But Wu Zhu wasn't done yet. Despite Ling Xue giving him a cold shoulder, he clenched his jaw and forced out the words, loud enough to reach only her ears.
"Zheng Xie is a soul cultivator."
In an instant, the world seemed to freeze.
The wind stilled. The pale moonlight dimmed. And the air—once still and calm—turned sharp, like needles prickling at the back of one's neck. A deathly chill slithered across Wu Zhu's spine, drawing involuntary tremors from his limbs.
From inside the cottage, Ling Xue stepped back into view. Her once-tranquil oceanic eyes had become a glacier's edge—emotionless and frigid. The hovering blade that once idled over her shoulder now cut through the silence with a piercing buzz, surging forward like a flash of judgment.
Clang.
Just before the sword's edge met flesh, it halted, frozen mid-air—blade humming with suppressed violence.
Ling Xue's voice followed, softer than a whisper, but layered with icy steel.
"Do you have any proof for what you just said?" Her words carried weight. "Because accusing someone falsely of being a soul cultivator… is punishable by death."
Wu Zhu sucked in a breath, the tip of the sword still close enough to feel its killing intent. But he didn't retreat.
Instead, he firmed his footing, chest rising and falling in sharp, determined gasps. "Yes," he said. "I'm confident he is a soul cultivator."
Ling Xue narrowed her gaze, arms crossing over her chest as her aura quieted—but only slightly.
"Fair enough," she said coldly. "Then explain. What makes you say this? Don't mistake my patience for tolerance."
Internally, though, Ling Xue's thoughts were spiraling.
'Is it… true? Could he really be walking the soul path?'
A flicker of something danced in her heart. Not dread. Not hatred. Something far more dangerous.
Hope.
'If that's the truth… maybe… just maybe... then we aren't that different. Maybe I could... reciprocate him.'
Wu Zhu continued, sensing he was finally gaining ground.
"You likely don't know this, Miss Xue, but Zheng Xie has a private cultivation chamber hidden on the Serene Flora Mountain. A place infamous among certain circles. Soul cultivators are drawn to that mountain like moths to flame. He uses the herbs grown their for cultivation. You know what that means, right?"
Ling Xue didn't move, her posture like a stone sculpture—but inwardly, a shock rippled through her.
'The Serene Flora Mountain…?'
Her family had tried acquiring that territory more than once. The rumors were accurate—it was a natural haven for the soul path, with rare flora known to soothe mental chaos and stabilize soul wounds.
'Even we seek it… but it belongs to the Zheng Clan. No one even dares breathe near it without risk of execution for soul path suspicion.'
Still, her voice did not waver.
"That mountain," she said with growing disdain, "is under the Zheng family's authority. Any cultivator daring to trespass is branded a heretic, hunted, and executed. The Zhengs have no tolerance for soul cultivation, nor its ilk."
She glared down at him, her tone even colder than before. "The herbs grown there may aid the soul, yes—but they are equally useful for tempering the mind, breaking bottlenecks, and cleansing inner demons. You've brought me coincidence, not evidence. Do you have anything else?"
Wu Zhu faltered. He could feel it now. He wasn't convincing her—he was losing her.
'What the hell?! Why's she thinking so damn hard?! Shouldn't she trust me on this? I'm the one trying to save her from that demon!' he screamed in his head.
But then a grin crept onto his face, sly and wicked. He still had one card left.
"There's more," he said, voice steadying. "I don't know exactly why but Zheng Xie captured me. In a shed on the mountain, that's how I came to know about his presence there. And—he extracted my memories using a soul cultivation technique. That proves it, doesn't it?! He used a soul path method! I remember the pain—my mind felt like it was being peeled open!"
For a moment, he stood tall, triumphant. He'd said his piece. There was no way she could ignore that.
But the silence that followed was different.
Ling Xue didn't shout. She didn't lash out.
She simply turned her head ever so slightly, her expression unreadable, eyes brimming with disgust.
Then she spoke.
"A mongrel like you…" she began slowly, venom dripping from every word, "is counted among the top disciples of the Seven Strike Martial Sect? How shameful. I truly pity the sect for harboring filth like you."
Wu Zhu's face went pale. "W-what…? What did I say wrong?"
Her answer came swiftly.
THWACK!
The flat of her sword cracked across his jaw, sending him tumbling back into the dirt like the wretch he looked. Blood welled at the corner of his lips.
Ling Xue glared at him, eyes ablaze with fury.
