After Wang left, Alan found his back soaked. He knew his breakthrough had alerted him—though Wang wasn't sure yet. Next days, Wang's probes turned insidious: sparring intensity spiked mid-fight to test his reactions; spirit pills arrived, their absorption watched like a hawk; even at a group bath, he mused, "Ancient arts sometimes cause qi and blood to reverse on breakthrough…"
Alan clammed up, unaware Wang had planted an array in his yard to track energy. When he healed with his technique, the array caught that unique qi—tinged with essence and blood. In his alchemy room, Wang watched red light flicker in a water mirror, greed glinting like a blade.
"Ancient body-tempering art…" He stroked his chin, muttering. "That hide booklet holds its secret."
Days later, Wang "invited" Alan to gather herbs in the back mountains. At a secluded spot, he sighed: "Alan, know this? Without the right technique, your constitution'll make your qi and blood burst—kill you." He noted Alan's doubt, adding, "Ancient texts speak of it. Only the incomplete Remaining Sun Manual can save you… but it's long lost."
Alan's pupils shrank. Wang caught it, smile softening: "If you've such luck, give it to me. I'll complete it; we'll cultivate together. One day, we'll rule Clear Void Temple—even the whole cultivation world."
Alan clutched the booklet in his lapel, fingers whitening. Wang's eyes—hunger thinly veiled—made him recall the cave old man, blood oozing from his pipa bones. A chill slithered up his spine.
On a peach-petal morning, Wang brought new pills—their scent laced with faint mesmerizing herb. Alan accepted, then dumped them in the bushes. When he "surrendered" the tattered booklet, he saw Wang's fingers tremble, giddy.
Three days later, the scripture repository burned. Smoke stung Alan's eyes as Wang blocked his path, booklet held high, flanked by enforcers. "It's him!" Wang shrieked, voice like an owl's. "Stole our treasure, tried to burn the evidence!"