Martial Arts: My talent multiplier increased

The seventh night.

As Fang Yuan passed through the shadows of the second alley in the north of the city, the token's pulse malfunctioned.

It doesn't get faster.

It has stopped.

The rhythm of each breath stopped for a moment. The token pressed against his forehead felt like a piece of iron that had been unplugged—cold, lifeless, and without any vibration.

Fang Yuan's feet were rooted to the spot.

The eight-fold standing meditation reduced his breathing rate to four times per minute. His heartbeat was controlled within his chest cavity. The amount of blood and qi leaking from his body surface was reduced to the lowest level he could manage.

He was pressed against the alley wall, blending into a piece of gray mud brick.

The token stopped beating for two breaths.

The third breath—

The pulse is back.

It's not a single breath or a single jump.

It is seven jumps in one breath.

A frenzied frequency. The token vibrated against Fang Yuan's forehead, making his skin tingle. The pulse was no longer pointing towards the northwest of the city, no longer towards the abandoned mill, no longer towards any of the strongholds he had ever tracked.

Due north.

Twenty feet away.

The other end of this alley.

Fang Yuan's doubled divine soul perception network crashed into a wall in that direction.

It is not a physical wall.

It is the wall of Qi and blood.

Concentration—the instant Fang Yuan's sensory network touched the edge of that qi and blood fluctuation, the entire network felt as if it had been filled with boiling oil. The information transmitted back from that direction by the point of contact of his divine soul perception was not "cold," not the chilling coldness emanating from those evil cultivators before.

It's hot.

Scalding hot, thick, and sticky.

It's like sticking your hand into a pot of boiling blood.

Fang Yuan's brain completed a judgment within 0.3 breaths.

This concentration is not at the Bone Refining Realm.

It's not the Refining Realm.

Not at the Marrow Refining Realm.

Qi and Blood Realm.

Qi and blood transform into mist, at least.

The highest level of cultivation Fang Yuan had ever sensed up close in this life—and two lives—was Xiao Zhennan's. Early stage of the Qi and Blood Transformation Realm. That day in the City Lord's Mansion, Xiao Zhennan's qi and blood fluctuations felt to Fang Yuan like "a deep pool of water." Deep, yet calm. With a solid foundation.

The fluctuation of qi and blood before my eyes has no bottom.

It wasn't deep water. It was the crater of an active volcano. The surface appeared to be covered by a thin shell, but what was churning beneath—Fang Yuan's perception network only touched the edge before being scorched and retracted.

It is stronger than Xiao Zhennan's.

Much thicker.

Fang Yuan's back was pressed against the wall. The Eightfold Stance Technique had locked every muscle on both sides of his spine. It wasn't tension. It was control. When a person faces a threat that is absolutely beyond their ability to cope, instinct will urge the body to do two things—run, or fight.

Fang Yuan did none of them.

He pressed himself against the wall, remaining motionless.

The fluctuations in Qi and blood paused for three breaths at the other end of the alley.

Three breaths.

Fang Yuan's doubled comprehension allowed him to decipher a piece of information within those three breaths—the other party had stopped for a full three breaths. Not just passing by. Not just passing through. They had stopped.

It stopped at the edge of Fang Yuan's perception range.

Twenty zhang (approximately 33 meters).

Fang Yuan's spiritual perception range was twenty-five zhang. The fact that the opponent stopped at twenty zhang was not a coincidence. It was distance control accurate to the zhang.

The other person knew that someone was sensing him.

The other party knows the range of the perceiver.

The other party deliberately stopped within the perception range.

Three breaths later, the fluctuations in Qi and blood disappeared.

It wasn't moved away. It's been brought together.

The scorching crater suddenly vanished into nothingness. The direction on the sensing network was empty, as clean as if it had been wiped clean with a rag.

Fang Yuan did not move.

He waited another thirty breaths.

The alley was so quiet that you could hear the watchman's clapper from the distant city wall. One strike. Two strikes. The third watch.

There was no second fluctuation.

Fang Yuan removed the token from his forehead. The token's pulse returned to a beat per breath. The frequency stabilized. Direction—back to the northwest of the city.

The other person left.

Fang Yuan gripped the token tightly. His fingertips traced the gray-white patterns of the bat totem. There was a thin layer of dampness on the token's surface—not from the token itself, but from his fingertips.

