No Madness, No Success

Baiwei's movements were gentle as she cleaned the wounds bit by bit, applied medicine, and wrapped them in bandages.

White gauze wound around his back layer by layer, passed over his shoulders, and was tied in a neat knot at his chest.

"Young master, it's done."

Li Hanche nodded and rose to his feet.

The bandages constricted the wounds on his back, and every movement tugged at them, sending waves of dull pain through him.

But he showed none of it. He quietly put on his inner robe, covering his scars completely.

"Thank you."

He said it to the two maids.

Qingluo and Baiwei both froze.

They had been assigned to serve others and had heard countless instructions and commands, but never once had they heard the words "thank you."

Coming from a child whose back was covered in wounds, yet who had not uttered a single complaint, those two words made their hearts tremble more than any whip could.

"Young master, there's no need to thank us..."

Qingluo's voice was still trembling.

"We are servants. This is our duty."

"You helped me."

Li Hanche looked at her, his tone earnest.

"If you help me, I should thank you. It has nothing to do with status."

With that, he turned and went upstairs.

His steps were not fast, but every one of them was steady.

Returning to his bedroom, he shut the door and sat beside the bed.

He could not lean against anything with his back injured, so he sat upright, closed his eyes, and carefully sensed the changes in his body.

Beneath the skin of his back, a faint warmth continued to circulate.

That was the residual soul power of the Nine-Turn Tyrant Body Art, working with the medicine to repair and strengthen the damaged tissue.

According to the manual, by tomorrow morning, all of those wounds would be healed, and the healed skin would be at least ten percent tougher than before.

As his physical strength increased, the stimulation caused by whippings of the same force would grow weaker and weaker, while the strengthening effect would diminish.

When that happened, he would need to increase the force or switch to harsher methods of body tempering.

But that was a matter for the future.

Today, he had already taken the first step.

He was not enduring beatings in order to become stronger.

He was enduring beatings because they would make him stronger afterward.

The two statements sounded similar, but the mindset behind them was entirely different. The former was passive endurance; the latter was an active choice.

He chose the latter.

Outside the window, a crescent moon peeked out from behind the clouds, its cold light spilling into the room.

Li Hanche sat in the moonlight for a long time before slowly lying on his side, carefully avoiding the wounds on his back, and closing his eyes.

His breathing gradually steadied.

Tomorrow.

More whips were waiting for him.

And Heaven Dou City, this Douluo Continent, was waiting for him.

He had arrived.

Sleep surged over him, slowly drowning his consciousness.

Meanwhile, at the Pope's Palace in Spirit City, an urgent letter from the Heaven Dou City Spirit Temple had just been delivered to Pope Bibi Dong's desk.

Her gaze swept over Salas's neat handwriting and paused briefly on several crucial words.

"Dark Nether Ice Soul Spear."

"Innate Full Soul Power."

"Taken away by Xue Qinghe."

She set down the letter and lightly tapped the words "Xue Qinghe" twice with her fingertips.

Then the corners of her lips curled slightly.

There was an indescribable meaning in her expression.

"Interesting."

Her voice was soft, as if speaking to herself.

"Qinghe, you have quite a good eye."

She folded the letter and placed it in a drawer.

"Someone."

A black shadow appeared without a sound.

"Go investigate that child in Heaven Dou City named Li Hanche. His martial soul, soul power, background, personality—find out everything, the more detailed the better."

"Yes."

The next morning.

Li Hanche was already awake. He carefully moved his shoulders.

His back, which had still been burning last night, now only felt slightly tight.

He reached behind himself and touched it. The skin beneath his fingertips was smooth and flat; yesterday's whip marks had all healed, without leaving even a single scar.

The recovery effect of the Nine-Turn Tyrant Body Art was even better than he had expected.

He sat up, twisted his waist, and stretched his chest. The skin on his back pulled with his movements, giving off a faint warmth.

That was the lingering soul power of the Tyrant Body Art, completing the final traces of repair and strengthening.

Li Hanche sensed it for a while before getting out of bed.

Not enough.

The little bit of strengthening from the whip was nowhere near enough.

He walked to the wardrobe and opened it.

Before going to sleep last night, he had asked Qingluo to prepare several things. They were now neatly arranged at the very bottom of the cabinet.

A leather whip thicker than last night's, a bundle of thin hemp rope, two small sandbags to tie around his wrists, and an old iron plate he had no idea where they had found.

He stared at those things for two breaths.

If I don't drive myself mad, how am I supposed to dominate the continent?

When Qingluo and Baiwei were awakened by the dull sounds coming from upstairs,

they exchanged a glance, threw on their outer robes, hurried upstairs, and pushed open Li Hanche's bedroom door. Then they both froze in the doorway.

The six-year-old was bare-chested, with a sandbag tied to each wrist and the old iron plate strapped to his back with hemp rope. He was doing push-ups.

Every time he lowered himself and pushed back up, his body trembled slightly. Sweat dripped from his chin, pooling into a small puddle on the floor.

Yesterday's new leather whip lay beside the bed. It had clearly already been used once, as proven by several fresh red marks on his shoulders.

"Young master..."

Baiwei's voice trembled.

Li Hanche did not stop.

Seventeen.

Eighteen.

Nineteen.

By the twentieth, his arms finally gave out. He collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath.

Sweat blurred his vision, while the cold floor pressed against his chest, making his burning skin feel slightly better.

Then he climbed back up, untied the sandbags from his wrists, removed the iron plate from his back, rolled his aching shoulders, and turned toward the doorway.

Qingluo and Baiwei stood there, their expressions as if they had seen a ghost.

"Morning."

He greeted them.

"Is breakfast ready?"

While eating breakfast, Li Hanche's hands were still trembling slightly.

Not from pain, but exhaustion.

Just like yesterday, all seven plates were wiped clean.

His body needed energy.

Body tempering consumed far too much. If he did not eat enough, he would not be able to endure it at all.

After breakfast, he got into the carriage Zhou Ping had brought and headed for the academy.

At the academy gates, Li Hanche noticed a small figure standing there.

A dress, twin ponytails, little bells on her hair ribbons.

Su Nianxue stood beside a stone pillar just inside the gates, holding a small cloth bundle in both hands as she stood on tiptoe and looked toward the carriage.

The instant she saw Li Hanche step down from it, her eyes lit up. A brilliant smile bloomed across her face as she waved at him with all her strength.

"Li Hanche! Good morning!"

Li Hanche's steps paused.

He silently sighed in his heart, then nodded.

"Morning."

Just one word.

Yet Su Nianxue looked as though she had received some incredible gift, smiling even more happily.

She trotted over and kept roughly one step away from him—not too close, not too far, just right.

"Did you eat breakfast? I brought some osmanthus cakes my mother made. They're really delicious, want to try some?"

She took out an oil-paper packet from her cloth bundle and held it out before Li Hanche, looking at him with sparkling eyes.

Li Hanche glanced at the packet, then at her.

"I already ate."

"Then save them for break!"

Su Nianxue was not discouraged in the slightest as she followed beside him with light steps.