Chapter Thirteen: What Kind of Combat Technique Is This, Anyway? (Please Add to Favorites)

"My god, nothing is clear—how can this possibly be called a battle technique? Where did the name even come from?" Hu Mo felt on the verge of collapse; Uncle Fu's words were simply too outrageous.

Uncle Fu gave a bitter smile. "Young master, we only know the name because we heard it from that person. Even the old master, with the strength of a third-level Battle Emperor, couldn't see what was inside this black jade."

"Who was that person? Are you saying the battle technique was given by someone else?" Hu Mo asked hurriedly.

Uncle Fu nodded. "To call him a person is perhaps misleading. None of us truly believed he was human, for he was so mysterious—he could well have been a deity."

There was reverence in Uncle Fu’s tone, as if he wished to say more, but hesitated.

"Is it really so mystical?" Hu Mo was full of doubt. His hand gripping the jade throbbed with needle-like pain, and he truly felt tempted to cut it off.

"Was it an immortal, robed in flowing garments, holding a whisk, with a youthful face and white hair?" Hu Mo ventured.

"No," Uncle Fu denied him outright, his tone odd and unsettling. "It was an old beggar, ragged, filthy, and slightly lame."

"What? No way…" Hu Mo was stunned. "Are you saying this beggar was a god-like figure, descended from the heavens, gave the stone to my grandfather, and then limped away into the sky?"

Anyone else would surely think such a tale was pure fabrication, but Hu Mo was not so sure. In his experience, some masters delighted in such antics. After all, masters acted in ways ordinary people could never predict. Take Hong Qi Gong, for example—didn’t he enjoy disguising himself as an ordinary man, wandering the world in pursuit of amusement? Hu Mo was certain the beggar Uncle Fu spoke of was one such figure.

"You’re not far off, young master, but you got two things wrong. He didn’t descend from the heavens; he appeared as if out of nowhere in the Marshal’s bedroom. After giving the Lingbo Technique to the Marshal, he didn’t fly away, but limped off and, as he walked, vanished mysteriously," Uncle Fu replied earnestly. Hu Mo was left speechless.

"Damn, how is that any different from what I said? It just proves the beggar was extraordinary!" Hu Mo cursed inwardly, feeling the sharp pain in his right hand. He could almost hear the Three Treasures urging him to hurry and take the black jade.

He gritted his teeth against the pain, inwardly cursing the Three Treasures a thousand times over. Putting on a forced smile, he spoke softly, "Uncle Fu, I'll choose this one. Since you've made it sound so miraculous, I'm genuinely interested. If I don't manage to understand it, I can always learn the Fire Dragon Technique later. What do you think?"

A look of longing appeared on Hu Mo’s face, but it was so strange—twisted, as if he'd swallowed a giant fly. Yes, twisted to the extreme. His other hand gripped Uncle Fu so tightly that Uncle Fu felt almost bewildered: was Hu Mo excited, or in pain?

"Alright… very well," Uncle Fu replied, a little dazed.

"Excellent! I'll be going now!" Hu Mo blurted out, turning to dash toward the entrance.

"Wait, young master, be careful—"

"Ah! It hurts!" With a crash, Hu Mo collided intimately with the wall, a large bump forming squarely in the center of his forehead. The collision transformed him into a 'God of Longevity' in an instant.

"Wall…" Uncle Fu finally managed to finish his warning, but Hu Mo was nearly driven mad. Damn it, this was just too cruel.

"Young master, why are you in such a hurry? Without the mechanism opened, this wall is harder than diamond. If you survived, your head…" Uncle Fu began.

"Uncle Fu, I beg you, open the mechanism quickly, my head is swelling…" Hu Mo was on the verge of tears; Uncle Fu was just too exasperating. He recalled their first conversation—he hadn't found Uncle Fu particularly long-winded, but now he suddenly realized Uncle Fu was practically a reincarnation of the Tang Monk, especially when Hu Mo was suffering so much.

"Oh, oh, I'll open it right away!" Uncle Fu replied, startled by the swelling on Hu Mo’s forehead, and immediately activated the mechanism for the wall.

Hu Mo’s headache was splitting, his hand nearly ruined by the stabbing pain, his meridians ready to explode, and there was another urgent matter—not as painful, but equally pressing: he was desperate to relieve himself, his bladder about to burst.

As soon as he left the martial pavilion’s protective range, Hu Mo shot off like an arrow, not even exchanging a word with Uncle Fu.

Uncle Fu was all smiles, murmuring to himself, "The young master’s ambition is truly remarkable. I must tell the Marshal; he’ll be delighted."

