The Old Charlatan
Hua Buyi's aura stabilized completely after Elixir Formation, entering profound meditation. Huo Xuan withdrew silently, relief flooding his heart—he'd shared his ultimate secret and propelled his master into Elixir Force.
Will Master's Nine Medical Forces and Divine Luo Needles ascend with this breakthrough? Anticipation thrummed in his veins.
By next morning, Hua Buyi emerged radiant—his spiritual essence elevated beyond recognition.
"Congratulations, Master!" Huo Xuan cupped his hands in salute.
Zhang Wu, waiting outside, gasped. "Boss finally broke through!"
"Second-Grade Elixir," Hua Buyi revealed with a faint smile.
At Huo Xuan's puzzled look, Hua Buyi explained: "Elixir Formation transcends Transformed Force—ancient texts called such practitioners Earth Immortals (Dixian). Yet Elixirs have hierarchies:
Fifth Grade: Barely qualified, flawed foundationFirst Grade: Perfection enabling Divine Ability Realm ascension
"Elixir masters surpass mortals in spirit and physique, yet remain human—nowhere near Dixian legends. Post-formation refinement from Fifth to First Grade is possible, but..." Hua Buyi gestured like mending a mutilated infant, "...severely limited."
"So you're already Second-Grade!" Huo Xuan grinned. "A little effort gets you to First Grade, then boom—Divine Ability Realm!"
Catching Hua Buyi's subtle eye-roll, Huo Xuan swallowed his naivety.
Hua Buyi sighed softly. "Without that old injury, I could've achieved Elixir Formation two decades earlier. Yet that rushed breakthrough would've capped me at Fourth-Grade Elixir at best. Twenty years of tempering forged this Second-Grade core—a twisted blessing."
Huo Xuan, still unversed in Elixir Dao, shifted focus: "Master, who was that youth who injured you?"
"All in due time," Hua Buyi deflected. "Focus on cultivation now."
Zhang Wu's eyes darted between them, realization dawning. "Brother! Help me taste Elixir Force! I've barely touched Transformed Force's threshold—"
"Delusions!" Hua Buyi cut him off. "No Elixir prospects before forty. Discipline over daydreams."
"Your wisdom guides me," Zhang Wu bowed, chastened.
Celebrating his breakthrough, Hua Buyi uncorked aged baijiu. Between sips, he unraveled martial lore—until Huo Xuan interrupted: "What grade was Sword Immortal Situ Xing's Elixir? How'd he owe you a life?"
"Elixir grades are self-known. Only life-or-death battles reveal truths," Hua Buyi explained. "But Situ Xing holds a Third-Grade core."
He then unveiled a blood-soaked legend: Fifteen years prior, 26-year-old Situ Xing—already a Third-Grade Sword Immortal—challenged Hua Buyi's childhood nemesis to a maritime duel.
"He crawled ashore with shattered meridians, exposed vertebrae, ruptured organs," Hua Buyi recalled. "Six months of Divine Luo Needles and Nine Medical Forces drained my herb reserves to rebuild him."
Huo Xuan's mind reeled from the tale—Elixir Force masters truly reigned as human pinnacles. Master strategically gathered three titans to forge my foundation. Now he's securing Sword Immortal's tutelage—such profound mentorship.
Silent gratitude swelled as he refilled Hua Buyi's cup, absorbing more Jianghu lore.
"Situ Xing's quirks favor you," Hua Buyi mused, tipsy. "Master the 'Heavenly Descent Strike' framework tomorrow. His curiosity will compel further instruction."
"A true Sword Immortal—his artistry transcends historical masters. This tutelage is karmic fortune."
"I'll honor your trust, Master."
Hua Buyi smiled—Huo Xuan's Buddha's Eye could dissect any technique, even the celestial swordplay.
Next dawn, they flew to Jingdu. At the international airport, a Boeing 787 from the U.S. disembarked a cold-eyed man in Chinese tunic suit—Situ Xing.
Elite entourages mobbed the arrival gate: "Master Situ! Over here!"
His gaze sharpened—sword-intent piercing through the crowd. Bodyguards froze, blood crystallizing.
Ignoring them, Situ Xing hailed a cab: "Shuimu Hotel."
In Shuimu's lobby, Huo Xuan breached state-leaders-grade tea with antique set confiscated from Zhang Wu. Mid-sip, he spotted Song Shiping—Counterespionage Bureau agent from Heyuan—lurking nearby.
Huo Xuan noticed Song Shiping seated nearby, his gaze fixed through floor-to-ceiling windows on a disheveled old man conducting fortune-telling beneath the opposite bridge arch. The charlatan's business floundered—clients sparse, his shifty eyes darting for approaching city inspectors.
Is Counterespionage Bureau so understaffed they surveil street swindlers? Huo Xuan scoffed internally.
Hua Buyi followed his disciple's gaze, brow furrowing. "Have your fortune read by him."
"Master, that's clearly a fraud—"
"Go."
Grudging compliance led Huo Xuan to a newsstand en route. