Because Han Li knew that his foot was injured, Zhang Tie personally carried the meals to his room and prepared to eat with him. Seeing Zhang Tie’s clumsy movements—first setting chairs, then fumbling with tables—he worked hard for a long time before finally arranging everything so they could sit down to eat. Han Li couldn’t help but smile at his efforts, though what moved him most was the genuine warmth behind them. Once seated at the table, they began chatting about everyday matters while slowly eating their food and occasionally exchanging thoughts on each other’s martial arts practices. When talking about Zhang Tie's "Xiangjia Gong," Han Li found himself growing increasingly exasperated, rolling his eyes in frustration. At present, Zhang Tie is almost terrified of "Xiangjia Gong"—he has only practiced the first level, yet he suffers relentless torment from Doctor Mo. He must regularly soak in foul-smelling medicinal solutions and endure frequent blows with a wooden rod, said to strengthen his bones and muscles. These aggressive training methods have caused him severe discomfort for several weeks. At night, he often cannot fall asleep at all—his body swollen and painful; even the touch of the wooden bed causes him sharp pain, making him grit his teeth constantly. For Zhang Tie, that has truly been a nightmare. In contrast, Zhang Tie is deeply impressed by Han Li’s "nameless formula"—a simple practice involving daily meditation and chanting like a Buddhist monk. To him, it seems effortless and soothing; Han Li simply listens patiently, often at a loss for words when he speaks of it. Zhang Tie's fear of the higher levels of "Xiangjia Gong" is completely understandable. Anyone who has to endure training that grows progressively more intense would likely feel restless and anxious—unable to sleep or eat properly. That Zhang Tie has managed to persevere all this way without giving up deeply inspires Han Li. If it were him, he would surely refuse such self-sacrificing martial arts practice—even if it could transform him into a first-rate master overnight. While they were conversing, dinner was nearly finished. After hastily clearing the dishes, Zhang Tie stood to leave and advised Han Li to rest early so as to recover his foot injury. Standing at the doorway, watching Zhang Tie depart, Han Li hurried back inside, closed the doors and windows tightly—leaving only a single vented window open—and then pulled out the bottle from his satchel, beginning to study it again. Han Li, still only in his early teens, grew restless after some time, feeling no clear direction. Combined with the pain from his injured foot and growing fatigue, he gradually drifted off, leaning against the side of the bed and eventually falling into a deep sleep. It wasn’t long before Han Li, who was deeply asleep and dreaming peacefully, suddenly felt a cool sensation radiating through one of his hands. Han Li jolted awake, lifting his heavy eyelids. He slowly looked down at the hand that seemed to be acting strangely on its own. Then, he instantly sat upright with such suddenness that water dripped from the corner of his mouth—unaware of it. His sleep was completely gone; he was utterly amazed by what he now saw. Visible white light streams poured steadily through the single open window and gathered around the bottle in his hands, forming small rice-sized droplets of light that encircled the entire vessel with a thin layer of gentle luminescence. This white glow was soft and soothing—not glaring or dazzling—and that cool sensation radiated clearly from within this faint, diffused light. Han Li took a deep, icy sip of water before suddenly regaining consciousness. He then instinctively tossed the bottle aside, rolling and stumbling to another part of the room in alarm. After observing carefully for some time, satisfied that there was no immediate danger, he slowly approached again with caution. The bottle now appeared especially beautiful and mysterious, glowing softly within its delicate white radiance. Han Li hesitated, then gently tapped it several times with his fingers. Seeing no response, he took the bottle back up again and placed it carefully on the table, lying down nearby to watch this unprecedented sight in awe. For over a minute, Han Li kept his eyes fixed intently on the glowing bottle without blinking. Finally, he began to grasp a few subtle mysteries. The bottle was continuously drawing in the white light spots drifting nearby—not merely absorbing them, but rather, each spot was actively pushing toward it, as if alive and eager. Han Li felt curious and gently touched one of these specks with his fingertip. It felt cool—nothing else stood out. He then looked up again. A continuous stream of white filaments kept falling steadily from the window, showing no sign of slowing down. Han Li glanced around at the sealed doors and windows, then up at the open window. Suddenly inspired, he gently pushed open a door and peered outside. It was good—the night had grown deep. Only faint sounds of cicadas whispered through the stillness; otherwise, everything was quiet, with no one in sight. With his head tucked back inside, Han Li turned around, grabbed the small bottle tightly, and carefully slipped it into the leather satchel before quickly rushing out. Eventually reaching a quiet, open area far from any others, he came to a stop. Surveying the surroundings carefully, making sure no one else was nearby, he then cautiously removed the bottle once more and gently placed it on the ground. The white light spots that had previously gathered near the bottle had vanished completely after being placed into the satchel. Yet Han Li felt confident—indeed, shortly afterward, a greater number of light filaments began gathering from all directions. Then, countless white dots appeared densely around the small bottle, forming a large luminous circle as wide as a basin.