With those words, Uncle Fu laughed and headed toward Hu Yi Hu’s location.

Hu Mo ran at a speed exceeding ten meters a stride, quickly becoming a striking sight within the Hu residence.

"Did you see? The young master escaped from Uncle Fu’s grip, carrying a stone—looks like he resisted!"

"Indeed, the young master looks so miserable, his head swollen. He must have been beaten terribly this time!"

"Ha ha, the heavier the beating, the better!"

"That’s right, that’s right!"

A group of servants gathered, animatedly discussing, their expressions lively and excited.

This time, Hu Mo heard them clearly; he truly wanted to stop and beat them up. But he absolutely couldn’t pause now—he was racing toward the latrine, the urgency making his whole body convulse.

Once the floodgates opened, he darted straight into his own room, gasping for breath.

The black jade clung tightly to his hand, but strangely, his skin hadn’t been pierced—it hovered on the threshold between broken and intact, a persistent, throbbing pain.

Upon entering his room, he sat cross-legged at once.

His left hand rested atop the stone in his right, forming a circle. Eyes half-closed, he let his mind sink into his dantian. The Qingxin Carefree Technique immediately began to circulate, and as it did, the Three Treasures within him became even more agitated, as if they'd ingested a powerful tonic.

"Can’t you three calm down? At least let go of the stone," Hu Mo was nearly in tears. The Three Treasures continued to stir, showing no intention of removing the stone.

Suddenly, the pain in his palm intensified. Drip, drip—drops of blood stained the floor. Hu Mo’s anger erupted.

"Damn it! I let you live in my body as a concession, but you three damned scoundrels—what are you trying to do? If you want to kill me, just say so; if you want to play tricks, bring it on! Why torture me like this?" Hu Mo roared, gripping the black jade tightly, trying to pull it free.

"What the hell do you want? I’d rather shatter jade than live as tiles. If you don’t stop, I’ll fight you to the end!" Hu Mo felt truly desperate; if things didn’t change, he’d become a slave to the Three Treasures.

The Three Treasures were unmoved, increasing their suction on the black jade, as if intent on devouring it outright. Hu Mo became furious—how could they expect the stone to merge into his hand, was this not deliberate torture?

Just as he prepared to forcibly sever the Three Treasures’ power, risking a backlash from his battle energy, a haunting flute melody echoed through his mind—melancholic, yearning, mournful, lingering and unending.

Hu Mo, versed in music, sensed everything conveyed by the flute. An ethereal woman, standing against the wind, companion to moon and breeze. The melody drifted, unable to withstand the tides of time. Her heart swayed with the rise and fall of the notes; unwittingly, tears streaked down her cheeks, falling with a sigh that echoed across three lifetimes.

Hu Mo was entranced, all pain forgotten. His heart sank with the music, sinking into a peace he had never known.

He felt utterly detached from the world, as if he were but a leaf on a river, a duckweed in the sea, or a mere speck of dust in the universe. His heart drifted, desireless, silent.

Then, suddenly, his mind thundered, and all his meridians ruptured completely. An endless surge of battle energy rampaged within him, burning his muscles and blood, slicing his bones and skin.

Any other person would have screamed in terror—after all, with shattered meridians, how could one survive? But Hu Mo felt nothing; he seemed to forget everything, letting the wild power ravage his body.

Unbeknownst to him, the black jade in his right hand began to melt, his wounds siphoning it away, consuming it. After a gluttonous absorption, the black jade vanished completely, replaced by a black glow enveloping Hu Mo’s right hand, which rapidly spread across his body, turning him pitch black in an instant.

"What’s happening? Why can’t I feel anything? Could it be… I’ve died again?" Hu Mo’s eyes remained shut, the thought abruptly crossing his mind. He truly felt nothing at all, as if his soul had left his body—was this not what death felt like?

He failed to notice the chaos inside him. First, the violent battle energy raged within, then, as the black light covered his body, that force joined in, assaulting his organs, threatening to tear him apart. Had he been conscious, he would have cursed aloud: "Damn! Are you being violated, or is this some wild frenzy? Is this really necessary?"

The flute melody continued, but Hu Mo no longer cared to listen. He wondered where he would go after death—would he transmigrate into another body, or be reborn? Yet what really puzzled him was: how exactly did he die this time?

"Why have you stopped listening?" A frail voice suddenly sounded beside Hu Mo’s ear, tinged with gentle reproach.

"Thinking things over! No time!" Hu Mo replied offhandedly, and as soon as he spoke, his expression turned green.