Xiangzi’s heart surged with heat. Without a word, he gripped the bear heart, dripping the golden liquid into the bath.

In a blink, the tub’s pale red rim gleamed with a golden sheen.

Soon, a second and third drop of golden essence seeped out.

By the fourth drop, the once-vibrant heart had turned ashen, as if drained of blood, and the bone shard shrank to the size of a fingernail.

While the water was still warm, Xiangzi plunged his bare body into the tub.

The water wasn’t scalding, yet the moment it touched him, his skin stung as if pricked by needles.

The faint golden liquid burrowed into his pores, pain wracking him so fiercely he trembled, as if an iron sieve ground against his flesh.

Though the water cooled, he felt submerged in magma, his face flushed crimson.

On the verge of collapse, Xiangzi bit his tongue, the metallic tang jolting him back:

The stronger the reaction, the better the effect!

Uncle Jie had said this world’s martial artists were forged through medicines. Clan martial artists, from childhood, tempered their skin and tendons to endure such potency.

With this in mind, Xiangzi struck a stance, his dantian’s qi vortex spinning furiously.

It worked—the piercing pain eased slightly.

He didn’t know how long he soaked.

The golden glow in the tub faded, and the unnatural red on his skin receded.

Slowly, he opened his eyes.

His dark pupils were clear as water, his vision sharper, every detail in the dim lamplight vivid. Had his blood energy enhanced his sight too?

The gash on his shoulder, where flesh had been torn, now sprouted new buds of tissue.

Xiangzi felt a boundless surge of strength.

Probing his dantian, he gasped—

Two wrist-thick pillars of blood energy, entwined like pythons!

He was stunned. Before, he’d had one arm-thick pillar—how’d it become two?

On closer look, these pillars spun faster than before. Combined, they were thirty percent thicker.

His blood energy had grown by a third?

Xiangzi marveled: Just a few drops of demon bone marrow did this? No wonder this world’s martial artists rely on elixirs.

But why two pillars? Strange.

By this world’s rules, before the ninth-rank Bone-Tempering Realm, there were three stages:

Blood Energy Awakening, One Pillar, Full Surge.

Full Surge meant reaching the body’s blood energy limit—breaking the Blood Energy Barrier.

Xiangzi had long broken it, just a bowl of “Bone-Tempering Broth” from ninth-rank.

Could blood energy grow further beyond the barrier?

He pondered but couldn’t figure it out.

Ordinary martial artists’ blood energy was capped by their physical limits.

Even Uncle Jie, stuck at the barrier for over a decade, saw little growth—his body couldn’t hold more without entering ninth-rank.

As Uncle Jie put it, a martial artist’s body was like a bowl, its size dictating how much blood energy it could hold.

Was his bowl just bigger?

Suddenly, Xiangzi’s heart stirred, and he checked his system panel.

[Profession: Martial Artist (Inactive)]

[Activation Conditions: 1. Break Blood Energy Barrier; 2. Bone-Tempering Broth Bath]

“Break Blood Energy Barrier” glowed green; “Bone-Tempering Broth Bath” stayed gray.

Was it the system? Could he keep growing blood energy just by training?

It seemed the only explanation.

Xiangzi flicked a finger at the tub—pop! A hole pierced through.

Though the East Tower’s tub was cheap pine, flimsy at best, piercing it with one finger would’ve dropped Uncle Jie’s jaw.

His blood energy had surged!

With this, facing scarred Luo Er again, he could at least hold his own, maybe even outlast him with sheer vigor!

Grinning, Xiangzi’s face fell as water gushed from the hole, flooding half the room.

He scrambled up, plugging the hole with wood scraps.

With his newfound energy restless, he swept and mopped furiously, finally tidying the room.

His first use of twin pillars… cleaning a room.

Xiangzi eyed the damp floor, half-amused, half-exasperated.

The night deepened, the crescent moon sinking.

Finally done, he slipped into soft bedding, exhaustion overtaking him, and fell into a deep sleep.

In his dreams, he returned to a world with a full moon.

Forty-Nine City’s spring carried the north’s grit.

When winds rose, desert sand swept into the city, choking throats.

So, city folk planted locust trees in their yards—hardy, drought-resistant, their dense leaves blocked sand, and in April, their blossoms scented the air.

At the hour of yin, the crescent moon hung low,

night winds swayed, locust flowers fragrant.

Another hour or so, dawn’s first light would break.

This was when sleep was deepest.

Perfect for killing.

Harmony Rickshaw Yard, East Tower.

Fat Yong, leaning on a staff as tall as himself, slouched at the courtyard gate, eyelids heavy.

Though he was the Clearwind Street deputy chief’s brother, night watch was still his duty.

Master Tang was strict, and after yesterday’s yard trouble, all non-ore-route guards were pulled for shifts.

A faint thunder rumbled in the sky’s depths.

Fat Yong jolted, yawning, glancing at the dark sky.

Rain was coming, the air thick with damp.

Suddenly,

a faint crack sounded,

followed by a tile smashing to the ground.

Fat Yong’s eyes snapped open, scanning the dark rooftop.

A wildcat darted out, vanishing with a whoosh.

“Damn it, even cats mess with me!”

Fat Yong cursed, yawning again, slumping against the wall, eyes drifting shut.

At that moment,

an unremarkable shadow, hunched low, crept along the roof tiles, leaping lightly over Fat Yong to cling to the East Tower’s wall.

Strapped to his side was a short spear.