The first rosy glow of dawn gradually surfaced. The sun hid behind the towering peaks, draping them in a hazy luminescence that slowly infected the pale blue sky, allowing threads of golden morning light to weave themselves across the heavens.

By the time He Yiming returned to the courtyard of the Lingxiao Treasure Hall, the sun was already high in the sky.

Although the resounding shout from Zhuo Shengfeng had thrown the entire Lingxiao Treasure Hall into a state of effervescence, He Yiming returned to his own room as silently as a phantom.

Inside the room at that moment, another He Yiming was practicing the Thirty-Six Forms of Mountain Splitting, executing each movement one by one. From the first form straight through to the twenty-third, he repeated the cycle without pause.

Watching this scene, a strange thought suddenly sprouted in He Yiming’s mind.

This was the first time he had ever stood purely as an observer, watching "himself" practice the Thirty-Six Forms of Mountain Splitting.

This Metal-elemental technique seemed riddled with flaws, as if a mere wave of a hand could completely dismantle the entire form set.

He shook his head slightly and sighed, understanding that this impression arose because the technique was being executed without the coordination of true Metal-elemental Qi. Lacking the cooperation of Zhenqi or internal force, it inevitably appeared flashy and superficial.

But thinking further, He Yiming let out a wry chuckle.

It wasn't just this Metal technique; virtually any combat technique, stripped of its corresponding true Qi, would ultimately devolve into mere posturing.

A combat technique possessing immense power without the use of Zhenqi or internal force—perhaps only Bai Lingba could execute such a feat.

He shook his head and said, “Bai Lingba, I’m back.”

He Yiming, who had been moving as if performing a dance, immediately stopped. A strange ripple passed over his body, and then He Yiming vanished, transforming into Bai Lingba.

The gaze He Yiming directed toward him was filled with envy. If only he possessed such a miraculous ability; it would undoubtedly make many things far more convenient.

But the mere thought of Bai Lingba’s inhuman nature sent a shiver down He Yiming’s spine. That notion instantly sprouted wings and vanished without a trace.

“Brother Bai, was it successful?” He Yiming inquired.

Bai Lingba offered no reply. He merely extended his right hand, twisted off his left wrist, and tossed it to He Yiming.

Catching the severed limb—which bore no blood—the muscles in He Yiming’s face involuntarily twitched a few times before he managed a wry smile and placed it on the table.

The left hand immediately began to liquefy. When it re-coalesced, it had transformed into a Divine Path Scripture.

He Yiming’s eyes faintly glowed. He lifted the book and flipped directly to the twenty-fourth page.

However, a look of bewilderment immediately crossed his face. Although this page depicted one of the Thirty-Six Forms of Mountain Splitting, it was not the twenty-fourth form, but the fourteenth.

He looked up in surprise at the expressionless Bai Lingba. A sudden realization struck him, and he casually turned to the very first page.

A look of simultaneous amusement and frustration bloomed on his face. That page indeed displayed the first entry from the Book of Wind, Cloud, and Mist.

He shook his head wordlessly. Merging the contents of two entirely different systems of Divine Path Scriptures into a single volume—only Bai Lingba would commit such an act.

“I need to leave.”

Seemingly oblivious to the strange expression on He Yiming’s face, Bai Lingba’s calm voice sounded.

“Where are you going?” He Yiming asked, baffled.

“Baozhu is still outside the city,” Bai Lingba stated succinctly.

He Yiming sighed internally. He truly could not fathom why two such disparate, non-human entities as Bai Lingba and Baozhu were so close. However, knowing Bai Lingba was by the pig’s side assured him that the little fellow’s safety was beyond concern.

His gaze fell upon Bai Lingba’s severed arm, then back to the manual in his hand, and a flicker of hesitation crossed He Yiming’s face.

Bai Lingba extended his hand. His arm slowly began to regrow from the stump, instantaneously returning to its normal state.

He Yiming opened his mouth, then finally waved a hand gently, offering a bitter smile, “Go then. Take care.”

Bai Lingba reached the doorway and paused momentarily before saying, “Take care.” With that, his entire form dissolved, spreading out like a pool of water before vanishing through the crack beneath the door.

He Yiming stared, dumbfounded, at the spot where he had vanished. A moment later, he pinched his own arm—it hurt. Clearly, this was no daydream.

Still, for Bai Lingba to utter such a sentiment was truly incredible, given his usual demeanor.

Shaking his head, he pushed the thought aside and reopened the Divine Path Scripture in his hands.

The first page of this book was the Book of Wind, Cloud, and Mist—the immense power of which He Yiming had intimately experienced.

It was precisely thanks to the formidable concealment power latent in the power of cloud and mist that he had escaped directly under the noses of those Venerables.