The Eightfold Stance Exercise controlled breathing, heartbeat, muscles, and blood and qi on the body surface.

But I can't control my sweat glands.

Fang Yuan glanced at his fingertips. They were wet.

He rubbed his fingers on his short brown shirt twice.

The mental calculations kept going.

Three breaths. The other party paused for three breaths. No more, no less.

If the opponent wants to kill him—three breaths are enough. A Qi and Blood Realm cultivator fighting a late-stage Bone Refining Realm cultivator doesn't need three breaths. One breath is enough.

The other party did not make a move.

It's not that I can't. It's that I don't want to.

The reason I didn't want to—Fang Yuan's twice the comprehension led to four possibilities.

First, a test. To see who the person who hunted down five cultists in a row was, what level of cultivation they were, and whether it was worth taking action personally.

Second, deterrence. It tells the hunter: You've disturbed the beehive. The queen bee is here.

Third, provoke them. Incite Fang Yuan to lose his temper. Chase after him. Then, close in on the terrain he has chosen.

Fourth, marking.

Fang Yuan's finger stopped on the token.

mark.

Did the other party do something to him in those three breaths?

Fang Yuan's spiritual perception immediately scanned back on himself. From head to toe, he scanned every meridian, every acupoint, the flow rate and temperature of qi and blood.

Clean.

No exception.

With four times the strength of his physical constitution, his blood and qi foundation was like an iron plate, instantly repelling any external intrusion. Fang Yuan's scanning precision, now at twice the level of his divine soul, was already able to detect blood and qi abnormalities as thin as a hair.

There was nothing there.

Fang Yuan breathed a sigh of relief. But only a half-sigh.

He wasn't sure if twice the spiritual perception would be enough to detect the traces left by Qi and Blood Realm techniques.

The difference in dimensionality is there for all to see.

Fang Yuan retreated along the shadow of the alley wall. The route wasn't the way he came. He circled three alleys, passed through two walls, and climbed over the ruins of collapsed houses.

The entire route was not a straight line.

They did not stop for more than five breaths on any section of the road.

-

A first-class courtyard.

As Fang Yuan climbed over the back wall and landed, Tie Meng emerged from the shadow of the pillars.

Fang Yuan ignored him and walked straight to the main house.

Push open the door to Fang Ying's room.

Fang Ying curled up in bed. Her two little pigtails were loose, and her hair was spread out on the pillow. Her mouth was slightly open, and her breathing was even.

Fang Lin sat on a stool by the bed, dozing against the wall. He held a short dagger tightly in his hand, his knuckles turning blue.

Fang Yuan stood at the door for three breaths.

close the door.

He walked up to Tie Meng.

"Tomorrow morning, you will take Fang Ying and Fang Lin to move into the inner courtyard of the Fang family's main residence."

Tie Meng's eyebrows furrowed.

"I'll go find Fang Yuanshan to arrange guards. At least two late-stage Bone Refining Realm cultivators. They'll be by my side for twenty-four hours a day."

Tie Meng's lips moved slightly. "What happened?"

Fang Yuan did not answer directly.

He walked to the water vat. He scooped up a ladleful of water. He didn't drink it. He stood there for a couple of breaths, holding the ladle. The water rippled in the moonlight—his hand was steady, but the water still rippled.

Fang Yuan splashed the water.

"Someone I can't beat has come."

Tie Meng's fingers stopped on the iron arm guard.

Fang Yuan said, "I can't beat them."

Tie Meng had been following Fang Yuan for so long, and this was the first time he had ever heard those three words from Fang Yuan's mouth.

This wasn't when we were facing a group of fifth-tier beasts in the Beast Cave. It wasn't when we were facing Fang Teng and the direct descendants of the Fang family. It wasn't when we went alone to the underground passage a few days ago to hunt down a mid-stage Bone Refining Realm evil cultivator.

Fang Yuan never said "I can't beat them" during those times.

He said "take action," "continue tonight," and "go alone."

Now he says he can't beat them.

Tie Meng's Adam's apple bobbed. He had been a mercenary for twenty years. Anyone who had survived those twenty years understood one thing—when someone much stronger than you tells you they can't beat something, you shouldn't ask how strong that thing is.

What you should do is shut up and do as he says.

"First thing tomorrow morning," Tie Meng said.