Yoriichi chuckled softly, the sound barely disturbing the silence.
"Narcissist," he whispered, a small, genuine smile gracing his lips. "But thoughtful."
He realized she must have come while he was in the deepest part of his breakthrough trance. The fact that she didn't wake him, sensing he needed the rest, spoke volumes of her care.
"I will eat when I return," he promised the tray. "Now, I need to burn."
He stepped off the veranda.
He needed space. The courtyard was too exposed. His Selfless State was powerful, but his sensing range was currently limited by his low cultivation base. If an Elder or a patrol passed by, they would see him.
"The back forest," he thought. "Where the hot spring flows. No one goes there at this hour. The shadows are deep there."
He moved.
He didn't walk; he blurred.
He channeled the milky white Dou Qi into his legs, combining it with the footwork of the Breath of the Sun.
Whoosh.
He was a ghost. He vaulted over the courtyard wall, landing silently on the mossy tiles of the walkway. He sprinted toward the rear of the compound.
If a normal guard had seen him, they would have rubbed their eyes in disbelief. A 9th Star Dou Disciple shouldn't be this fast. He moved with a speed that rivaled a Dou Shi, his body cutting through the wind resistance with aerodynamic perfection. This wasn't just raw power; it was the result of eighty years of mastering biomechanics.
Through the Selfless State, the world slowed down.
He saw a leaf falling from a willow tree fifty feet away. He adjusted his path to avoid crushing it. He heard the heartbeat of a sleepy guard patrolling three courtyards over.
Thump-thump.
He felt the shift in air pressure as a night owl took flight.
He was part of the night.
As he passed the deserted training arena, Yoriichi slowed down for a fraction of a second.
A rack of weapons stood near the entrance. Spears, wooden staves, and standard iron swords used for practice.
"I need a conduit," he thought. "My body is ready, but my hands are empty."
He grabbed a standard iron Jian (straight sword) from the rack. It felt light, unbalanced, and dead in his hand compared to a Nichirin blade. It was a cold, lifeless bar of metal. But it would have to suffice.
He continued his run.
He reached the back of the clan estate, passing the bubbling hot spring where he had buried the meat. He didn't stop there. He pushed further, into the dense treeline that marked the border between the Xiao Clan territory and the untamed wilderness of the Magic Beast Mountain foothills.
Here, the trees were tall, their roots twisting like ancient serpents. The moonlight filtered through the canopy in broken beams, creating a mosaic of light and shadow.
Yoriichi stopped in a small clearing surrounded by towering oaks.
"This will do."
He stood still, letting his breathing settle. Inhale. Exhale. The white mist of his breath lingered in the cool air.
He looked at a jagged rock the size of a watermelon resting near the stream. In the memories of Xiao Ning, breaking a rock this size was a benchmark for a high-level disciple.
Yoriichi didn't punch it. He didn't wind up. He simply walked up to it and placed his palm on the rough surface.
"Contract."
He fired a pulse of Dou Qi through his arm, vibrating the energy at high frequency.
CRACK.
The rock didn't just break; it disintegrated. The internal structure failed instantly, the stone crumbling into gravel and dust under his palm.
Yoriichi nodded approvingly, dusting off his hands. "The density of the Qi is good. It penetrates rather than just impacts. I can bypass external armor."
Next, agility.
He looked up. The lowest branch of a massive oak tree was twenty feet up.
He crouched low. The muscles in his legs coiled like springs.
Jump.
He launched himself upward. He didn't just reach the branch; he soared past it. He caught a higher limb, swung effortlessly, and launched himself again. He moved through the canopy like a squirrel, silent and gravity-defying.
He reached the crown of the tallest tree, standing on a branch no thicker than his wrist. It swayed gently in the wind, but Yoriichi stood perfectly still, balanced as if he were part of the wood itself.
He looked out. He could see the entire Xiao Clan compound, the sleeping city of Wu Tan, and the vast, dark expanse of the mountain range beyond. The full moon illuminated his face, reflecting in his calm, red eyes.
For a moment, he stood there, his hand resting on the hilt of the stolen iron sword. He felt a phantom sensation—the memory of another life, another moon, another brother standing beside him.
"Michikatsu..."
He shook his head, physically dispelling the nostalgia. "I am Xiao Ning now. I must focus on the blade."
He dropped from the tree.
He didn't climb down; he stepped off. He plummeted sixty feet, the wind rushing past his ears. Just before impact, he twisted his body, slashing the air to create drag, and landed in a crouch. The landing was silent.
He stood up and walked to the center of the clearing.
He drew the iron sword.
The metal gleamed dully in the moonlight. It was a mass-produced weapon, forged from common iron with no spiritual conductivity. It was brittle, full of impurities.