Han Li slowly walked out of Shen Shou Valley, along the winding path through the mountain, habitually heading toward the faintly visible peak of Chìshuǐ Feng. He didn’t have any urgent matters at present. These days, he had been going to Zhang Tie’s place every day at the same time and place simply to watch how he struggled with his training under the waterfall—his face twisted in pain, his teeth clenched, constantly grunting. This “Xiangjia Power” wasn’t something ordinary people could endure. Just the first level demanded such intense suffering; by the later stages, one would surely have to peel off several layers of skin. “Zhang Tie must now be regretting it,” Han Li thought as he walked, casually kicking leaves and branches lying on the ground with his feet. “The sheer intensity of this Xiangjia Power far exceeds what these young students had imagined.” He imagined that in a few more days, he’d go to Doctor Mo together with Zhang Tie and ask for a change—perhaps to switch to another form of training so as not to suffer through such physical hardship. Han Li felt a sense of pride at being able to help his friend find an escape from the current difficulties. Looking up at the trees along both sides of the path, he noticed that it was now late autumn—the branches were bare, and a thick layer of fallen leaves and dry branches had accumulated on the road. Walking over it was soft and uncomfortable. At this moment, faint sounds of clashing weapons came from a nearby mountain peak—occasionally interrupted by loud cheers. Hearing these sounds, Han Li looked toward that peak again, his mood suddenly worsening. It was the teaching instructors from Bai Duan Hall training new junior disciples in weapon-based combat drills. Every time he saw other fellow students gathering together to practice real blade and spear exercises, a pang of unease stirred within him—himself longed to pick up a real sword or spear and demonstrate with vigor. Yet since formally joining Doctor Mo’s teachings, he had been strictly prohibited from touching such tools, or even learning any other martial arts under the teaching instructors, for fear it might interfere with his progress in practicing the internal technique. Thus, Han Li could only watch enviously, borrowing weapons occasionally from a few close companions to practice briefly and enjoy the thrill of movement. Indeed—what was so special about the internal technique he had been training? To this day, he couldn’t see any real benefit. Other fellow students were growing stronger with each passing day; their skills advancing rapidly. Yet Han Li remained stagnant—no visible progress at all. Even Zhang Tie, who had only practiced Xiangjia Power for two months, now appeared tougher, more resilient, and significantly stronger than before. If not for being admitted into Doctor Mo’s teachings, Han Li himself might have failed the entry examination just two months ago, let alone staying on the mountain to send home a steady stream of money. Well—then, if he can’t learn other arts, why bother? Han Li murmured these thoughts to himself while trying to comfort himself. His gaze shifted back toward the path as his thoughts continued in a stream, yet his spirit grew more scattered. His eyes, dull and unfocused, wandered passively across either side of the road—what he was really looking for, he wasn’t even sure. Suddenly, Han Li drew in a deep breath, his expression turning strange, then almost opened his mouth all the way to his ears. He instinctively bent down, pressing both hands firmly against his right index finger on his foot, then half-laid himself on the grass beside the path. The sharp pain surged suddenly and overpowered him—his face pale, a deep, throbbing ache radiating from his injured toe. It seemed he had accidentally kicked into a particularly hard stone buried beneath the fallen leaves. Bending forward, Han Li wrapped both arms around his shin, instinctively blowing strongly through his mouth into the injured toe while wearing his cloth shoes; at the same time, he worried internally whether the injury was serious—whether blood would pool in the toe and thus hinder his daily movement. After a long while, the pain gradually eased. He lifted his neck, scanning carefully beneath the pile of leaves near where he stood, hoping to locate the culprit behind this sudden ordeal. The scattered leaves around him were all the same dull yellow—a monotonous hue—so it was impossible for him to distinguish what might have caused the injury among them. Frowning, Han Li reached down and randomly patted the ground several times before lifting a thicker, longer branch. Holding it with one hand, he lifted his foot on his heels and carefully stood upright. Then, unwillingly, he used the branch to vigorously dig through the thick layer of leaves. Hm! A round object about the size of a fist was pried out. Han Li examined it closely—the very cause of his impressive injury—was a slender-necked, cylindrical vessel. The surface had been covered in soil and had turned entirely grayish, losing all its original color. Originally, Han Li thought it might be a small ceramic bottle; upon holding it, however, he realized it was much heavier than expected—dense and substantial. Must be made of metal! That explained why such a compact object could cause so intense pain when it struck his foot. Though rare, a metallic vessel of this size was not unheard of. Now Han Li found himself genuinely intrigued by the small bottle, momentarily forgetting about the pain in his toe. He rubbed off some of the soil from the neck area and observed—the original color emerged clearly: vibrant green, beautifully lustrous. Delicate, ink-green leaf patterns adorned its surface, with a small, elegant lid sealed tightly at the top. Was it empty? He gently placed the bottle to his ear and shook it lightly—no sound of movement inside. He then pressed firmly on the cover—trying to twist it open—but found it wouldn’t budge. Han Li’s curiosity grew even stronger. As he contemplated what to do next, suddenly a sharp pain surged from his foot again. Oh no! He had completely forgotten that the object was still in contact with his foot—and now, the consequences of that interaction were clearly unfolding. With this injury, he would surely be unable to visit Zhang Tie—so it was best to return to his quarters, take some healing treatments, and then carefully examine this unexpected little bottle. Thinking about this, Han Li, not wishing for others to see or for the object to appear too dirty, tucked the bottle into his chest and turned around, limping slowly back toward his dwelling.