Han Feng didn't stay in the expensive inns near the market. He found a dilapidated boarding house in the slums of the town, paying three copper coins for a room that smelled of mildew.
He didn't care. It was private.
He barred the door and sat cross-legged on the wooden bed. He placed the Star-Iron Meteorite in front of him.
"Let's see what you really are," Han Feng whispered.
He placed his palm on the cold, jagged surface of the rock.
Devour.
The Akashic Root didn't just drain energy; it could deconstruct matter. Usually, a cultivator would need a massive furnace and weeks of high-temperature flame to melt Star-Iron. Han Feng just needed his hunger.
Silver tendrils erupted from his palm, wrapping around the rock like a spiderweb.
Crack... Hiss...
The rock began to dissolve. It didn't turn into liquid; it turned into particles of purple light that flowed directly into his skin.
[ Rare Mineral Assimilated. ] [ Analyzing Structure... ] [ Option 1: Convert to pure Qi (Estimated gain: Body Refining Level 5). ] [ Option 2: Refine Physique (Bone Forging). ]
Han Feng paused. Level 5 was tempting. It would skip the bottleneck of the Bone Forging stage entirely. But he knew that cultivation built on speed without foundation was fragile.
"Option 2," he commanded. "Refine the bones."
The purple light surged inward, bypassing his muscles and drilling straight into his skeleton.
"Argh!"
Han Feng gritted his teeth, sweat instantly soaking his robes. It felt like someone was scraping his bones with a rusty knife. The Star-Iron essence was replacing the calcium and marrow of his mortal body with stellar metal.
Endure it. If you can't handle this pain, how will you kill the Elders? How will you face the Heavens?
He sat there for four hours, his body trembling, black sludge oozing from his pores—the impurities being forced out of his marrow.
Finally, the pain subsided, replaced by a cool, humming sensation.
Han Feng opened his eyes. The room seemed brighter. He looked at his hand. His skin was pale and smooth, like jade, but underneath, he felt heavy.
He stood up and lightly tapped the wooden bedframe.
Snap.
The thick oak post shattered like dry twig. He hadn't even used Qi. That was just the weight of his hand.
[ Physique Evolution: Star-Steel Bones (Tier 1). ] [ Defense increased by 300%. ] [ Host Weight increased by 50kg. ] [ Current Rank: Body Refining Level 4 (Bone Forging Stage - Peak). ]
He had broken through two levels. He was now at the peak of the 4th Level. In Willow Creek Town, this strength was enough to be a captain of the guards.
"Good," Han Feng murmured, clenching his fists. The air exploded with a sonic boom.
His stomach growled loudly. The evolution had consumed a massive amount of calories. He was starving.
He cleaned the filth off his body with a bucket of water and changed back into his robes. He needed food—meat, specifically.
He left the inn and headed for a nearby tavern known as the Drunken Immortal.
The tavern was rowdy. Mercenaries and hunters were drinking and boasting about their kills. Han Feng found a corner table and ordered three catties of beef and a jug of wine.
As he ate, devouring the meat with frightening speed, the conversation at the next table caught his ear.
"Did you hear? The White Crane Sect is recruiting disciples next week."
"Bah, don't bother. They only want geniuses with Spirit Roots. If you're over 18 or have a trash root, they won't even look at you."
"True, but I heard the reward for the entrance trial is a Spirit Cleansing Fruit."
Han Feng's chopsticks paused.
Spirit Cleansing Fruit?
It was a rare herb that could purify the soul and expand a cultivator's mental energy. For Han Feng, whose "Root" thrived on sensory data, expanding his mental range was crucial. Plus, joining a Sect would give him access to resources, libraries, and—most importantly—high-level cultivators to "spar" with (and consume).
"White Crane Sect," Han Feng thought. It was a mid-tier sect, a vassal of the Azure Empire. Not powerful enough to threaten the High-Cloud Han Clan, but a perfect stepping stone.
Crash!
The tavern doors were kicked open. The room went silent.
A young man in white silk robes walked in, fanning himself with a golden fan. Flanked by four burly bodyguards, he looked around the tavern with a look of utter disgust.
"This place smells like pigsty," the young man announced loudly. "Clear it out. Young Master Wang wants to drink in peace."
The mercenaries grumbled, but no one moved. This was Wang Long, the son of the town's Mayor. He was a 5th Level Body Refiner, and his father was a Foundation Establishment expert.
"Did you hear me?" Wang Long snapped his fan shut. He pointed at the table closest to the window—Han Feng's table.
"You. Beggar in the hat. Get lost. I like that seat."
Han Feng didn't look up. He picked up another piece of beef and put it in his mouth.
The entire tavern held its breath.
Wang Long's face turned red. "Are you deaf?" He signaled one of his bodyguards. "Throw him out through the window."
The bodyguard, a hulking man at the 4th Level, stomped over. He reached out a massive hand to grab Han Feng's shoulder.
"Kid, you chose the wrong day to be deaf."
As the hand descended, Han Feng finally spoke.
"I'm eating."
He didn't stand up. He didn't turn around. He simply raised his left hand, clutching a chopstick.
Thwack.
With a blur of motion, the chopstick pierced through the bodyguard's palm, pinning his hand to the wooden table.
"ARGHHH!" The bodyguard screamed, dropping to his knees.
Han Feng slowly turned his head, his eyes under the bamboo hat glowing with a faint, predatory silver light.
"And I hate being interrupted."