Once poisoned by the "Woven Silk Fragrance," the toxin gradually spreads throughout the body via the bloodstream. In the short term, a common household member affected by this poison fares relatively well, with no serious danger. However, for martial artists, the threat is often fatal. During this period, the afflicted person must refrain from activating their internal breath energy (zhenqi), otherwise the toxin will accelerate, causing the blood to reverse flow throughout the body and resulting in intense suffering. As the duration of poisoning lengthens and the toxin penetrates deeper into the body, complications become more severe. Even after regaining control over their internal breath energy, the patient must take a daily dose of antidote to suppress the toxin; otherwise, gradual changes will begin to occur in the bones, leading to progressive atrophy throughout the body until the person shrinks into a mass of mud, unable to move or rise. What is even more daunting is that, since the toxin infiltrates the very marrow, it cannot be completely eradicated. Only through prolonged, consistent administration of targeted medications can the toxin be kept in check, preventing its symptoms from manifesting. Thus, the poison remains as an enduring, unyielding companion—like a delicate, unbroken thread of emotion—accompany The ingredients used to prepare this poison varied widely, with many being interchangeable; though the overall effects remained the same, the specific nature of the toxicity changed unpredictably depending on the person preparing it—becoming strange and elusive. The antidotes, naturally, also differed, and only the one who originally created the poison could effectively counteract it. Others, even if they knew the method of preparing the "Woven Fragrant Thread," found themselves helpless to formulate an effective antidote. Thus, the lives of those poisoned were entirely in the hands of the person who had administered the poison—subject to their will, with no room for resistance. Dr. Mo reviewed his memories of the "Woven Fragrant Thread" and, in his mind, now fully understood why Han Li remained calm and confident. He gave a quiet, inward chuckle, maintaining his composed expression, and spoke calmly: "This is your final move, isn't it?" "Boy, if you have no other plans, then simply surrender and wait." Han Li's heart suddenly sank. Seeing Master Mo's composed expression, unbothered by his threat, he realized he must have overlooked something crucial. He could clearly see that Master Mo genuinely did not regard the poison as a serious matter—despite being under the effects of the "Chuanxiang Silk" toxin, he showed no signs of discomfort, with not even a single twitch in his nerves. Precisely because of this, Han Li was certain he was now in a completely unfavorable position, with Master Mo seemingly confident enough to secure his capture. When Han Li remained silent and expressionless, Master Mo chuckled, his cunning gaze briefly flashing, then loudly commanded, "Iron Slave, go and seize him!" Upon hearing this, Han Li immediately recalled that since entering the room, he had completely forgotten about one key figure. Without pausing to reflect, he used the tip of his foot to gently push the weapon at his side, and the iron spear automatically jumped into his hands. At that very instant, a massive black silhouette surged forth with a powerful gust of wind from one corner of the room, materializing directly before him with such speed that Han Li had no chance to dodge. Forced to act, he drove his slender spear straight into the black figure's abdomen, hoping to create even a brief moment of resistance to allow himself to retreat and catch his breath. It was indeed unwise to use such a short spear to strike the abdomen, especially given the towering size of his opponent—his weapon was only an inch or so in length, and thus could only reach that area. Suddenly, Han Li felt as though he had collided with some strange, non-human beast. The pressure of the impact sent his wrist flying, dislocating it as if struck by a great tree trunk. His body was then knocked back several steps in succession, and his iron spear, as though it had struck stone, was deflected and flew out of his grasp, vanishing entirely. Han Li was stunned and furious. Just as he had managed to steady himself amid the impact, a sudden darkness fell before him, and a massive figure surged forward. Immediately, sharp pain shot through his shoulders, as two enormous hands clamped firmly onto his scapulae, pressing with such force that he felt as though he were about to be crushed. Despite his desperate struggles, his body remained immobile, as if weighed down by a mountain. In a moment of urgency, he no longer cared about much else and lifted his knee, driving it hard into the vital area between the giant’s legs. "Ow!" Han Li cried out, drenched in cold sweat—his knee, like an egg hitting a stone, shattered upon impact. Yet this action seemed to have angered the giant, who suddenly increased the pressure on his shoulders, driving Han Li to near unconsciousness and causing him to collapse to the ground. "Ease up, Iron Servant. This person still holds great value for me." At the very moment when things looked dire, the voice of Doctor Mo erupted in sharp reprimand. As soon as the words fell, Han Li felt a lightness in his shoulders, and the pain above him significantly eased. A deep breath of relief escaped him; for the first time, he found Doctor Mo's voice truly pleasant to listen to. Yet, amid his relief, the lingering questions that had been troubling him for a long time grew even more pronounced. From the very beginning, Han Li had noticed that whenever critical moments arose, Doctor Mo consistently held back, treating him with care, as though afraid of causing him harm. He certainly did not believe this was mere goodwill or accidental leniency. There must be some hidden, unspoken matter—some reason that made Doctor Mo hesitant, unwilling to fully press his advantage—otherwise, he would not have continued to delay and hesitate throughout their interactions. With this in mind, Han Li resolved to leverage this very point to negotiate with Doctor Mo, and to eventually escape his grasp. Mu Doctor approached him, seemingly reading his thoughts, and for a moment, a mocking expression flashed across his face. He first lightly touched the area of Han Li's chest, where he retrieved a protective breastplate—surprised, for it had blocked his acupuncture points. He merely shook his head slightly, saying nothing, then produced from his sleeve a long, rectangular box made of fine yellow wood. The box was exquisitely crafted, adorned with dragon and phoenix carvings, clearly a rare and precious item seldom seen in ordinary households. Before Han Li's very eyes, Mu Doctor opened the box with solemnity, revealing several identical silver blades inside. These blades were oddly shaped—neither clearly knives nor swords—curved like crescents, with a width and size reminiscent of daggers, yet distinctly unique. When the Doctor from Mo withdrew the silver blade from the box, Han Li realized that the blade was not only unusual in shape but astonishingly thin—thin as a sheet of paper. The cold gleam danced and shimmered across its surface, giving the impression of exceptional sharpness. One could easily imagine it slicing through flesh and blood as effortlessly as cutting through fabric. Even more remarkable was the ghost's head embedded at the end of the handle, its eyes closed. The ghost had a pale complexion, sharp teeth, and two horns rising from its head, looking both fierce and imposing.