Han Li slowly stepped out of Shenshou Valley, following the winding path through the mountains, instinctively heading toward the faintly visible, distant peak of Chishui. At this moment, he had no pressing matters to attend to. He had simply made it a habit over the past few days to regularly visit Zhang Tie, merely to watch him strain and grimace while practicing his qigong beneath the waterfall. The "Xiangjia Technique" was no ordinary endeavor—just the first level required such intense suffering, and by the later stages, one would surely have to shed several layers of skin. "I suspect Zhang Tie must now be regretting his choice," Han Li thought as he walked, casually kicking aside fallen leaves and branches with his feet. "In a few more days, he and I will jointly appeal to Doctor Mo, asking for a change of practice—so that Zhang Tie won't have to endure this relentless suffering any longer." Han Li thought this, feeling a sense of exhilaration at being able to help his friends find a way out of their current hardships. He looked up at the trees lining the road. Now, it was late autumn, and all the branches were bare. A thick layer of fallen leaves and dry branches had accumulated on the path, making it soft and uncomfortable to walk on. Suddenly, from a distant mountain peak, he heard faint sounds of weapons clashing, occasionally interrupted by clear cheers. Hearing these sounds, Han Li turned his gaze toward the mountain peak, and his slightly improved mood once again soured. It was the instructors from the Bai Duan Hall, training the new novices in sword and weapon combat. Every time Han Li saw other colleagues gathering together for hands-on combat drills, he felt a pang of unease—himself longing to pick up a real sword or spear and give it his full, vigorous demonstration. Unfortunately, for some reason unknown to him, once formally admitted into Master Mo's discipleship, Master Mo strictly prohibited him from coming into contact with these items and forbade him from studying other martial arts at other instructors, claiming it would hinder his progress in mastering the oral techniques. As a result, Han Li could only watch in envy, occasionally borrowing a few weapons from a few close fellow disciples to practice a few movements and satisfy his thirst for activity. Indeed, what was so special about the oral techniques he had been diligently cultivating? To this day, he hadn't been able to discern any tangible benefits. While all the other disciples who had started together were growing stronger and more skilled, advancing rapidly in their martial arts, Han Li remained stagnant, showing no noticeable improvement. Even Zhang Tie, who had only been practicing the "Xiang Jia Technique" for two months, had become more resilient, better able to withstand blows, and significantly stronger than before. Yet, if it hadn't been for Master Mo taking him in, he might have failed the named disciple examination just two months ago, let alone stayed on the mountain and sent home so much money. Well, if he can't learn anything else, then he won't learn anything at all! While quietly complaining to himself, Han Li was also reassuring himself. Han Li turned his gaze back toward the distance, still murmuring to himself, but his spirit grew more scattered, his eyes unfocused, drifting aimlessly along the sides of the path—he wasn't even sure what he was looking at. Suddenly, Han Li drew in a sharp breath, his expression becoming strange, and then nearly opened his mouth all the way to his ear. By a reflexive movement, he knelt down and pressed his hands firmly onto his right foot's thumb. Then, as the pain intensified, he lay half on the grass. This sudden, intense pain knocked Han Li off his feet—he turned pale, and a piercing ache constantly radiated from his thumb. It seemed as though he had accidentally kicked against a very hard stone buried among the leaves. Han Li pushed himself up, wrapping his arms around his lower legs, instinctively blowing hard through his mouth—through the fabric shoes on his feet—into his injured toes. In his mind, he worried silently whether the injury was severe, whether his big toe would swell with bruising and thus impair his daily walking. It wasn't until after a long while that the pain subsided. He lifted his neck and scanned the leaves scattered around his feet, trying to locate the culprit responsible for this mishap. The leaves scattered across the ground were all of a uniform, dull yellow hue, making it impossible for him to distinguish the stone he was seeking amid the tangled heaps. Han Li furrowed his brow, randomly patting the ground with his hands, then grasping a thicker, longer branch. He held it upright, lifted his heels, and carefully stood up. Unsatisfied, he vigorously dug at the thick layers of leaves with the branch. Ho! A object the size of a clenched fist was lifted out. Han Li examined it closely—the culprit that had caused his honorable injury was a cylindrical item with a slender neck. The surface was covered in soil, now entirely gray, losing all of its original color. Initially, Han Li had thought it was a small porcelain bottle, but upon holding it, he realized it was much heavier than expected—dense and substantial. It must be made of metal. That explained why such a compact object had caused such sharp pain to his feet. Though metal bottles were rare, he now found himself intrigued by this small vessel, momentarily forgetting the discomfort in his feet. She rubbed the mud off the neck of the bottle, revealing its original color—fresh and vibrant green. Delicate, ink-green leaf-like patterns adorned the surface, and at the top, a small, snug lid sealed the bottle tightly. Nothing seemed to be inside, after all. She placed the bottle to her ear and gently shook it, feeling no movement within. Then, she pressed her hand firmly onto the lid and twisted it—without success. Han Li’s curiosity grew stronger, just as she was about to take the next step, when suddenly, intense pain shot up from her feet. Oh no—she had completely forgotten the adverse effects caused by her close contact with this object. With this injury, she would likely be unable to make it to Zhang Tie’s place. She would have to return to her quarters, treat her wound, and then carefully examine this unexpectedly discovered little bottle. Thinking of this, Han Li, unwilling to let others see it and not mind its dirtiness, tucked the bottle into his chest and turned around, walking back slowly with a limp.