"Master, do you remember which chicken I was on when I finally met your standards for butchering them?"
After entering the room, Yan Ming had kept staring at the portrait on the wall, talking to himself without pause.
"Eighty-seven chickens. A whole eighty-seven!"
"And after all that, you still said I was a peerless genius among the Blade-Catchers when it came to refining demons, that my fellow disciples couldn't hold a candle to me."
"But now..."
Yan Ming muttered in anguish, "What genius? I'm not worthy!"
"Seven chickens! Just seven! Do you know? Little Junior Brother's talent far exceeded my expectations. He needed only seven chickens to cross the threshold of demon refinement."
"Master, down there in the Nine Springs, are you grinning so wide you can't even close your mouth after hearing this?"
"Looks like dawn is breaking. With Little Junior Brother here, I'll make them pay for what happened back then!"
"I will!!!"
The more Yan Ming spoke, the more agitated he became. His whole body began to tremble, and a thin mist gradually clouded his eyes.
After that brief surge of emotion came a long silence.
Yan Ming bowed his head and stood silent for a long while. At last, he raised it, stepped forward, lit a stick of incense, and planted it firmly in the incense burner.
His gaze flickered as he stared at the smoke curling upward, as though it were carrying him back to the past.
Just then, a knock at the door burst the bubble of his memories.
"Come in."
Yan Ming hastily wiped his face with his hand and spoke in a flat voice.
The door creaked open.
Chen Zhuo walked in, paid his respects to the memorial tablets of his master and three senior brothers, then offered a stick of incense.
"Did you read the manual?"
Yan Ming suddenly asked.
"I did."
Chen Zhuo nodded.
Recalling what it said about the Five Desires Demon Soup, he asked, "Senior Brother, was the soup you used on me last night the Killing Desire Soup? In other words, Tiger Soup?"
The manual said:
Of the Five Desires Demon Soup, killing desire stood at the top. It was based on Blood-Strengthening Soup, with Tiger Demon True Blood at its core.
It could invigorate one's blood and qi and shore up one's foundation.
The longer a Tiger Demon lived, the more potent its demon soup.
"That's right. You read it carefully."
Yan Ming nodded.
"Then..."
"That was all I had. The bottle of Tiger Demon True Blood I used last night was my only one. Little Junior Brother, I really went all out for you."
Chen Zhuo had only just started to ask when Yan Ming, seemingly already aware of what he wanted to know, let out a sigh and shook his head.
"I don't have any other True Blood left, either. When I left the Capital, I used more than half of what I had to make demon soup. I even tried to heal my injuries, but it turned out to be a wasted effort."
Chen Zhuo's heart sank, but there was nothing he could do about it.
It seemed he could only rely on himself when it came to obtaining the blood of demons...
Still, Chen Zhuo wasn't discouraged.
Even though extracting True Blood was extremely demanding—he had to separate the demon's blood vessels with absolute precision, without contaminating the blood with any other bodily fluids—
all he had to do was dissect more pigs and keep improving his Dissection Technique.
He was sure he'd manage it soon.
The trouble was that whole demons were hard to find, and they sold for exorbitant prices.
With his current pauper's purse, he could forget about buying one.
He could only catch one himself.
At the thought, Chen Zhuo nearly rolled his eyes at himself.
A martial artist who hadn't even reached the Bone-Entering Realm was going into the mountains alone?
He might as well be walking to his own death.
Like pulling off a sliding tackle into a Tiger Demon's stomach, hoping it would choke to death on him?
But without demon soup, his martial arts training would have to proceed one step at a time.
Once the Autumn Hunt began, no one could say what might happen.
Whether he could catch a demon was one thing. The odds of dying a violent death were hardly low.
"If there's no True Blood, do you have any False Blood left?"
Unwilling to give up, Chen Zhuo could only settle for the next best thing.
False Blood was True Blood mixed with a modest amount of other bodily fluids.
It contained impurities, but it could still be used. Its effects just fell far short of True Blood.
