Since he knew Han Li had injured himself, Zhang Tie personally carried the meals to his room, intending to sit with him and eat together. Seeing Zhang Tie clumsily moving furniture around his room—first setting chairs, then rearranging tables—busy all day long until everything was finally ready, Han Li couldn’t help but feel a quiet sense of amusement, yet more deeply touched. Once seated at the table, they began chatting about everyday matters, while steadily filling their mouths with food, occasionally exchanging insights on their respective martial arts practices. Whenever Han Li mentioned Zhang Tie’s “Xiang Jia Power,” Zhang Tie grew increasingly frustrated, flipping his eyes in exasperation. At present, Zhang Tie found himself deeply intimidated by the “Xiang Jia Power.” Though he had only reached the first level of its practice, he had been relentlessly tormented by Doctor Mo. He was required to regularly soak in unpleasant herbal infusions at fixed times and places, and also endured frequent blows from Doctor Mo’s wooden staff, which was said to refine his bones and sinews. These harsh training methods had left him unable to sleep soundly at night for a period of time. His body was swollen all over, and even the slightest touch from the wooden bed would send him gritting his teeth in pain. For him, it truly had been a nightmare. As for the unnamed technique he himself practiced, Zhang Tie deeply admired it from the inside out. He found it simply wonderful that each day he only needed to sit in meditation like a monk, reciting scriptures—something that, when heard by Han Li, only left him speechless. Han Li could fully understand Zhang Tie's fear of the later stages of the "Xiang Jia" technique. Who could possibly remain calm when they knew that the suffering ahead would be several times more intense than what he had already endured? Zhang Tie's perseverance to this point, without giving up, deeply inspired Han Li. If it were Han Li himself, he would certainly never have agreed to train such a self-sacrificing style of martial arts—no matter how quickly it could elevate him to the rank of a first-class master. By the time they had finished talking, dinner was nearly done. Zhang Tie quickly cleared the dishes and then rose to say goodbye. Before he left, he was reminded to rest early and recover from his foot injury. Han Li stood at the door, watched him go, and then hurried back into the room, closing the doors and windows tightly—leaving only the ventilating window open. Only then did he pull out the bottle from his bag and begin to study it again. As a child of only about ten or twelve, Han Li grew restless after a while, finding no clear direction. With his foot still sore and his spirits somewhat weary, he gradually leaned against the bedside, holding the bottle, and fell asleep without realizing it. It wasn’t clear how long it had been before Han Li, who was deeply asleep, suddenly felt a cool sensation coming from one of his hands. He jolted awake, shivering, and with great effort opened his heavy, leaden eyelids, gazing drowsily at the hand that was bothering him. Suddenly, he sat up instantly, his mouth wide open, with a stream of water dripping from the corner of his lips—so absorbed was he that he didn't even notice. He had no more sleepiness, completely stunned by what he saw before him. A visible, silvery glow poured down through the single open skylight in the room, gathering around the bottle he was holding, forming tiny, rice-grain-sized luminous spots that surrounded the entire vessel in a thin, delicate layer of white light. The light was soft and gentle, neither bright nor dazzling, and a cool sensation radiated from this subtle glow. Han Li took a deep, refreshing swallow of the now-cold water, only then becoming fully aware of his surroundings. Startled by the warmth of the light, he flung the bottle aside, rolling and scrambling to safety on the other side. After carefully observing for a while and confirming that there was no immediate danger, he cautiously approached once more. Amid the pool of white light, the bottle appeared especially beautiful and alluring, with a touch of mystery. Han Li hesitated, gently tapping the bottle with his fingers. Seeing no response, he carefully picked it up once more and placed it back on the table, then lay down nearby, eagerly observing this unprecedented spectacle. He kept his eyes fixed on the bottle, intently watching the white light for over a minute, until he finally uncovered a few secrets. The bottle was continuously drawing in the floating white dots drifting nearby—not merely absorbing them, but the dots were actively pushing themselves into the bottle, one after another, as if alive. Han Li felt curious and lightly touched one of the dots with his fingertip. It felt cool—nothing else stood out. Then he looked up. One after another, threads of white light continued to fall from the skylight, showing no sign of stopping. Han Li glanced around at the sealed doors and windows, then up at the open skylight. He suddenly had an idea, gently pushed open the door, and peered out. Fortunately, it was now deep night, and outside, apart from a few rustling sounds of autumn insects, everything was quiet and still—no one in sight. Han Li pulled his head back, turned around, grasped the small bottle firmly, and slammed it into the leather satchel before quickly rushing out. He kept running until he reached a quiet, open spot, deserted and untouched, then stopped. He scanned the surroundings with his eyes, confirming that indeed no one else was there, and then carefully retrieved the bottle once more, placing it gently on the ground. The glowing points that had vanished when the bottle was placed into the satchel were now gone. Yet Han Li was not concerned. Indeed, after a short while, streams of light, far more numerous than those inside the room, gathered from all around. Then, countless white light spots densely floated around the small bottle, forming a massive luminous sphere the size of a basin.