He understood a truth: internal energy was not omnipotent. While it could alleviate physical fatigue, it could not eradicate it; true recovery still required rest.

He practiced until evening, and as the sun dipped below the horizon, he finally left the Tianshu Academy and started his walk back. He Nanshan and the other two urged him not to return, suggesting he stay the night since he was so exhausted from sword practice all day, noting that rooms had already been prepared and were ready for immediate occupancy.

Li Muzhan shook his head and smiled, politely declining, saying he needed to go back lest his parents worry. This earned him a round of teasing from the trio, who called him Mommy's good boy, someone who would never grow up.

Li Muzhan merely smiled and paid them no mind. Having lived this life anew, having experienced both life and death and seen through the ways of the world, he placed immense value on family affection and was deeply attached to his home.

His elder brother, Li Mufeng, was different; his heart was set on grand ambitions, intensely desiring success and distinction, showing little concern for the family. Li Muzhan held no resentment toward him; in his previous life, he had been the same, focused solely on his own struggles and inadvertently neglecting his family.

He did not visit the Chaoran Tower today, preferring to walk alone. His steps were measured, his demeanor serene and unhurried.

Under the setting sun, bathed in the rosy glow of twilight, Jinyang City appeared all the more bustling. As night fell, the city was alight with brilliant lamps, even more prosperous than during the day.

Especially now in summer, when the days were scorching hot and the evenings cool, it was the perfect time for people to venture out, continuing their activities until the deepest hours before finally quieting down and dispersing. The six sectarian scars on his head had faded slightly, but his scalp was even brighter, looking as if oiled, gleaming softly in the lingering sunset rays.

He wore prayer beads around his neck, another string on his left wrist, and a long sword hung at his waist. Along the way, he occasionally encountered acquaintances.

He would press his palms together in greeting, offer a slight smile, and pass by. To outsiders, this monk appeared taciturn and composed, possessing the bearing of an eminent master.

Carrying the long sword was not for showing off, but because he intended to continue practicing his swordsmanship later that evening. His meditative focus was profound, and his energy reserves were extraordinary; he needed only one hour of sleep to equal the rest a common person needed for an entire night.

He had thought of an excellent place to practice martial arts that could also help relieve physical fatigue, allowing him to maximize his time for sword practice. He gently moved the prayer beads with his left hand, walking slowly.

With every bead he turned, he took a single step, neither rushed nor slow, maintaining a distinct rhythm that lent him an air of elegance. As he walked, his consciousness remained focused on the internal energy in his dantian, guiding a small stream to circulate along the Governing and Conception Vessels.

His body felt as if it were immersed in a warm spring, and the weariness gradually melted away. When he left the city and reached the small mountain path, he was already refreshed and invigorated, prompting him to marvel that although internal energy wasn't a panacea, it possessed many marvelous uses.

In the afternoon, his Third Senior Brother had mentioned that the Heavenly Origin Breathing Technique, while ingenious, heavily emphasized the accumulation of internal energy while lacking significantly in practical application compared to methods like the Shaoyang True Scripture or the Shaoyin True Scripture. Those internal cultivation methods were far more effective for eliminating fatigue, but unfortunately, he couldn't practice them yet; he still had to diligently follow the prescribed breathing exercises, a process as slow as a tortoise crawling, which was quite arduous.

If the Heavenly Origin Breathing Technique was already so remarkable, surely the Shaoyang True Scripture and others were even more wondrous? He felt a sense of longing, wondering about the legendary Vajra Indestructible Divine Art.

He proceeded with a calm expression, slowly turning his prayer beads, his mind drifting to pleasant thoughts, occasionally glancing at his surroundings. He had already left the city and arrived on the narrow mountain path.

The lingering glow of the setting sun cast the entire mountain range in crimson, a magnificent and breathtaking spectacle. The birds returning to their nests in the woods made him yearn for home even more urgently.

His steps lightened, and he moved forward quickly, soon arriving at a dense patch of woods. This location marked the lowest point of the slope; continuing further meant ascending the mountain ahead, and once he crossed this ridge, he would reach Lizicun Village.

This mountain was quite precipitous, and the forest was thick—pines, poplars, and other trees he couldn't name grew lushly, cloaked in a layer of twilight radiance that was remarkably beautiful. His expression darkened, and he frowned slightly, slowly putting away his prayer beads and reattaching them to his left wrist.

It was in this very spot that two ruffians had suddenly sprung out on him last time—one wielding a dagger, the other a long saber—demanding his money. Li Muzhan had initially feigned weakness, slowly retreating.

Once inside the woods, he suddenly bent down, snatched up a thick branch, and attacked with sudden fury, stabbing down both men in quick succession, his force excessive, killing one. After that first killing, he hadn't suffered any lingering trauma, quickly returning to calm.

