Deng Qing's eyes lit up. "Perfect. Enemies on the battlefield won't fight barehanded."
Zhang Yan laughed. "You really do perk up at the sound of battle. All right, wait here."
With that, Zhang Yan left the Underground Refining Chamber to fetch a weapon.
Before long, he returned carrying a longsword. But when he stepped inside, Deng Qing had lost all his earlier vigor.
Deng Qing sat cross-legged on the stone bed, his face pale as paper. His chest rose and fell, and his once-surging aura had withered.
Zhang Yan paused, then understood at once.
"The medicine's worn off," Deng Qing said weakly.
Zhang Yan hurried over to ask how he felt. Deng Qing said it was nothing serious—he was only tired and would recover with a little rest.
"Right," Zhang Yan said. "How long did you last from the moment the medicine took full effect? You did keep count, didn't you?
"I've heard that someone who can keep a Blood-Burning Pill's effects steady can sustain them for over three hundred breaths. Someone in poorer condition might manage only a little over a hundred."
"Almost five hundred breaths."
Deng Qing had indeed kept count. After all, it determined how long he could maintain his fighting strength.
Zhang Yan was startled. He nodded. "Junior Brother, you really are exceptionally gifted. Get some rest. Call if you need anything. I'll send someone to stand guard outside."
As he spoke, Zhang Yan turned to leave.
Deng Qing stopped him. "Senior Brother, I'm fine. I just wasn't prepared today. Let's test our skills with weapons tomorrow."
Seeing the resolve in Deng Qing's eyes and sensing his sincerity, Zhang Yan nodded. "All right, as you wish."
Zhang Yan left the Cultivation Room. Soon afterward, a servant called from outside, "Senior Brother Deng, Senior Brother Zhang sent