The following morning, Li Muzhan rose early and practiced the Yellow Dragon Flying Sword several times in the courtyard. With increasing mastery, its power grew.

The essence of this sword technique lay in gathering one's entire strength into this single strike; the sword flew out, resulting in either life or death, with no room for hesitation. It was difficult to truly unleash its power without an overwhelming, all-or-nothing killing intent.

Conversely, if one could steel their heart and channel their entire spirit, energy, and essence into this one sword, its might would be unparalleled, capable of deciding life and death.

Li Muzhan felt the sword's potential could still be elevated. The key, he realized, was not merely internal force, but spirit—the more vicious intent he imbued, the stronger the power.

Given his own formidable spirit, if he could achieve true mastery of this technique, his future execution of the Yellow Dragon Flying Sword would surpass even Wang Xiue’s level.

As he was practicing, two maidens in white suddenly appeared, announcing that the Eldest Young Master wished to see him and that it was time to depart.

Li Muzhan concluded his practice, sheathed the Dragon Roar Sword, and left the residence. Outside, Wang Yuanchu and the other four were already waiting. Seeing him emerge, Wang Yuanchu stepped forward, cupped his hands, and chuckled, "Brother Li, shall we be on our way!"

Li Muzhan returned the gesture with a cupped hand: "Very well."

They had agreed that outside and in front of others, he would be addressed only by his surname, Li, ensuring his monastic name, Zhan Ran, would not be used, thus protecting the Canghai Sword Sect. Although the trip to the Nangong family was for reconciliation, not conflict, worldly affairs were unpredictable. Out of caution, he would not reveal his monastic name to avoid implicating the Canghai Sword Sect.

"Martial Uncle," Wang Shuangfeng offered a graceful bow.

She wore a green dress; her presence was like clear autumn water, her bones like fine jade. Her spirit was clear and her features exquisite. Despite her subdued demeanor, her complexion was snowy, her grace captivating.

Li Muzhan smiled, cupping his hands: "Miss Feng'er, there is no need for such ceremony."

"Elder Uncle, and this is...?" A clear, ringing voice inquired.

Li Muzhan turned to see a handsome young man, tall and upright, with an imposing bearing. His sword-like brows framed sharp eyes, his nose was straight, and his lips were vividly red—a truly rare sight among handsome men. His eyes were piercing, his aura sharp, reminiscent of the Dragon Roar Sword just drawn from its sheath.

Wang Yuanchu laughed, "Yingjie, this is Brother Li. You should address him as Martial Uncle."

"Martial Uncle?" Wang Yingjie knitted his brows, assessing Li Muzhan with unconcealed skepticism. Li Muzhan appeared younger than him, with an ordinary look, perhaps just slightly better skin, showing no sign of formidable martial prowess. To think such a person was his Martial Uncle—he simply could not accept it.

Wang Yuanchu, seeing his expression, immediately understood his thoughts. He glared and grunted, "Yingjie, less nonsense. Call him Martial Uncle, now!"

"Greetings, Martial Uncle!" Wang Yingjie reluctantly clasped his hands for a brief moment before dropping them, his perfunctory attitude obvious.

Li Muzhan smiled faintly, returned the greeting with a slight bow, and said nothing more.

Wang Yuanchu shook his head with a wry smile. "Alas... this boy Yingjie has little skill but considerable arrogance. Brother Li, please disregard him!"

Li Muzhan merely smiled and remained silent.

Wang Yingjie’s eyes flickered; he was provoked by Li Muzhan's expression, sensing a hint of disdain.

Wang Yuanchu waved his hand and said sternly, "Enough, Yingjie, stop wasting words. Brother Li, come, this is Elder Cheng, this is Elder Feng, and this is Brother Duanmu!"

He pointed out the two elders sequentially. Elder Cheng was amiable, perpetually smiling, exuding warmth. Elder Feng was imposing, as if constantly encased in ice. As for Brother Duanmu, he was a middle-aged man of plain appearance, someone who could easily blend into any crowd and go unnoticed, save for the occasional flash of sharp brilliance in his observant eyes.

Li Muzhan greeted them all with a calm smile. His gaze lingered on Duanmu for a few moments; observing him, Li Muzhan noted that this man possessed profound internal energy, close to returning to simplicity, surpassing the two elders in sheer internal might.

After the introductions, Wang Yuanchu waved grandly, and attendants brought forth six horses. The six mounted up and spurred their horses westward, leaving the Penglai Wang Estate.

The Nangong family estate lay west of the Penglai Wang family, a journey of about half a month by horse.

Li Muzhan spoke very little, sitting on his horse with his eyes closed, seemingly asleep. Wang Shuangfeng rode beside him consistently, positioned behind the main group.

An hour into the journey, Wang Yingjie grew impatient. He maneuvered his horse next to Wang Shuangfeng, addressing Li Muzhan across her, attempting to pry into his background. Li Muzhan merely smiled without answering.

Wang Shuangfeng said coolly, "Third Brother, perhaps you should ride up front."

Wang Yingjie laughed, "Sister Feng, why don't you ride with Elder Uncle?"

"I don't like it," Wang Shuangfeng replied blandly.

Wang Yingjie chuckled, "Sister Feng, just what kind of master is this Martial Uncle? I've never met him before."

"You don't need to know," Wang Shuangfeng glanced at him dismissively.

Wang Yingjie frowned deeply, displeased. "Sister Feng, am I not allowed to know?"