Having faced death once, understanding what it meant, he ironically lost his fear. Normally, when passing this spot, he would pause, glance around, recall the daring feat of his attack, and indulge in a moment of pride and self-satisfaction.

But arriving here today, he felt something was amiss; a faint chill prickled the center of his brow, reminiscent of the sensation he had felt earlier that morning when facing the Fish Scale Sword. He took a deep breath, looking front and back—no one!

Yet the feeling of unease intensified. He knew his meditative mastery granted him senses sharper than ordinary men, and he was certain someone was lying in ambush.

"Clang..." He drew his sword, pointing the tip toward the woods diagonally in front of him, and commanded in a deep voice, "Who is there? Come out!" "Clap!

Clap! Clap!

Clap!" A youth emerged, applauding slowly from behind a pine tree. Treading soundlessly on the thick, soft pine needles, he stopped two zhang away from Li Muzhan and smiled faintly.

"You, a mere mortal, possess such vigilance. You must have some skill indeed, no wonder you managed to kill my brother!" "May I ask your honored name?" Li Muzhan asked in a low voice.

Seeing this person suddenly appear, Li Muzhan's heart tightened for a brief moment. Then, taking a deep breath, he regulated his body and mind, quickly relaxing, and began to carefully appraise the youth.

The young man was handsome, but his eyes were narrow, and his lips were thin—not the look of a broad-minded person. He was tall and slender, clad in a flowing green robe, with a long sword hanging at his waist, possessing the dashing air of a youthful, heroic swordsman.

The youth was languid, as if just awakened, tilting his head to examine Li Muzhan and smiling slightly. "You killed someone here not long ago, didn't you?

They were my brothers." "Are you here for revenge?" Li Muzhan asked. "Indeed," the youth nodded, smiling conspiratorially.

"Alas... my brother was unlucky enough to die at the hands of a little bald donkey.

If I don't avenge him, how can he rest in peace?" Li Muzhan looked at him calmly. "No need for more words.

Let's fight!" The youth, with eyes still smiling, faced the setting sun, his gaze sharp as a knife, a grin fixed on his face. "Little bald donkey, is there anything you wish to do, any last wish?

Perhaps I might show a bit of benevolence and assist you." He spoke with a smile, yet kept calling him a 'bald donkey,' clearly intending to provoke Li Muzhan. Li Muzhan observed him placidly.

"If you are afraid, you may leave, and I will spare your life... Otherwise, stop the pointless prattling; it's tiresome and laughable!" The youth sneered, "Then go down and keep my brother company!" His figure blurred, and a cold light erupted from his waist, like a white rainbow piercing the sun, instantly reaching Li Muzhan's face.

Li Muzhan shifted into a forward stance and swung his sword in one seamless motion, naturally executing the first move of the Twelve Plum Blossom Swords, perfectly standardized, without the slightest deviation. "Clang..." The two swords met with a crisp, echoing sound that lingered in the air.

The youth's sword swept sideways, his movement momentarily checked, revealing an expression of astonishment. Li Muzhan's eyes suddenly brightened, a flash of cold light appeared, and the youth suddenly halted, a section of his own sword tip protruding from his back, stained deep crimson.

Li Muzhan yanked his sword free, and hot blood instantly sprayed out with a hissing sound. "Ugh..." The youth stared fixedly at Li Muzhan, raised his sword slightly, then let it slip slowly from his grasp, falling onto the grass.

His right hand trembled as he pointed at Li Muzhan, his mouth opening as if to speak, but he was choked by the blood surging up, managing only gurgling sounds. With a "thud," he collapsed face down onto the grass, his body convulsing lightly.

Li Muzhan's face was deathly pale. When engaged in combat, all distractions were purged, his entire focus concentrated on his opponent.

The moment he relaxed, he felt an emptiness, as if all his vitality and spirit had been poured into that single thrust. He stared at the youth, thinking to himself: This youth's sword was incredibly fast.

It was fortunate that he possessed great strength, which allowed him to shock the opponent's blade aside, and then, while the youth was recovering, he unleashed the thrust he had practiced for over a decade. He understood that he had been exceedingly lucky this time; if not for his training in the Twelve Plum Blossom Swords, he wouldn't have withstood even one exchange, forced instead to disregard the incoming attack and strike out immediately, trading life for life.

While his thrust was certainly fast, he couldn't guarantee it was faster than his opponent's. He had no certainty about the speed of other martial artists, but he knew for sure that his thrust was far inferior to his Second Sister's.

Overwhelming strength, the Twelve Plum Blossom Swords, and a swift thrust—having all three—was what narrowly saved his life. He shook his head, sighed, a look of pity crossing his features.

He slowly bent down, scraped his long sword against the dead man's body to wipe off the blood, and then returned the sword to its sheath. Afterward, he removed the prayer beads from his left hand, pressed his palms together, closed his eyes, and murmured the incantation for the release of souls in a rapid, low voice.

Then, he quickened his pace and rapidly departed the scene.