Night, thick as ink, quietly draped Mo Yuzhu's bedchamber in a veil of mystery. All around was so still that even the crackle of the candle flame rang clearly.
Mo Yuzhu sat upright on a meditation cushion, her figure graceful. Like a mischievous sprite, the flickering candle flame tugged at her shadow, stretching and shrinking it at will.
She drew a deep breath to calm her excitement, her long, jade-like fingers slowly stroking a wooden box etched with the ravages of time.
The wooden box opened with a creak, revealing an old, yellowed secret manual.
The words "Burning Blood Art" on its cover appeared and vanished in the candlelight, exuding an eerie yet alluring air.
"Is this the continuation of the Burning Blood Art?" Mo Yuzhu's voice trembled slightly despite herself, but determination shone in her dark eyes, as though it could pierce the dense darkness.
"No matter the price, I must break through. Only then can I attain eternal life and become the master of my own destiny."
Then Mo Yuzhu sat cross-legged, devoting her full attention to memorizing the manual.
Once she had committed its contents to memory, she began trying to cultivate.
As she circulated the art, the veins on her forehead bulged slightly, and beads of sweat rolled down her cheeks.
Yet no matter how hard she tried, the spiritual power within her remained like a deathly still, deep pool, without the slightest ripple.
By her third attempt, fine beads of sweat covered her smooth forehead, and her hair was damp.
"Why won't it work..." She bit her red lip hard enough to leave deep marks on it, a trace of barely concealed agitation flashing through her eyes.
Just as she prepared to make another attempt, exceedingly faint footsteps sounded behind her.
With the keen perception honed through years of cultivation, Mo Yuzhu was just about to turn when a fierce palm strike, laden with killing intent, swept toward her faster than thunder allowed one to cover one's ears, striking the back of her neck heavily.
Mo Yuzhu's vision went black, and her consciousness vanished in an instant. Like a kite with its string severed, she collapsed limply.
The person who had struck was none other than Mo Yuzhu's father, Mo Juren.
As he watched his daughter fall, tears instantly filled his eyes. Memories of their time together surged through his mind like a tide.
Back then, Mo Yuzhu had been only a little girl with horn-like pigtails, trailing him all day like a little tail and calling "Daddy" in her babyish voice.
Whenever he was busy, his daughter would tiptoe over, carefully carrying him a cup of hot tea.
When he suffered setbacks and felt despondent, she would reach out her tender little hands and gently encourage him.
And the proud smile she had worn when she first practiced swordplay remained deeply branded on his heart to this day...
"Ah!" Mo Juren suddenly let out a low, agonized cry. Clutching his head in both hands, he shook violently, the anguish on his face deepening as though countless sharp blades were stabbing him.
But soon, his gaze turned cold and resolute, like ice that had not thawed in ten thousand years.
He gritted his teeth, bent down to lift Mo Yuzhu into his arms, and headed outside.
"Don't blame your father for being cruel, Yuzhu."
Tears streamed down Mo Juren's aged face, his voice steeped in boundless grief. "If you must blame something, blame the injustice of heaven's way!"
Inside another secret chamber, dim, flickering candlelight cast wavering shadows from the assorted ornaments hanging on the walls, filling the room with a mysterious, oppressive air.
Mo Juren's face was as pale as paper, and large beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. Enduring the excruciating pain in his abdomen, he slowly placed the Baleful Bead into the wound's ragged, exposed flesh with trembling hands.
Mo Juren slumped onto the icy stone platform, his face paper-white and his lips utterly bloodless.
The flesh of his abdomen lay torn open, and black blood gushed steadily from a horrifying wound.
Large beads of sweat rolled down his deeply furrowed cheeks and dripped onto the stone platform.
Though the pain made his body tremble like a fallen leaf in the wind, he still carefully positioned the faintly glowing Baleful Bead over the wound with shaking hands.
"Fuse! Hurry up and fuse!" Mo Juren roared himself hoarse. His voice echoed through the secret chamber, every syllable brimming with defiance and struggle.
Jing Wen stood quietly to one side with his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze blazing as he watched Mo Juren's every movement.
His brow furrowed slightly as he thought, He's reached this crucial step again. Last time, Mo Juren failed here with success just within reach.
Will he succeed this time?
As though sensing the longing in Mo Juren's heart, the Baleful Bead was no longer as wild and unruly as before.
After struggling briefly at the wound, it slowly sank into Mo Juren's dantian, as though drawn by some mysterious force.
"It worked! The Baleful Bead has taken root!" Unable to contain his wild joy, Mo Juren threw back his head and cried out, his voice filled with the exhilaration of surviving a calamity.
At the same time, astonishing changes took place in his body.
The black tendrils that had covered his face and neck slowly dissipated.
The ravages of age gradually faded from his face. His sagging skin tightened, and his wrinkles slowly disappeared.
Before long, he had regained the appearance of a man in his fifties or sixties. His eyes grew deeper and brighter, shining with the joy of rebirth and a hunger for power.
By now, most of the effects of Yu Zitong's Yin Soul Curse had vanished, and most of Mo Juren's lifespan had been restored along with it.
Watching this, Jing Wen inwardly nodded. At this point, he was fairly certain that transferring the Baleful Bead was closely tied to the degree of blood kinship.
With that thought, Jing Wen swept his long sleeve, and a streak of azure light carried an antique porcelain bottle steadily toward Mo Juren.
"This is a Qi-Blood Pill. Take it and restore your vitality as soon as possible."
Next, Jing Wen flicked a finger against his Storage Bag. An ancient-looking volume flew out, tracing an arc through the air before Mo Juren hurriedly caught it.
"This Compendium of Basic Spells is essential to beginning cultivation. Study it diligently, and do not disappoint me."
Jing Wen's lightning-sharp gaze pierced straight into Mo Juren's eyes. After a pause, he continued, "In a while, I will assign you tasks.
"Only by completing them successfully will you earn further cultivation pills and arts."
Mo Juren received the porcelain bottle and the volume with both hands, then dropped to his knees with a thud. Pressing his forehead to the floor, he said devoutly, "Thank you for nurturing me, Senior. I, Mo Juren, would brave boiling water and raging fire for you, and would not shrink from ten thousand deaths!"
Jing Wen remained indifferent, unmoved by Mo Juren's declaration of loyalty. He merely nodded slightly, then turned and strode toward the secret chamber's exit.
As the heavy stone door slowly closed, Mo Juren was left alone in the chamber, immersed in the joy of rebirth and his hopes for the future.
Before you continue