Wang Shuangfeng stated flatly, "The Ancestor commanded that Martial Uncle's identity must remain a secret."

Wang Yingjie’s expression shifted slightly. He glanced at Li Muzhan, who was on Wang Shuangfeng’s other side, took a deep breath, and slowly nodded. "Fine, fine. If the Ancestor has commanded it, we must naturally obey!" Still harboring resentment, he shot a sharp glare at Li Muzhan, then squeezed his legs, urging his horse forward to ride abreast of Duanmu.

Wang Shuangfeng spoke gently, "Martial Uncle, I apologize for the trouble."

Li Muzhan smiled and shook his head. "A virtuous maiden is sought by a gentleman. It's no wonder he..."

Wang Shuangfeng’s eyes flickered, and she turned her head away; her earlobes were already flushed pink.

Li Muzhan glanced at her with a chuckle. "I spoke too intimately for our acquaintance. However, Miss Feng'er, this matter of affection is the sharpest tool in the world; one careless move can harm others and oneself. It is best to be cautious."

Wang Shuangfeng remained silent, her gaze evasive. Li Muzhan suppressed a laugh; though she was refined and elegant, having spent time around Wang Xiue, her exposure was still limited. She was young, and her face still showed it.

Wang Yingjie, not far behind, seemed to catch snippets of their conversation. He turned to glance over.

Throughout the ride, Wang Yingjie frequently dropped back to ride alongside Wang Shuangfeng, engaging her in conversation. Despite her cool demeanor, he remained persistently eager.

Li Muzhan remained silent, his eyes closed as if asleep when they spoke, but in reality, he was cultivating the Canghai Divine Art. After a year of seclusion focused on the Canghai Nine Swords, achieving minor success, he was now returning to the Divine Art. He had reached the peak of the sixth layer but found himself unable to break through to the seventh, as if blocked by an invisible, thick membrane.

The seventh layer, he surmised, required supreme Yin energy, likely relating to the Ren and Du meridians' internal force. Yet, how to generate this force within the Dantian remained elusive. He suspected understanding this required grasping the creation of the universe itself—the primal chaos, the subsequent separation of Yin and Yang, and the clear rising and turbid sinking that formed heaven and earth. While he knew the theory, the true nature of the event was unknown to him. Without understanding the actual phenomenon, knowing the concept intellectually was useless; he couldn't truly feel it.

As the group rode, the initial exhilaration faded, replaced by the monotony, dirt, and exhaustion of the journey, turning it into a chore. Li Muzhan wore a sapphire blue long gown, which remained untouched by dust, shielded by an invisible force. Wang Shuangfeng and the others, despite their deep internal force, had not reached this state.

Around noon that day, the sun beat down on the official road, making the heat almost unbearable. Everyone looked listless, Wang Yuanchu’s imposing energy notwithstanding.

Suddenly, his spirits lifted. "Look!"

They looked where he pointed: near a small wood bordering the road stood a humble tea stall—a thatched awning covering a few tables and benches, currently occupied by about a dozen sturdy men drinking tea. Near the wood, ten or so horses grazed peacefully under the shade, tails flicking lazily to ward off insects.

Wang Yuanchu laughed heartily. "What luck! Let's stop and rest for a moment!" With that, he pulled the reins, steered his horse off the road, and halted before the stall. He dismounted, and the others followed suit.

Li Muzhan opened his eyes, surveyed the surroundings, and frowned slightly.

Wang Yingjie, having followed Wang Shuangfeng, saw the cold tea on the neighbors' tables and swallowed hard. He smiled, "Sister Feng, finally a place to rest. Let's have a bowl of cold tea!"

Wang Shuangfeng remained silent, turning to look at Li Muzhan.

By then, Wang Yuanchu had already dropped his reins and strode into the stall, calling out loudly, "Boss, quickly, six bowls of tea for us!" He then plopped down at a table next to several burly men who looked like martial artists, though they held no weapons.

"Coming..." an old man with white hair replied.

He stood before a table holding a long-spouted teapot and a stack of large bowls—a very simple setup. Carrying the pot in one hand and the bowls in the other, he approached.

Li Muzhan sat down, looked around, and watched the old man slowly set down the stack of bowls, then poured one for each guest before retreating. "Please enjoy your tea, esteemed customers."

Li Muzhan suddenly spoke, his tone gentle: "Old man, how much is a bowl?"

Wang Yingjie glanced at him, a hint of mockery appearing on his face, as if chiding Li Muzhan for asking such a basic, naive question.

The old man chuckled, "Five copper coins a bowl, an honest price, child!" His face was a map of wrinkles, his brow deeply furrowed, an expression of deep hardship, yet his cloudy eyes were set in a smile that evoked a pang of sympathy.

Wang Yingjie quickly chimed in, "Five coins a bowl, how cheap!"

Wang Shuangfeng looked at him, her delicate eyebrows knitting slightly. Wang Yingjie’s heart jumped; he immediately regretted speaking so carelessly. Normally, he wasn't so frivolous, but in the presence of this young Martial Uncle Li, he couldn't help but feel restless and agitated.

Li Muzhan smiled gently. "Old man, five coins is indeed inexpensive. You must serve quite a few people throughout the day?"

"Heh, not bad, not bad," the old man replied with a nodding smile.

Wang Yuanchu and the others were seasoned travelers and remained vigilant. Seeing Li Muzhan engage the old man in conversation, they paused with their bowls halfway to their lips and all looked over.