At noon, the sun blazed mercilessly, its intense heat scorching the earth beneath. The ground was a shattered wasteland—ripped, broken, and torn apart. For miles, deep cracks spiderwebbed across the barren soil, as if some colossal force had clawed through the land itself.
Yang Zhai sat submerged within the sacred inheritance ground, immersed in water infused with the rare Sap Water. His eyes closed in deep concentration as the mystical liquid seeped into his veins, coursing through his body like a river of power awakening dormant potential.
After a minute, Yang Zhai stirred deliberately, signaling the Sap Water to withdraw. As he moved slowly, the glowing essence began to flow out from his body, merging back into the ordinary water around him. Once the Sap Water had fully escaped, he rose from the pool. Though the blue lines had fortified his body to endure the strength of over 6,561 bulls, his actual raw strength barely matched that of thirty-three.
To extend his training duration with the Sap Water, Yang Zhai needed not just endurance—both physical and mental—but also strength. The orange lines could grant him strength, but only under the cloak of night. Now, at the peak of noon, he was little more than an empty shell, artificially strengthened but lacking true power.
"As I thought," he murmured, voice calm but resolute. "I need both strength and endurance to push my limits with the Sap Water. No shortcuts." His gaze sharpened. "Well, let's see what's unfolding outside."
He deactivated all the glowing lines coursing through his body.
Having trained with the Brown Dacite and Sap Water, Yang Zhai turned his attention outward. With a flick of his right index finger, the seal ring on his hand activated a small portal—just two feet wide—revealing a glimpse of the outside world. Another flick expanded the portal, enveloping him in a view that stretched in every direction—up, down, left, and right.
Through the shimmering window, Yang Zhai spotted two figures sprinting across the fractured terrain, their eyes darting anxiously.
"Oh, they've arrived already. The Mantora Mountain people must be desperate," he observed with cool detachment.
"What happened here? Why is the land so ravaged? It's torn apart like a battlefield where a powerful being once fought," one cultivator whispered to the other.
"I thought they were just tracking a rank 5 cultivator. How did it come to this?" the second replied, disbelief thick in his voice.
Suddenly, a shout rang out from the forest, "Here! I found it! There's a corpse!"
The two cultivators abandoned their search and rushed toward the voice.
"These people will hate me to the brim for what's come to pass last night," Yang Zhai muttered, his eyes void of any emotion—no fear, no anger, only a cold gaze.
He closed the portal and returned to his training.
Before him lay an amalgamation—a whip, worn and brown, its handle etched with fiery flame patterns. At its tip, a half-moon shape was carved delicately, a silent reminder of past experiences.
"Dar… such a painful tool. I wielded it even in my previous life. The memory still burns fresh," he said softly, shedding his upper garment.
He then summoned the corpse collector, and from it emerged Mah Qi. Though her wounds had been healed by Yang Zhai's hands, her clothes remained stained with dried blood. Her clothes covered her completely except for her head, feet, and hands, as if even after her death, her purity accompanied her.
Yang Zhai tossed the whip to her and commanded, "Assist me with my training."
Mah Qi, bound by the corpse collector's control, moved without hesitation. She gripped the whip and struck him. As she was dead, she had no will of her own left.
The first lash cracked across his back, then the middle of his right arm, and finally his abdomen. Each strike sent a shockwave rippling through his muscles, stretching fibers and igniting searing pain. A glowing mark traced the path of the whip, traveling from his back to his arm and down to his stomach.
His body trembled, a shiver running down his spine as the agony spread.
Mah Qi lashed again. This time the whip struck his right shoulder, then swept across the left side of his abdomen, and finally back to his spine. Another shockwave tore through his muscles, minutely breaking and pulling them apart. A second glowing mark appeared where the whip had landed.
The pain intensified. Gritting his teeth, sweat beaded on his forehead as he endured.
The third strike came, opposite in direction, starting from his left shoulder. The shockwave surged anew—this time more intense, yet paradoxically healing the torn muscles, bringing a fleeting relief.
"Dar's power only manifests fully after three strikes," Yang Zhai muttered quietly. "The first stretches the muscles, the second tears them, and the third heals. Without completing the trio, the pain would linger like relentless cramps."
He paused, breathing heavily.
"But the fourth strike… it unleashes a stronger shockwave and far greater pain. Each subsequent lash, even those healing, grows harsher. The first nine lashes are for rank 2 cultivators, the next nine for rank 3, and so on—up to rank 7. As a rank 5, I must endure thirty-six lashes daily if I want my strength to increase enough to match other rank 6 body cultivators."
He clenched his right fist. "Since I haven't fully trained my muscles yet, even the initial lashes are excruciating but beneficial. Enduring three sets of nine lashes daily will push me forward."
He reflected, "A body's limit defines how much strength it can hold—enough to rival the next rank. If I had reached sufficient power at rank 4, so that I could have challenged even rank 5 cultivators then that strength would have demanded thirty-six lashes daily instead of twenty-seven, even at rank 4."
"Endurance to the whip is not about rank alone, but raw strength. As strength grows, so must the lashes—to continue forging muscle. The cultivators linked the number of strikes needed to the ranks for convenience."
"Right now, my muscles aren't ready to endure thirty-six lashes. Nine strikes is my absolute limit, but aiming for fifteen... that should give me an edge over the others. Since I have been training with Dar for a while, I can now aim for fifteen. I just have to bear the pain, no matter how fierce it gets…"
As a rank 5 cultivator, his muscles had grown steadily stronger with each advancement, yet even then, his body could withstand only thirteen strikes at best. Pushing beyond his limits, he could stretch that endurance to fifteen, but it came at a cost.
After more than a month of relentless training with Dar, his resilience had improved—he could now endure eighteen strikes. Still, this newfound strength demanded a price: to truly recover, he would have to cease training with Dar for two full days, allowing his battered skin to heal properly, even with the aid of his cultivation techniques.
Even when he could endure fifteen strikes, he kept it at eleven. Now that he could endure eighteen, he decided to keep it at fifteen to not damage his skin badly.
"Continue," Yang Zhai commanded, his voice steady.
Without hesitation, Mah Qi obeyed, her hand rising again to deliver lash after lash upon Yang Zhai's back.
The greatest curse of this amalgamation was the searing agony it inflicted on the skin. Each strike branded him with fiery red welts, some bleeding, raw, and merciless. His skin and flesh would continue to suffer damage, accumulating with every blow, threatening to overwhelm him if he failed to heal them meticulously each day. Eventually, the wounds would tear open, leaving scars so deep and permanent that no ordinary healing method—no matter how advanced—could mend them. Not even the perfect stage could erase the brutal toll of a rank 7 amalgamation's wrath.
The flesh wounds would be healed by the Dar itself with each third strike, but not his skin. He would have to heal the skin himself.
"Body cultivating is really a path filled with pain. Every training method, every battle, every experience is filled with pain and agony. No wonder not many cultivators walk this path, and the ones who do, break halfway. Only a few manage to walk this path to the end."
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