A Treasury of Knowledge

Dai Mubai raised his head and met Zhao Wuji's gaze expressionlessly.

"I don't need any special treatment."

Zhao Wuji patted his shoulder, the force nearly driving him to one knee.

"Don't worry. There won't be any special treatment."

Ma Hongjun and Oscar did not leave. They stood at the edge of the training ground, watching Zhao Wuji and Dai Mubai.

Oscar shoved his hands into his school uniform pockets and tilted his head at Dai Mubai.

"How many days do you think he can last?"

Ma Hongjun thought for a moment, then gave a two-word answer. "Two days."

Oscar held up three fingers. "Three days. I'm betting on three."

Ma Hongjun did not respond. He watched as Zhao Wuji led Dai Mubai through the simplest exercises to warm up.

Someone like Zhao Wuji might say there was "no special treatment," but his version of no special treatment was the most terrifying treatment of all.

Ma Hongjun had seen plenty of people collapse during Zhao Wuji's first round of training. If Dai Mubai could endure it, that meant he had that fire in him.

Zhao Wuji's voice carried across the training ground.

"Dai Mubai! Ten laps! Begin!"

Dai Mubai broke into a run.

His movements were precise, his pace even, and his breathing well controlled.

It was obvious that he had trained before—and trained hard.

Watching his retreating figure, Ma Hongjun silently added one more thought.

Dai Mubai could endure it.

Dai Mubai made it through his first day of training.

After finishing ten weighted laps, five hundred push-ups, three hundred sit-ups, and two hundred squats, Zhao Wuji dragged him into sparring practice and threw him to the ground no fewer than twenty times.

Yet every time, he got back up. He rose and kept fighting, until Zhao Wuji finally said, "That's enough for today."

By the time he returned to the dormitory, Dai Mubai practically crawled inside. He could not even lift a finger.

But he lay facedown on his bed, staring at the neatly folded school uniform beside his pillow.

The uniform was not his. Flender had brought it over for Oscar that morning.

Dai Mubai had not received his own uniform yet. Flender had said he would give it to him once the tailor finished making it.

He looked at the uniform that did not belong to him and imagined what he would look like wearing it.

Before closing his eyes, he thought of one thing.

Ma Hongjun said he would wait for him. Both of them had said they would wait for him.

Half a month. He had to break through.

Dai Mubai told himself that inwardly.

When training ended, it was already dark.

Oscar had helped Dai Mubai back to the dormitory. His legs felt filled with lead, and every step was like treading on cotton.

Zhao Wuji had added three more sets of squats for him that day, calling them "an appetizer." Dai Mubai had not had the strength to argue then, and he did not have the strength to think about it now.

Oscar tossed him onto the bed and clapped his hands. "You still have to keep going tomorrow. Get some rest."

Dai Mubai did not even have the strength to answer. He merely nodded with his eyes closed.

Oscar left Dai Mubai's room. As he passed Ma Hongjun's door, he saw dim yellow light spilling through the crack.

He knocked, then pushed the door open without waiting for a response.

Ma Hongjun sat at his desk, several thick books spread before him and a stack of densely written papers at his side.

The oil lamp's flame swayed gently in the breeze, casting his focused profile onto the wall.

"Studying again?"

Oscar leaned over and glanced at the books on the desk.

Compendium of Spirit Beast Herbs, Advanced Pharmacology, and Theory of Martial Soul Evolution. Each was as thick as a brick, their page corners worn fuzzy from repeated turning.

"Mm."

Ma Hongjun did not even raise his head. His pen flew across the paper, rapidly writing down a string of medicinal herb names and ratios.

Oscar sat on his bed, crossed one leg over the other, and watched him write.

He had known Ma Hongjun for nearly a year. During that year, he had seen Ma Hongjun's ruthless determination on the training ground, his calm, almost cold judgment in battle, and his easy composure when spending lavishly at auctions.

But more than anything, he had seen Ma Hongjun sitting at his desk reading.

Quiet and focused, like a dry sponge tossed into water, constantly absorbing, constantly absorbing, never getting enough.

"What's the point of reading all these books?" Oscar asked. "Soul Power cultivation doesn't depend on reading."

Ma Hongjun's pen paused. He raised his head and looked at Oscar.

"Then let me ask you: who prepared the medicinal bath formula?"

"Teacher Shao Xin."

"And where did Teacher Shao Xin get his formula?"

Oscar froze for a moment. "Learned it from books?"

Ma Hongjun lowered his head and continued writing. His lips moved quickly as he spoke, while the pen in his hand never stopped.

"Teacher Shao Xin's formula was passed down from the older generation. The older generation received it from an even older generation. It has been passed down for so many years, yet no one has changed it. No one has ever considered whether it could be changed. No one knows why each medicinal herb is used in that exact amount. They only know that 'it's always been added this way.'"

His tone was calm, but every word sounded like he was discussing something vitally important.

"But I don't believe that. The books clearly explain the properties of every herb, the meridians they enter, and the principles of balancing principal, assistant, and supporting ingredients. If you understand it, you can make your own formulas and improve them yourself."

He picked up the sheet covered in writing and gave it a shake.

"For example, this."

Oscar took it and looked it over twice. The handwriting was crooked, but the contents were densely packed—things like "three qian of Bone-Tempering Grass, nourished for a thousand years, enters the kidney meridian, strengthens sinews and bones"; "five qian of Blood-Activating Vine, warm in nature, enters the pericardium meridian, promotes the circulation of qi and blood"; and "two qian of Spirit-Focusing Flower, calms the soul and steadies the will, can increase meditation efficiency by twenty percent."

He could not understand much of it, but it sounded impressive.

"What is this?" Oscar asked, pointing at the dense writing.

"A prescription," Ma Hongjun said. "I made it myself."

Oscar stared at the page for several seconds, then stared at Ma Hongjun for several more.

"You made it yourself? Seriously?"

Ma Hongjun ignored the astonishment in his voice.

"I've been reading for nearly a year. I went through the Compendium of Spirit Beast Herbs three times, Advanced Pharmacology twice, and copied out the chapters in Theory of Martial Soul Evolution about the connection between Martial Souls and the physical body once."

He set down his pen and looked at Oscar.

"I've put no less effort into this than cultivation. While you were playing, I was reading. But I don't regret it. Because reading is never wasted. What you cannot use now will always come in handy someday."

He picked up one of the books from the desk. It was heavy, and the gilt lettering on its spine had been worn faint from repeated reading.

"What books contain are the experiences and methods that those before us spent an entire lifetime—or even several lifetimes—summarizing. And the people who spent their lifetimes compiling those things are long dead. They wrote all their life's work into books, and later generations only need a few days to read them and take away the wisdom of their entire lives."

Ma Hongjun looked at Oscar, the flame of the oil lamp reflected in his eyes.

"There is no bargain in this world more worthwhile than reading."