Suppression

Before dawn had broken, someone was already sitting atop the villa.

Li Hanche sat cross-legged on high, a ring of thin frost already formed beneath him.

The soul power of the Frost Heaven Record slowly circulated through his body, setting out from his dantian and traveling along his meridians. Each time it completed a full great heavenly circuit, the temperature around him dropped another degree.

Dew condensed into frost beneath him, then turned from frost into a layer of ice crystals.

His breathing was long and steady.

When he inhaled, the thin ice-cold air between heaven and earth seeped into his body through his pores and merged into his meridians.

When he exhaled, the turbid air inside him turned into a stream of white mist and was breathed out, condensing before him without dispersing, slowly rising like a tiny white dragon coiling away.

He had canceled all his courses at the academy.

At first, Lin Ruoxi had sent people to ask about him several times, but he had blocked them all with the excuse of "closed-door cultivation."

Later, word came from His Highness the Crown Prince's side, and the academy stopped asking as well.

Su Nianxue, on the other hand, had someone bring over little pastries every few days, each time with a tiny note attached, written with words like "Li Hanche, keep going."

He split the pastries between Qingluo and Baiwei, but kept every note, pressing them beneath his pillow.

In the morning, Li Hanche stood in the center of the courtyard, those weighted iron implements strapped to his body.

He rolled his shoulders, and his joints gave a few faint cracks. Then he began to run.

He ran lap after lap at a speed almost like a sprint.

The iron implements made dull clanging sounds with his movements, and his footsteps were so heavy they were like a small soul beast charging back and forth through the courtyard.

Sweat had not stopped from the very beginning, dripping down his chin onto the stone-paved ground, leaving a string of marks behind.

Qingluo and Baiwei stood beneath the corridor and watched.

They no longer tried to persuade him. They could not persuade him.

By the thirtieth lap, his breathing had begun to grow heavy.

By the fiftieth lap, every step was trembling.

By the eightieth lap, his consciousness had already separated from his body. His body was still mechanically stepping forward, landing, then stepping forward again, while his consciousness sank into the clear state of the Mind-Clarity and Nature-Seeing Art, examining the contraction and relaxation of every muscle and the flow and depletion of every wisp of soul power from the perspective of an observer.

At the hundredth lap, he stopped.

It was not because he was exhausted. Today's amount was enough.

He bent over, bracing both hands on his knees, gasping for breath in great mouthfuls.

Sweat gathered into a small puddle on the stone-paved ground beneath his feet, reflecting his blurred silhouette.

Then he straightened, and untied the weights.

"Come."

He turned around to face Qingluo and Baiwei.

The two maids exchanged a glance and walked from beneath the corridor into the courtyard.

They no longer needed any preamble or hesitation.

These days together had made them understand one thing: this six-year-old child before them understood what he was doing more clearly than any adult soul master they had ever seen.

Qingluo made the first move.

A full-force strike from a level twenty-eight agility-attack soul master was more than twice as fast as it had been back then.

She pulled out an afterimage, her right palm held together like a blade, wrapped in a fierce gust of force as it chopped toward Li Hanche's left shoulder.

She did not hold back at all with this palm, because she knew there was no need.

Li Hanche's response was completely different from before.

His body turned slightly sideways, his left shoulder following the direction of Qingluo's palm force to shed thirty percent of its strength. At the same time, his right hand reached out from below, five fingers like hooks as they clamped toward Qingluo's wrist.

Qingluo's palm force had just been fully released, and her wrist happened to be delivered between his five fingers.

Qingluo's expression changed slightly. Her wrist twisted sharply as she tried to break free, but Li Hanche's five fingers locked onto her like iron pincers.

She made an immediate decision, turning her other hand from palm to fist and smashing it toward his face, forcing him to let go.

Li Hanche let go.

The instant he released her, his feet suddenly exerted force. His body became so light it was almost out of control, and his entire figure was like a stone shot from a slingshot, slipping under Qingluo's arm and appearing behind her in an instant.

His elbow drove toward her lower back.

If this elbow had landed solidly, Qingluo would at least have had to lie in bed for three days.

He pulled back his strength at the final moment, his elbow point stopping an inch away from her lower back. Then he turned to face Baiwei, who was already attacking.

Baiwei's soft whip turned into a silver net, coming down over his head.

Control-system soul masters' attacks had never been known for strength, but rather entanglement, restriction, and blockade.

This whip-net covered every possible route of evasion in front, behind, to the left, and to the right of him. No matter which direction he dodged, he would be caught.

Li Hanche charged straight into the whip-net.

Baiwei's pupils shrank.

Just as Li Hanche was about to be caught under the net of whips, his body suddenly dropped, and he slid out flat against the ground.

The silver whip-net swept past half an inch above his head, not even touching a single strand of hair.

And while he was still sliding, he had already adjusted his posture. One hand braced against the ground, his waist twisted, and his legs scissored toward Baiwei's ankles.

Baiwei sprang up, avoiding the scissor-lock.

But the instant she leaped, she realized she had made a fatal mistake. The moment she left the ground was precisely the moment she was least able to change direction.

Li Hanche's fist was already waiting where she would land.

Baiwei landed, and what came at her head-on was a fist carrying the sound of tearing wind.

The fist stopped right in front of the tip of her nose, the wind from it lifting the stray hair across her forehead.

The courtyard fell quiet.

Qingluo and Baiwei stood where they were, breathing hard, beads of sweat seeping out on their foreheads.

They looked at the child before them, the shock in their eyes almost spilling over.

He had not used his martial soul the entire time.

He had not used the Dark Nether Ice Soul Spear.

Relying purely on the strength of his physical body, his speed, and his reactions, he had driven two Soul Masters above level twenty into a dead end.

Qingluo lowered her head and glanced at her wrist. Five red marks had been dug out by his fingers.

If he had used three parts more strength, her wrist bones would have broken.

Baiwei touched the tip of her nose, her fingertips trembling.

When that fist had stopped in front of her just now, she had truly felt a suffocating sense of being locked on.

"Young master..."

Qingluo's voice was a little hoarse.

"How... how did you do that just now?"

Li Hanche didn't answer. He walked beneath the corridor, picked up the water jug, tilted his head back, and drank a few mouthfuls.

"Do what?"

He put down the water jug and turned around.

"Your speed and force didn't weaken, but your attack intentions were too obvious. Sister Qingluo looks at the target before she strikes, and Sister Baiwei, before your whip even comes out, the direction of your wrist already gives away where the whip-tip will land."

"If I can see it, I can dodge it."

Qingluo and Baiwei exchanged a look, both seeing the same disbelief in each other's eyes.

A six-year-old child, without having undergone any real combat training, had merely fought them in hand-to-hand practice over these days and comprehended the technique of predicting attacks on his own.

This was not something that could be trained through bitter practice. This was combat instinct, talent, an instinct carved into the bones.

Of course, what they did not know was that Li Hanche's "seeing" and an ordinary person's "seeing" were completely different concepts.

The Mind-Clarity and Nature-Seeing Art tempered his spiritual power day and night without pause, bringing him far beyond the level he should have had at his age, or even in his current realm.

In his world of perception, the instant Qingluo's gaze shifted before she attacked, the subtle change in the angle of Baiwei's turning wrist, all seemed like images slowed down, presented before him frame by frame.

If he could see it, he could dodge it.

Contained within those five words were the accumulations of sitting in meditation on the roof every day, being beaten in the courtyard, and gritting his teeth without making a sound while applying the body-tempering paste.