"Leave," she said, her voice sharp and cutting. "I don't want to see your face again. Not here. Not anywhere near me."
Without another word, she turned, retreating into the cottage. The door slammed behind her like the closing of fate.
Wu Zhu lay on the ground, stunned and bleeding.
Inside, Ling Xue leaned against the wall, her fingers gently pressing to her chest.
'Brother Xie… is that who you really are? No! Definitely not, these filths don't know anything about Brother Xie.'
She tried to shake away the storm brewing in her chest, but it only intensified.
'He's not some demon. I've seen him laugh, struggle, care. He doesn't have extraordinary talent—but I know he's real. Genuine. Even if he's harsh… he wouldn't stoop to the path of soul destruction... unless—unless he had no choice.'
She shook her head, dismissing the thought.
'No. It's foolish to entertain fantasies.'
And yet, a treacherous part of her whispered:
'Maybe if he did… maybe I could love him without shame.'
…
The next morning, Zheng Xie stood at the Zheng family's breeding grounds.
His purpose today was simple, yet excruciating—tempering his body. This was one of the ancient cultivation paths, known to be as painful as it was rewarding.
Body tempering was a unique path that didn't rely on Qi circulation. It was a method purely focused on fortifying the physical body. And because of that, it was a rare path that even forbidden or orthodox cultivators could practice equally—without conflicting with their core techniques.
However, very few actually chose to walk this path.
The reason was obvious.
To strengthen the body, one had to first break it.
True tempering only came from torment—inflicting injuries to such a degree that the body would barely cling to life, and then letting it recover stronger than before. It wasn't a figurative phrase. In this method, bones were broken, skin torn, muscles shredded—and that was just the beginning.
That's why, unless one was desperate… or mad, they wouldn't dare step on this path.
But Zheng Xie walked it anyway.
It wasn't because he was brave. No, not particularly. He'd scream like a child during the process—shrill and loud. Even Yanyue, his youngest sister, who shrieked at the sight of a bug, would seem composed compared to him in those moments.
Yet, despite that, he kept doing it.
Why? Because he'd rather scream in pain during cultivation than scream in terror when caught unprepared in battle.
He knew what kind of life he had been born into. As a son of the prestigious Zheng family, he had inherited enemies along with his surname. From the very day he entered the world, there were people plotting against him, waiting for a moment of weakness.
Weakness… he couldn't afford that.
His fingers grazed the spatial ring on his left hand, worn on the forefinger. That ring stored various pills—body-healing, pain-dulling, and strengthening elixirs. Expensive resources, hoarded over time. With no innate talent to boast of, Zheng Xie had to rely on these to keep up.
He exhaled slowly, muttering under his breath. "I really hope it won't be as painful as last time. My skin's been tempered a lot already… right?"
Of course, he wasn't talking to anyone in particular. Just to himself. Or perhaps to the sliver of sanity clinging within him. Sometimes he doubted if it was still there. But then again, a sane man wouldn't willingly do what he was about to do.
Zheng Xie wandered through the breeding grounds, his steps leisurely yet purposeful. Eventually, he found the spot he'd been looking for—a shallow pond filled with the thick, viscous saliva of the Green Veil Lizard.
This wasn't ordinary fluid. The saliva of this creature was acidic. It dissolved grass on contact and corroded anything organic it touched. However, when it came to human flesh, it behaved differently. Strangely enough, it primarily targeted skin while leaving muscle tissue mostly intact.
It was precisely because of this unusual property that the Green Veil Lizard was so sought-after among body refiners. And Zheng Xie had one brought here specifically due to that.
A reward. Payment for a task completed—a task involving the identification of a soul cultivator.
Of course, the truth was far more twisted.
He had fabricated the whole incident and framed a member of a rival clan to gain credit for exposing a forbidden cultivator. That success allowed him to request the lizard as compensation. And now here it was, its foul-smelling secretion pooled and waiting.
He stared at the acid pond with narrowed eyes.
This was what tempering his body meant.
To destroy every inch of his skin, to burn it off completely and let it regrow tougher, stronger. That was the first stage of body cultivation: the Skin Tempering Realm.
Once completed, his outer shell would be far more durable than any average cultivator's body, capable of taking blows that would cripple others.
He took another breath and began removing his robes.
There was no one else around. Zheng Xie trained in solitude. Not because he didn't want witnesses, but because he didn't want their pity. No one would understand the agony of being talentless in a world that worshipped geniuses.