Especially in the dense woods, after severing Zhuo Shengfeng’s sensory connection, He Yiming had immediately employed the Earth Burrowing Technique to flee the area. Of course, while using that technique, he had also enveloped himself in a layer of cloud and mist power, completely obscuring his presence.

Had he not done so, escaping the combined might of the three Venerables would have been nothing but a foolish pipe dream.

This demonstrated the sheer, inherent power of the cloud and mist ability. Especially for someone like He Yiming, who had yet to advance to the Venerable realm, it was absolutely the prime choice for self-preservation.

However, He Yiming was not focused on studying the cloud and mist power at this moment. He flipped directly to the thirty-fourth page.

There, depicted clearly, was the diagram for the twenty-fourth form of the Thirty-Six Forms of Mountain Splitting.

He Yiming’s eyes immediately brightened. He channeled a thread of Metal-elemental power into the manual. Moments later, through some mysterious means, He Yiming seemed to enter a wondrous space.

In this space, the horizons in all directions—east, south, west, and north—stretched limitlessly. Moreover, this space was saturated with a unique pressure, sharp and piercing.

This was the manifestation of Metal power, the supreme embodiment of Metal’s ultimate strength.

The next instant, a terrifying broadsword materialized in He Yiming’s hand.

A strange energy undulated across the entire length of the blade, and the head of the sword, in particular, radiated sparks of brilliance, resembling a miniature sun.

He Yiming was filled with deep suspicion. He had once consulted the original text of the Thirty-Six Forms of Mountain Splitting, but in that world, the broadsword had never possessed such exaggerated characteristics.

A bizarre notion crossed his mind: Had the power of this broadsword increased tenfold upon entering the manual transformed by Bai Lingba?

Shaking his head, He Yiming dismissed the distracting thoughts, and his body began to move.

Starting from the first form, he slowly executed the sequence up to the twenty-third form.

During this process, He Yiming allowed no hesitation. The set of sword forms flowed from his hands like running water and drifting clouds.

However, every time he reached the twenty-third form, he felt an overwhelming sense of inadequacy.

Although his momentum had climbed to its absolute peak, he simply could not strike down into the twenty-fourth form, no matter how hard he tried.

Yet He Yiming was not discouraged. He practiced slowly within this strange space, moving through each form one by one. It seemed he possessed an incredibly resilient heart; no matter how many times he failed, his resolve remained as solid as bedrock, unwavering.

Here, there was no wind, no air, no sunlight—only endless, empty stillness.

The sounds created by the swinging of the great blade were the only disturbances.

If He Yiming ceased his practice, this place would revert to a dead silence, utterly devoid of any noise.

Training in such an environment would quickly cause a person of weak will to collapse. But for those whose resolve was unbreakably firm, this utterly undisturbed environment was the supreme training ground they had always dreamed of.

He lost track of time. In He Yiming’s perception, no matter how long he practiced, it felt like only an instant had passed.

Though He Yiming was utterly engrossed in this peculiar method of training, it did not mean he was completely ignorant of the outside world.

A peculiar sensation arose in his heart, and He Yiming withdrew from that magical realm without hesitation.

Even though he had managed to practice up to the twenty-second form this time, he still left without any lingering attachment.

His ears twitched slightly, and He Yiming immediately heard the sound of Jin Zhanyi’s footsteps.

Of course, this was only because Jin Zhanyi was making no effort to conceal his approach. If he had tried to sneak in cautiously, even He Yiming couldn't guarantee he would detect him so easily.

Glancing at the manual in his hand, a flicker of surprise crossed He Yiming’s eyes.

At some unknown point, the manual in his hand had become scorching hot, as if lit by fire. However, this temperature posed no threat to He Yiming, who had already condensed the Flower of Fire, so he hadn't noticed while fully immersed in the manual.

Hesitating for a moment, He Yiming reached out and gently rubbed the manual with force. As he did so, the manual behaved like soft clay, being kneaded into a tight ball under his touch.

He Yiming openly cupped the metallic-hued sphere in his hand.

He was certain that no one could look at this sphere and discern that it was, in fact, a Divine Path Scripture.

His gaze swept around the room, finding no apparent possibility of exposure. Taking a deep breath, He Yiming calmed his heart.

Just as he finished his action, a steady knocking sounded at the door.

He Yiming deliberately delayed a moment before speaking in an impatient tone, “Brother Jin, please come in.”

He waved his hand, and an invisible force swung the closed door open.

The moment the door opened, He Yiming caught sight of the light outside, and he was astonished to realize it was not the morning glow of sunrise, but the twilight of the setting sun.

He immediately understood: He had spent an entire day cultivating in this room.

Jin Zhanyi was indeed standing outside the door, but compared to before, there was an expression of oddity etched upon his face.

He Yiming’s heart tightened. A terrifying thought flashed through his mind: Could Jin Zhanyi have figured it out?

However, the words Jin Zhanyi spoke next completely dispelled that notion.