit, but he had no hand free to cover his mouth, so he could only endure it.
Nine hundred ninety-four. He felt himself about to pass out. His consciousness was like a kite with its string cut, drifting vaguely upward, while his body remained plastered tightly against the wall. He knew he could not faint. If he let go, everything would be for nothing. He remembered the Heart-Protecting Pill the Sect Master had pressed into his hand before he left. He had not taken it, intending to save it for a critical moment. This had to be that moment. He secured himself with his left hand, then laboriously reached into his robes with his right, took out the pill, stuffed it into his mouth, and swallowed it dry.
The moment the pill entered his stomach, a warm current erupted in his dantian. It was the finest healing medicine in the Immortal Realm, said to be capable of preserving one's final breath. Su Han felt his blurred consciousness clear somewhat, and the searing agony from his broken finger was suppressed. His body was still just as exhausted, but at least he could see the wall in front of him clearly again. He saw the Sanskrit once