But he didn't need anyone's understanding.
Another day of agony. Another step toward strength.
Zheng Xie stood at the edge of the bubbling green pool, his expression taut, lips pressed into a firm line. The pond of Green Veil Lizard's acid writhed and frothed like some living beast, hissing faintly as vapor curled upward into the morning air.
The pool was shallow—just enough depth for him to lie down horizontally and allow his entire body to be submerged. But not deep enough for him to stand upright in it.
He stared at the acidic liquid for a long moment, his fingers twitching at his sides. A heavy sigh escaped him.
"This is going to be painful," he muttered.
With practiced precision, he pulled a thick cloth from his storage ring and stuffed it into his mouth, gagging himself. It wasn't to keep him from screaming—he was going to scream either way—but to prevent him from biting off his own tongue during the process.
His next motion was to retrieve a gleaming pill: a Celestial Grade Rejuvenation Pill. He placed it carefully in his mouth, tucking it to the side, not swallowing it yet.
That pill was his lifeline. Once he got out of the pool, his body would be in such a state that even twitching a finger would be impossible. Without the pill to stimulate accelerated regeneration, he'd be lying immobile for hours—if not days. Mostly days.
With everything prepared, he began stripping off his outer garments, folding them neatly and placing them nearby. Once fully undressed, he took one last breath—half defiance, half resignation—then lowered himself onto the surface of the acid.
The moment his skin made contact, agony exploded across every nerve ending.
It was like being set on fire and dipped into molten iron at the same time. He shook uncontrollably, back arching instinctively from the sheer force of the pain, but he did not move away.
Instead, he forced himself down further, lying flat until his entire body was submerged in the churning, corrosive liquid.
His muffled scream tore through the cloth in his mouth.
'AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!'
The sound was distorted, barely audible, but the violence in it was unmistakable.
Even with the cloth gagging him, the pain did not lessen. It was unbearable. Skin peeled, bubbled, and melted almost instantly, and every second spent inside the acid felt like an eternity. Yet Zheng Xie gritted his teeth—figuratively—and endured.
He couldn't lose focus. The pill inside his mouth had to remain in place until the exact moment. He couldn't afford to accidentally swallow it amidst the pain and ruin the entire process.
The agony didn't fade. It didn't relent.
It stayed sharp and savage, gnawing away at every shred of his flesh. It was a slow, grueling process. But the fact that it took longer than the previous session told him something important—his skin was growing more resilient.
He was making progress.
And yet, that small accomplishment only meant one thing—he had to stay submerged longer this time. The pool kept bubbling around him, the acid slowly losing potency as it devoured his skin layer by layer. After what felt like an eternity—though in reality it was nearly four hours—the acid finally settled, its fury spent.
The pool had dissolved completely, absorbed into his now skinned body.
What remained was a man lying motionless on the ground, crimson and raw, his flesh glistening and pulsing faintly with each shallow breath. His entire body looked as though it had been flayed alive.
Zheng Xie didn't wait any longer.
With tremendous effort, he shifted the pill in his mouth and swallowed.
The moment it slid down his throat, the effects kicked in. A warm current surged through his veins, the pain dulling slightly as the pill's restorative properties took hold.
Slowly, ever so slowly, his skin began to regenerate—fresh, pale layers replacing the scorched ruin that had been there moments before.
The Rejuvenation Pill worked fast, far faster than natural healing. Without it, he'd be stuck in that state for days. Comparing that with what he had, it was almost a luxury.
'If I didn't have these pills… I'd rather throw myself into a real lava pit and die than go through this again,' he thought, gritting his teeth as sensation began to return to his limbs.
After half an hour passed, Zheng Xie finally stirred.
He pushed himself up, wincing at the soreness that spread across his body. His new skin was tender, hypersensitive. He moved slowly, wobbly, like a man recovering from an execution that had somehow failed to kill him.
He dressed carefully, each movement calculated and measured, and once fully clothed, he walked away from the breeding grounds without looking back.
The pain had tempered his body. He could feel it. His skin was tougher now, stronger—resistant to cuts, slashes, even light-grade spiritual attacks. He had grown. But did he feel joy? Satisfaction?
No.
Only bitterness.
The pain still echoed in his nerves, and all it left him with was exhaustion and emptiness.
'I should visit the Calm Pill Pavilion.'
A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he turned down the path.
'I'll feel much better when I'm reminded that I have a literal pavilion under my control. Power is still the best medicine.'