My words have become law; I truly have no desire to display my divine power before others.

He knelt down, his hands on the ground, his forehead against the stone, his mouth open, his voice low and hoarse, as if squeezed from the depths of his throat.

"Make a wish... let me recover... let me break through..." His voice was broken and intermittent, each word as if he had used all his strength.

"The price... is two corpses..."

The stone flashed.

A very faint white light emanated from those fine lines, as if something was breathing inside.

The light shone on the face of the thin man in gray, illuminating his pale, sweat-covered face.

He felt a force surging from the stone, running up his arm, to his shoulder, to his chest, and to his abdomen.

He looked down at his abdomen, where the knife wound was healing at a visible speed.

The skin and flesh closed up from both sides towards the middle, the bleeding stopped, a scab formed, the scab fell off, revealing the new, pink skin underneath.

His complexion also began to recover, changing from white to red, and from red to normal.

His breathing and heartbeat stabilized.

He stood up, his back pain was gone, and his legs were no longer weak.

He raised his hand and clenched his fist.

The fist was stronger and heavier than before, as if something had taken root in the bone.

He felt his blood and qi surging within his body, not surging randomly, but circulating rhythmically, in circles, like an endless tide.

He made a breakthrough.

He broke through from the early stage of the Blood Refining Realm to the middle stage.

It wasn't a matter of climbing up step by step, but rather taking a single leap.

A complex expression crossed his face, a mixture of excitement, fear, and a hint of inexplicable greed.

The two corpses on the ground were shriveling.

It felt like something was sucking him away, drawing out the moisture, blood, and bone marrow from his skin and flesh, one by one.

His face changed from round to square, from square to narrow, and from narrow to skin and bones.

His body shrunk into a ball, then into the size of an infant, then into the size of a palm, and finally turned into a wisp of grayish-white smoke, drifting into the stone.

The stone absorbed the wisp of smoke, and the fine lines on its surface twitched a few times before falling silent.

It lay in the soil, looking no different from an ordinary stone.

Ye Qingfeng stood outside the woods, watching all of this.

His gaze fell on the white stone, watching the fine lines, the way those lines moved, and the light emitted when the stone absorbed the corpse.

He looked at him for a while, then looked away and stared at the thin man in gray.

The man was standing in the open space, head down, looking at his hands, his face filled with an uncontrollable, euphoric joy at surviving a disaster.

He was unaware that someone was watching him.

Ye Qingfeng walked in from outside the woods, his footsteps light and silent as he stepped on the fallen leaves.

Moonlight filtered through the gaps in the tree canopy and fell upon him, casting a faint silver glow on his gray-blue Taoist robe.

He walked with his hands behind his back to the edge of the open space, stopped, and looked at the thin man in gray.

The thin man in gray was squatting on the ground, stuffing the white stone into his arms. Although it had lost its effect, this thing might still have other strange properties.

His movements suddenly froze.

He sensed it; it wasn't sound, it wasn't light, it was something indescribable, like a pair of eyes watching him, not from any particular direction.

It is looking from all directions, from above, from below, and from within the skin.

A chill ran down his spine. He suddenly stood up, turned around, and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.

He saw that person.

A young Taoist priest, wearing a gray-blue robe, stood with his hands behind his back at the edge of the open space.

The moonlight shone on his face, and his expression was calm, as if he were looking at a tree, a stone, or something unrelated to himself.

The skinny man in gray felt his heart skip a beat.

He stood in this open space for so long, fought for so long, killed for so long, made a wish, and broke through. When did this person arrive?

How could he not feel anything at all?

"Who are you?" The thin man in gray asked in a tight voice, his hand gripping the sword hilt so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

He didn't draw his sword, but his hand was already trembling.

Ye Qingfeng did not answer.

He looked at the thin man in gray, his gaze moving from his face to his chest, where the white stone was hidden.

He looked at it for a while, then spoke. "What's that in your arms?"

The thin man in gray's expression changed.

He gripped the stone in his arms tighter with one hand and drew his sword with the other.

The sword gleamed with a cold blue light under the moonlight, its tip pointing at Ye Qingfeng's chest.

His eyes were fixed on Ye Qingfeng, but his body was trembling slightly.

It wasn't fear, but an indescribable tension.

He couldn't sense the person's cultivation level, nor could he sense any danger.

This person looks like an ordinary person, an ordinary person without any cultivation.

But how did he suddenly appear here?

How come he didn't make a sound at all?

The thin man in gray was in a daze, but he didn't loosen his grip.

He stared at Ye Qingfeng for a few moments, his eyes darted around, and the corners of his mouth slowly curled up.

If he didn't sense any danger, it meant that the person was weaker than him. Sure enough, having just finished a great battle, he wasn't thinking things through enough and was actually frightened by a weakling.

He has killed many people weaker than him.

The Taoist priest saw him kill, saw him make a vow, and saw him use corpses as offerings.

They cannot be kept.

"Why should I tell you?" His voice was cold, carrying a condescending arrogance that showed he didn't respect anyone.

He gripped his sword tightly and took a step forward. The tip of the sword was a few inches closer to Ye Qingfeng's chest.

"You saw something you shouldn't have seen. In your next life, don't meddle in other people's business."

He brandished his sword.

This sword strike was so fast that ordinary people couldn't even see it.

The sword blade sliced ​​through the air with a sharp whistling sound, heading straight for Ye Qingfeng's throat.

Then the sword went astray.

It wasn't blocked by someone; it tilted to the side on its own.

The blade suddenly curved less than an inch from Ye Qingfeng's throat, grazed over his shoulder, and struck the air.

The skinny man in gray was stunned for a moment, thinking that his hand had slipped.

He sheathed his sword and then slashed with it again.

This sword strike was even more ruthless and precise, aimed straight at Ye Qingfeng's chest.

The blade veered off course less than an inch from his chest, passing under his armpit and missing its mark.

The gray-clad, thin man's expression changed. He swung his sword again and again.

Each sword veered off course just before it was about to strike the person, as if something unseen was pushing it, or as if the sword itself was dodging.

The skinny man in gray started to tremble.

It wasn't nervousness, it was fear.

He had lived for so many years and had never encountered anything like this before.

His sword wouldn't lie, his eyes wouldn't lie, yet the person before him was clearly standing there, clearly without any defense, and his sword just couldn't pierce him.

It's not that I can't hit the target, it's that I dare not hit it.

The sword was afraid—afraid of this person.

Ye Qingfeng watched as he swung his sword seven or eight times, each strike missing its mark, and shook his head.

He didn't look at the thin man in gray again; his gaze fell on the dried bloodstains on the ground, on the spot where the burly man in black had disappeared, and on the turned-up soil.

He raised his right hand and tapped his thumb lightly on the knuckles of his index, middle, and ring fingers a few times.