Chapter 26: Top-Tier Body Cultivation

A letter from the Sword Pavilion? Li Hao felt a flicker of surprise in his heart. Instantly, the image of that little girl who used to cry at the slightest thing came to mind.

It had been months since she’d left for the Sword Pavilion. He couldn’t help but wonder—how was she doing? Had she adjusted to life there? Was she sleeping well?

He broke the seal and began reading.

The handwriting was delicate yet awkward—clearly written by the girl herself. She greeted him with a simple “I’m safe,” and then added, “I miss you.”

Perhaps it was the first time she’d ever written a letter, for the paper was densely filled with words. Every detail of her life at the Sword Pavilion was recorded: her拜师 (formal initiation), joining the sect, daily cultivation, studying sword manuals, even the smallest routines—each meticulously described, one word at a time.

Though the content was mundane, the emotions beneath were unmistakable.

At the end, as if finally realizing there was no more space left on the page, she wrote earnestly: “I’ll train hard. I’ll hurry up and come back. Please wait for me, Li Hao.”

Li Hao read it through quietly. Then, gently folding the letter back into its original form, he slid it back into the envelope and tucked it into the brocade chest at his side.

Beside him, Li Moxiu turned to Li Fu and asked, “What’s the situation with the Sword Pavilion?”

Clearly, this old man—either endlessly fishing or holed up in the Pavilion of Listening to Rain—had no clue about what was going on in the younger generation. Only because Li Hao’s revelation of the Warrior’s Wasteland Constitution had caused such a stir throughout the estate—sparking endless gossip—had he even heard about it.

Now that he understood the truth, the first thing Li Moxiu did was visibly relax. His expression said it all: Ah, so it’s not that Hao has Sword Dao talent after all. I nearly thought the Sword Saint was going to take him in for cultivation.

He didn’t care much about Li Hao’s cultivation path, but if the boy truly possessed extraordinary talent, he wouldn’t stand in the way.

Then, Li Moxiu let out a cold snort, his face darkening.

“Jian Wudao’s old fool! Relying on his senior rank, bullying Jian Lan into silence! Ninth-Rank Combat Body? Sword Dao prodigy? Any major sect would fight over him! And yet, he acts like he’s doing us a favor—giving a tattered Body Refining Secret Manual as payment? I’ll go straight to the Sword Pavilion and give him a piece of my mind!”

Li Fu stood frozen, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He dared not speak.

To be accepted into the Sword Saint’s sect was enough to make anyone dream of it at night. Who in their right mind would dare bargain?

“Second Uncle,” Li Fu quickly changed the subject, eager to shift the mood. “How was your fishing today? You must’ve had a great catch!”

He knew the old man loved praise for his fishing skills. The once stern, iron-faced warrior of the military now wore a grinning, almost awkwardly servile smile—so forced it was almost painful.

Trying to flatter without knowing how? That was worse than silence.

Li Moxiu glanced at him with a dry look, then turned to Li Hao.

“See, Hao? This is why our fishing tradition matters. You must make sure people see your catch. Otherwise, someone might think you came back empty-handed—like an Air Force.”

You could just go home. Who’d even know you’d been fishing? And even if they did, who cares? Li Hao thought, silently mocking.

“Come on,” Li Moxiu said, not waiting for a reply, and led Li Hao into the Pavilion of Listening to Rain.

Li Fu hesitated, standing frozen in place. But just as Li Moxiu stepped through the doorway, he paused—without turning back—and said:

“Little Fu… you don’t need to worry about Hao’s cultivation anymore. He does have Body Cultivation talent. I’ll teach him while I’m fishing.”

With that, he vanished into the shifting light within.

Li Fu stared, stunned. His tangled emotions suddenly cleared like a heavy stone falling into still water. A wave of relief washed over him.

He quickly bowed deeply. “Thank you, Second Uncle.”

Inwardly, he felt nothing but joy and excitement for Li Hao.

If the Second Uncle himself were to teach him—well, that was far better than any other instruction. After all, this man was no less formidable than the Sword Saint himself.

…

Though Li Moxiu looked like a carefree old man, he was known for keeping his promises—something deeply rooted in the family’s military heritage.

Inside the pavilion, Li Moxiu gathered firewood and built a small stove on the terrace. As he began gutting the Fish Spirit he’d caught, he casually said, “If you ever have questions about your cultivation, just ask. I’ll help you sort them out.”

Li Hao shook his head slightly. “Not yet.”

“Not yet?” Li Moxiu raised an eyebrow, his tone sharp. “You mean you haven’t hit a bottleneck? Hmph. This Body Cultivation Technique is extremely rigorous. That you can even understand it is already impressive. Forget it—just perform the form for me. Let me see.”

Li Hao wanted to say it wasn’t necessary, but seeing the genuine intent in the old man’s eyes, he decided not to disappoint him. He took a deep breath, assumed the stance, and executed the form flawlessly.

