As the two parties were about to make contact, Han Li slightly twisted the blade in his hand, tilting it only a little—just a subtle change. Yet to the eyes of the Mo physician, this minor adjustment seemed to bring about a complete transformation. The Mo physician felt a sudden brilliance, as if dozens of intense, dazzling beams of white light erupted before him, so powerful and unobstructed that they fully flooded his vision. He silently muttered, "This is bad!" and hurried to step back, quickly closing his eyes. But it was too late—the white light surged into his eyes with such speed that he had no chance to react. Immediately, he felt a warmth spreading across his eyes, followed by a sharp ache, and tears streamed out uncontrollably. Without bothering to wipe them away, he strained to open his eyes and gaze outward, only to find himself surrounded by a dense, white haze—so blurred and indistinct that he could barely make out the outlines of any objects, let alone recognize them clearly. At this moment, he was both startled and furious, deeply regretting that he had, by mere oversight, once again fallen into the opponent's cunning scheme. Nevertheless, as a seasoned practitioner who had traveled the medical world for years, Doctor Mo remained well-equipped with experience in handling various dangers. He continuously retreated backward, steadily increasing the distance between himself and the opponent, hoping to buy himself some time; at the same time, he drew his palms back and kept them constantly waving before him, relying on his invulnerable "Magnetic Silver Hands" to shield his upper body and vital areas. He had already resolved in his mind that, until his vision fully returned, he would refrain from any active attacks—every offensive move would be launched only after he could see clearly, so as not to fall into the opponent's subtle trap once more. Now, Doctor Mo had completely discarded his initial sense of underestimation, and the current confrontation with Han Li was no less perilous than any of his earlier life-or-death battles against his strongest rivals. Though he could not see the opponent's movements, he kept his ears alert and his attention fully focused, listening intently to any subtle shifts in sound in order to discern the next move. He seemed vaguely to see a figure swaying slightly before him, followed by a sharp sound carried on a gust of cold wind rushing directly at him from the front. Far from being alarmed, the Doctor Mu was actually pleased by the attack on Han Li. The assailant's tactics indeed still seemed rather immature. If the opponent had silently slipped in from the side, he might have genuinely been worried. But to advance so boldly and directly—what could be so intimidating? After all, his skill in detecting subtle sounds and movements had long been perfected. Whether it was a straight thrust from a short sword or a delicate embroidery needle, he could hear it clearly. The Doctor Mu heard it attentively, yet deliberately delayed his movements, intentionally leaving a small gap in front of him. Immediately, the sudden assault shifted direction and pierced through that opening, directly heading for his throat. The Magistrate smiled grimly, and at last, after waiting patiently, his right hand suddenly moved, seizing the sword blade with a lightning motion, gripping it firmly and unflinching despite the sharp edge. The opponent clearly sensed trouble, pulling the short sword back sharply several times, but under the Magistrate's firm control, he could not move an inch—only exerting useless effort. The Magistrate felt a growing sense of satisfaction, yet dared not slacken his vigilance, fearing the opponent might awaken and slip away. Though his eyes had not yet fully recovered, he summoned all his strength in one hand, drawing the sword toward himself, aiming to forcibly pull Han Li from across the way and then personally subdue him. Yet he found the sword suddenly light, as though it were weightless. He was astonished—his hand still firmly holding the blade, yet it now felt so light and effortless. Even if Han Li had released the sword, it should not have been so delicate. Master Mo hadn't quite figured out what was happening when suddenly, a sharp, tearing sound erupted from several inches ahead of his throat, as if a slender object were rushing toward him at an extraordinary speed. Even before the object reached him, the rushing airflow caused a slight stinging sensation at his thyroid cartilage. Without pausing to think, his body instinctively reacted, and his head swerved sharply to one side, his neck twisted into an almost impossible angle, as he desperately tried to evade the deadly blow. After years of dedicated training, his deep-rooted foundation finally came into full play. He felt a cool sensation on his neck, and the sharp object skimmed past, grazing only his skin with slight injury, without causing any more serious harm. After dodging this move, Doctor Mo was afraid that the opponent might still have another move up his sleeve. Without pausing to think, he even adopted the same escape maneuver that Han Li had used at the very beginning—toppling to the ground and rolling like a lazy ox—before finally standing up again at a safe distance. Once upright, Mo felt a sharp, scorching pain along his neck. He reached to touch the wound and found his fingers damp—clearly, quite a flow of blood had seeped out. He quickly used two fingers to seal the nearby blood vessels, and managed to stop the bleeding. Only then did he feel a wave of relief, realizing that he had barely escaped that blow, which seemed impossible to avoid. His body’s instinctive performance had somehow miraculously saved him. Thinking of this, Mo looked up at Han Li, and was surprised to find that the world around him had become clearly visible—his vision had returned to normal. Han Li, meanwhile, was glaring at Mo with a look of evident dissatisfaction, clearly not willing to accept that Mo had once again escaped unscathed. He was holding a slender, pointed weapon in his hand, resembling an unusually short cone in form, though the hilt remained the original sword hilt—overall, the appearance was quite odd, with some bloodstains still clinging to it, the very blade that had wounded Doctor Mo. Doctor Mo's expression was cold and filled with fury; he had long since endured the repeated near-fatal encounters and could bear it no longer, ready to erupt when suddenly he realized his right hand was still grasping something. He looked down and saw a blade without a hilt, light and delicate. Upon closer inspection, he suddenly understood: the blade was hollow, and within its hollow cavity lay precisely the sharp cone. The blade itself was merely a decorative casing, designed to conceal the cone from view. At this revelation, the entire surge of his anger was instantly extinguished.