After settling the dispute with Steward Wang, Mo Fan's hectic life finally entered a brief period of rest.
He dragged his leg—long since healed, yet still forced to fake a limp—step by step back to this slum full of the warmth of everyday life.
The evening glow dyed half the sky crimson, gilding the squat wooden houses of the servants' quarter with a warm, golden edge.
The money pouch in his arms hung heavy, bringing not only material security but a weighty sense of grounded reality.
"Seventh Brother's back!"
Sharp-eyed Er Ya spotted him first.
With a cheer, the pack of half-grown children who'd been playing in the mud in the alley swarmed toward him. Da Hu charged right up, earnestly trying to help support him.
"Brother Mo, I heard you made that fat Wang so angry his face turned green!"
Da Hu's face was full of admiration. "The whole logging camp is talking about it—they say you're the hardest bone this servants' quarter has seen in years!"
"Don't spread nonsense. I just got lucky."
Mo Fan laughed and patted Da Hu's shoulder. The cold aura of a Necromancer was reined in completely at this moment, replaced by something warm—the approachable air of a kind older brother from next door.
Dinner was at Old Lü's place.
For once, there was a plate of stir-fried cured meat on the table—Old Lü had brought it out specially to celebrate Mo Fan's "miraculous survival and the good fortune that must follow."
Yet the atmosphere at the dinner table was somewhat delicate.
Old Lü puffed on his dry pipe, his clouded eyes fixed on Mo Fan through the haze of smoke as the young man shoveled rice into his mouth. Several times he seemed about to speak but stopped himself.
Finally, when Er Ya went to the kitchen to ladle more soup, he couldn't hold back any longer.
"Xiao Qi."
Old Lü tapped his pipe, his voice low. "Lately... hasn't there been a bit too much going on?"
Mo Fan's chopsticks paused mid-motion.
"First you survive a fall off a cliff. Then Steward Wang targets you. Now you've suddenly completed an impossible task and earned Steward Liu's favor..."
Old Lü sighed, deep worry in his gaze. "I watched you grow up, boy. You were honest, slow-witted. But now... I can't quite see through you anymore. Are you hiding something from me?"
Old ginger is spicier than young.
Mo Fan's heart skipped a beat. He knew that despite his best efforts to conceal the changes in himself, there were still too many cracks visible to those who saw him day in and day out.
But his expression remained calm, and he even managed a somewhat simple-minded smile.
"Uncle Lü, what are you thinking?"
Mo Fan set down his bowl and chopsticks, pulled the heavy money pouch from his shirt, and pushed it across to Old Lü.
"I just got lucky. The cliff fall—I got caught on a tree. The chopping wood—I found a trick to it. If you cut along the grain, it takes less effort. As for Steward Liu..."
Mo Fan lowered his voice. "I managed to send him some gifts. You know how it is in this world—without money, you can't take a single step."
"Gifts?"
Old Lü was startled for a moment, then understanding dawned. "I see... I was wondering why you kept heading to the back mountain those days. So you were gathering wild goods."
The explanation was a stretch, but it fit well enough with the survival wisdom of those at the bottom.
"You take this money." Mo Fan pressed the pouch firmly into Old Lü's hands. "Er Ya's still growing, and things need to be smoothed over for A-Song too. I eat alone, and if I keep it, I'll just waste it."
Old Lü refused a few times but eventually accepted, tears welling in his eyes.
Watching the old man's wrinkled face relax with gratitude, Mo Fan felt no real ease in his heart.
Through the window, he watched the children playing outside. This place was his anchor in this cruel world—his only safe zone.
To protect this peace, his unspeakable identity as a Necromancer must never be exposed. The moment it was discovered, this place would instantly become a crematorium for righteous cultivators hunting down evil.
Deep into the night, all was quiet.
Mo Fan returned to his shabby room, bolted the door, and the warmth on his face vanished instantly, replaced by deep exhaustion and gravity.
He sat cross-legged on the bed. Instead of summoning a skeleton, he pulled out the copy of "Azure Cloud Scripture" he'd long since memorized.
"One more try."
He refused to give up.
Though the System had deemed him a waste Spirit Root, though every previous attempt had failed, he still wanted to see if things might change as his Soul Strength grew stronger.
Mo Fan closed his eyes and began guiding the spiritual energy of heaven and earth according to the cultivation method's pathways.
With each breath, the scattered motes of spiritual energy around him were drawn in, slowly seeping into his meridians.
Yet the moment the energy entered his body, it gathered once more at his dantian—only to linger for an instant before dispersing like a burst bubble.
In the end, the spiritual energy remaining within Mo Fan was barely a sliver.
This was what it meant to have a Miscellaneous Spirit Root: utterly incapable of retaining spiritual energy.
There was no path of cultivation for Mo Fan. Worse, forcing the attempt caused backlash through his meridians, and a thread of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.
He wiped away the blood, his eyes dimming slightly.
The matter of aptitude was simply too important. In this world of cultivation, from the moment of birth, people were sorted into ranks.
Whether it was Lu Xiao Qi in his former life, or A-Song who was about to undergo his spirit testing—before their aptitude was measured, they might have been ordinary people.
But the instant a Spirit Root was revealed, the gulf between immortal and mortal was set.
This meant that within the traditional cultivation system, Mo Fan was a complete and utter waste. He couldn't even compare to a common first-level Qi Condensation disciple.
"If I don't solve this problem..."
Mo Fan looked at his own hands. "Any cultivator with half an eye can tell at a glance there's no spiritual energy fluctuation in my body. In their eyes, I'm either a mortal, or... a demon disguised as a human."
In this world, those who were different didn't live long.
He needed a disguise. A legitimate cover that could explain why he was so strong, why he could kill a Spirit Beast with a single punch.
Mo Fan's gaze wandered around the room, finally landing with resignation on the jade slip he'd tossed onto the corner of the table.
"Iron Bone Art (Incomplete)"
That low-grade body cultivation technique he'd mocked as a "suicide manual."
"Body cultivation..."
Mo Fan murmured to himself.
Body cultivators didn't need to gather energy in their dantian or circulate it through their meridians. What they trained was skin, flesh, sinew, and bone. Their goal was to sanctify the physical body—one force to break ten thousand techniques.
If Qi Condensation was the path of the "mage," then body cultivation was the path of the "warrior."
"I have [ Bone Armament ] now. I can strengthen and reshape bones at will. That means the hardest stage of body cultivation—'bone tempering'—isn't a problem for me at all."
Mo Fan's eyes gradually brightened.
"As long as I can endure the pain of 'skin grinding' and 'flesh refining,' and train this body until it's tough as iron... then I'll be a body cultivation genius with divine natural strength!"
"Then, even if I punch someone's head off, people will just say I have 'vigorous Qi and blood'—they won't suspect I'm a Necromancer."
This was the perfect cover.
The process might be agonizing. This incomplete manual might be garbage. But with no better option, this was the only path that would let him walk in the sunlight.
"For those who've stood by me, and for myself..."
Mo Fan took a deep breath, reached out, and seized the jade slip, gripping it tight.