Li Moxiu had expected to offer corrections—but found none. He studied the boy closely, surprised.

Self-taught, and already at this level? This kid has extraordinary insight!

“Not bad,” Li Moxiu said. “Your cultivation must be at the Tenth Level of the Tongli Stage by now, right?”

He hadn’t even sensed Li Hao’s aura, but reaching the Second Level of the Dragon Body meant his cultivation had already reached the peak of the First Realm.

Moreover, unlike ordinary Strength Consolidation Stage practitioners, Body Cultivation enhanced the physical form far more—giving him a slight edge even at the same realm. Of course, this advantage was most pronounced in the early stages.

But later on?

There was no “later” for Body Cultivation.

As people said, it was the hard path.

Normal cultivation was already grueling enough. To be called the “hard path” meant Body Cultivation was unimaginably painful.

Few could endure it to the end. Even those with iron wills often failed—dying from depleted lifespan before breakthroughs came.

“Mm,” Li Hao nodded.

“Eight years old, and already at the Strength Consolidation Stage Peak? That’s fast enough to keep up with the elite geniuses,” Li Moxiu said. “Now comes the Circulation Realm—where power accumulates into Qi, and Qi flows through the meridians. There are two ways to break through: one is to enter the Hundred-Drake Body and force your way through using raw physical strength. The Hundred-Drake Body contains a Circulation Technique within it. When perfected, it can enable you to complete one circuit with a hundred circulations.”

“Precisely because of this, this technique is kept on the sixth floor.”

Seeing Li Hao sit cross-legged and listening intently, Li Moxiu continued, his tone more detailed now:

“The Circulation Realm has ten levels, but the gap between each is massive. In the Strength Integration Realm, differences are narrowed by powerful techniques and awakened Divine Blood. But in the Circulation Realm, it’s the quality of the Circulation Technique that separates geniuses from the ordinary.”

“Ordinary martial practitioners without connections usually train in low-grade methods—about ten full circuits per cycle.”

“Mid-to-high grade techniques? Up to thirty-six circuits.”

“Top-tier methods? Seventy-two circuits per cycle.”

He looked at Li Hao.

“And the ultimate? One Circuit, Hundred Circulations! That’s the essence contained in the Thousand Dragon Sacred Body—regardless of Body Cultivation, it’s still a supreme Circulation Technique.”

“Ah… I see,” Li Hao murmured.

He’d read about the Circulation Realm before. If one circuit equaled one’s natural power, ten meant tenfold. A hundred meant a hundred times. That was the difference.

And as the levels advanced, each new meridian opened, compounding the gap. By the tenth level, the difference between an ordinary technique and a supreme one was like heaven and earth.

In great sects, noble families, and genius cultivators—thanks to all these advantages—top-tier practitioners in the Circulation Realm usually achieved at least seventy-two circuits, even if not a full hundred. They could easily overwhelm ordinary cultivators.

“A supreme Circulation Technique is nearly a sect’s treasure—usually reserved for disciples or the closest successors.”

“In the Pavilion of Listening to Rain, we have three such techniques. The Hundred Serpents Chapter of the Thousand Dragon Sacred Body is one of them.”

“But even so,” Li Moxiu added, “in my Divine General’s Residence, we pass it down only through the bloodline—never to collateral branches. To prevent the Heavenly Pole from being overturned, and chaos from spreading.”

“Cultivation isn’t just about strength—it’s about survival. Some don’t seek the strongest, but the best—not just to surpass others, but to crush them. When you can’t rise above, breaking others is easier. And sometimes, it’s more effective than grinding through levels yourself.”

“That’s why top sects guard their ultimate techniques so fiercely. If they’re leaked, the one who obtains them may be killed on the spot.”

Li Hao frowned. “But isn’t cultivation meant to slay Spirit Beasts?”

Li Moxiu paused, glancing at him with a faint, mocking smirk.

“Slaying Spirit Beasts? That’s only for a few—like our Li family, or other elite clans within the Divine General’s Residence. Most people live in peaceful, safe lands—Demons and Monsters banned from entry. How many real chances do they have to fight Spirit Beasts? And even if they did—how many would dare?”

“Have you ever seen a common hunter risk their life for a tiger or bear with no reward?”

“My Emperor Yu is a golden age. In such times, people crave fame. Slaying Spirit Beasts? That’s for fame. Dueling? For fame. Founding a sect? Also for fame!”

“For fame and fortune, countless people rush forward—die without regret.”

“Who doesn’t dream of being remembered for a thousand years after death? Of entering the Martial Temple, having their Golden Statue erected, and being worshipped with endless incense?”

His voice rose slightly—tense, not with longing, but with something deeper. A suppressed fury.

Li Hao shook his head slowly.

“I don’t want that.”

“If I could choose… I just want to keep living.”

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end