Han Li's fingers gently traced the giant's cold, lifeless skin. His mind wandered as he pondered the fate of his old friend Zhang Tie. He pieced together the grim scenario: it was most likely that Mo Dafu, together with Yu Zitong, had captured Zhang Tie, who had barely reached a minor mastery in the "Elephant Armor Technique," and fabricated his disappearance to deceive the people of the Seven Mysterious Sect. Behind closed doors, they had used some dark spell to strip Zhang Tie of his soul and turned his body into this grotesque form—a twisted mockery of the perfected "Elephant Armor" state.
Han Li's suspicions were nearly correct, and the truth wasn't far off from his deductions.
Years ago, Mo Dafu had a sudden, dark inspiration. He had decided to combine the "Elephant Armor Technique" with a corpse-refining method provided by Yu Zitong. His aim was to create a powerful army of obedient, deathless beings who could dominate the mortal world. However, only one such creation had been completed in time—a massive giant who was hidden away in a secret lair beneath the mountains, only brought out when Mo Dafu returned to the mountains.
Yu Zitong, however, had little interest in such incomplete creations, dismissing them as inferior. Compared to the powerful iron-clad corpses that actual immortals could create, these creatures were little more than puppets with no real strength. They were mere foot soldiers, good for impressing common folk but lacking the sophistication and might of true cultivation techniques.
Han Li's mind was occupied with these thoughts as he gazed at the giant, still standing motionless. He realized that this was all so similar to Zhang Tie's story, and the reality of it—his old friend reduced to a soulless shell—was both painful and eerily detached.
For a long time, Han Li's hand remained resting on the giant's face, and his eyes wandered to the shattered stone door. He felt a coldness settle in his chest, but it wasn't sympathy for Zhang Tie's tragic fate that made his heart grow cold—it was his own indifference. He had expected that discovering the fate of his friend would send him into a rage, a deep, visceral anger at Mo Dafu and Yu Zitong. He imagined himself shouting their names with fiery hatred, filled with an overwhelming desire for vengeance.
But in reality, he felt little more than a slight sadness. There was no intense anger or hatred, just a vague sense of detachment, as though Zhang Tie was no longer a friend but a mere stranger—someone who had long since ceased to exist.
Was it because the body before him was no longer Zhang Tie, just an empty vessel without a soul? Or had Han Li's heart turned cold and ruthless over time?
This strange, self-centered indifference frightened him. He was starting to feel like a stranger to himself. When had he become this person, so distant and detached?
Finally snapping out of his reverie, Han Li looked down at the giant, at a loss for what to call it. He thought about what Mo Dafu had written—about the lost soul and the mindless body. He lifted his gaze to the sky and muttered, "Zhang Ge, you must have already reincarnated by now. Your body is no longer of any use, so I'll take it and make use of it for now. I'll be cautious and respectful in how I use it. I hope you won't mind."
He paused for a moment, then smiled bitterly. "Since you no longer have your own soul, I'll call you 'Qu Hun'—the Soul of the Song. May you assist me in the days ahead."
The giant remained motionless, its face still blank, with only an obedient expression showing on its features. Han Li sighed. It seemed the giant had no independent will, no thoughts of its own—only the ability to receive commands.
"I can't believe I'm talking to a soulless body like this," Han Li muttered to himself, shaking his head in self-deprecation. "This is absurd."
With that, Han Li turned and walked toward the stone house. "Qu Hun, follow me," he said casually.
As he walked back, Han Li felt as though he had emerged from a dark fog. His mood was calm, almost serene. He was no longer weighed down by sorrow or confusion. He had clearly transformed into someone far more cold-blooded and rational. Emotions no longer seemed to hold sway over him, and this startling shift would likely affect the path he took as a cultivator—was it a curse or a blessing?
The next several hours were filled with meticulous tasks as Han Li cleaned up the aftermath. He buried Mo Dafu's body beneath a large tree, carefully destroyed every remaining trace of evidence in the stone house, and even had Qu Hun tear the entire building down, reducing it to rubble beyond recognition.
As the sun began to set, Han Li stood before the ruins of the stone house, scanning the area to make sure nothing was left behind. Satisfied, he turned to Qu Hun. "We're done here. Let's go. I have a lot to do tomorrow. It's a shame you can't talk, or else I could have someone to talk to. It'd be a lot more reassuring if I had someone to discuss things with."
The giant followed silently behind, its obedient presence a strange comfort to Han Li. As the last rays of the setting sun stretched out before him, Han Li walked away, his long shadow stretching behind him, talking to the giant as if it were a trusted companion.
Once back at his own dwelling, Han Li entered like a long-lost stranger. His eyes roamed over the familiar furniture, and he absentmindedly spoke to himself, "This day has felt so long. It's as if it's lasted longer than the last ten years of my life combined."
He suddenly collapsed onto his bed, exhausted, both physically and mentally. "But... it's good to be alive," he thought to himself, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips as sleep overtook him.