"This is the last bottle. I don't have any more."
Yan Ming fumbled around beneath his clothes, pulled out a porcelain bottle, and handed it to Chen Zhuo.
"Thank you, Senior Brother."
Chen Zhuo was a little disappointed.
"No need to thank me. We're brothers from the same master."
Yan Ming waved a hand, then abruptly changed tack. "That'll be ten taels."
"Huh?"
"What do you mean, 'huh'? Even brothers keep accounts. But I know you're broke right now, so I'm not demanding payment on the spot."
A standard merchant's smile spread across Yan Ming's face. "One bottle of Tiger Demon False Blood is only ten taels of silver. Going by the market rate—nine out, thirteen back—you don't object, do you?"
Chen Zhuo stared at Yan Ming for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, he clasped his hands toward the portrait on the wall.
"Master, this swindler's cheating me. When he dreams tonight, give him a good beating."
Yan Ming teased, "The old master never even met you. You think he'll help you or me?"
"Fine!"
Through gritted teeth, Chen Zhuo tucked the porcelain bottle into his clothes, then asked, "Can I find anyone selling True Blood or False Blood in Baiyun County?"
One bottle of False Blood wouldn't be nearly enough.
Yan Ming nodded. "I knew you'd ask."
As he spoke, he handed Chen Zhuo a slip of paper with nothing but a time and a place written on it.
"Luckily, Baiyun County is an upper county, packed with experts. You can buy False Blood at the Ghost Market. I've never seen True Blood there."
Chen Zhuo nodded and studied the slip carefully, committing its contents to memory.
"Wait, you're actually going? Can you afford it?"
"No."
"Then why are you going?"
"I don't have money, but you do."
After a fierce back-and-forth, Chen Zhuo walked away with a fifty-tael banknote in his arms.
"Remember to pay me back!"
Yan Ming's face had gone dark.
"Don't worry for a second."
Chen Zhuo walked out of the room with a smile, then turned back to ask, "Senior Brother, how many chickens did you need back then?"
After reading the manual, he now understood why Yan Ming had stormed out in a rage earlier.
"Get lost."
Sure enough, Yan Ming's roar soon rang out from inside the room.
Chen Zhuo shut the door to the room next door, flicked the banknote in his hand, and snickered to himself.
I borrowed this money through sheer skill. Why would I pay it back?
The Blood-Strengthening Soup from last night hadn't lost its potency. Its color had only faded a little.
Chen Zhuo took off his clothes, slowly walked to the center of the pool, and removed the porcelain bottle's stopper.
A scarlet liquid swirled inside. Its color was almost identical to True Blood, but it wasn't nearly as thick.
After only a few glances, he poured all the Tiger Demon False Blood in the bottle into the pool.
Gurgle, gurgle.
Just like the night before, the soup gradually began to boil.
Chen Zhuo felt the burning sensation.
At the same time, a murderous desire inexplicably welled up in his mind, though it was nowhere near as intense as it had been the night before.
Even beneath the grip of that killing desire, he was still able to stay somewhat clearheaded.
With one experience behind him, he calmly crouched into his boxing stance.
Black veins coiled across his body.
Smack.
Smack.
The burning sensation wasn't strong enough, so he used the Patting Technique.
Before long, he had completed one full set of the Iron Cloth Shirt.
[Iron Cloth Shirt +1]
"No bonus?"
Chen Zhuo frowned, thinking he might have wasted ten taels of silver.
But he soon noticed something unusual.
"There's no bonus, but my stamina... doesn't seem to be draining? I'm not even tired!"
Chen Zhuo had finally discovered the use of False Blood.
As it turned out, with enough demon False Blood, he could train without worrying about exhaustion, truly practicing martial arts nonstop for twelve hours.
"Let's see how long this bottle of demon False Blood can keep me training."
After steadying his breathing, Chen Zhuo began practicing the Iron Cloth Shirt again and again.
A steady, rumbling hum filled the air.
The Bone-Entering Realm was right before his eyes.
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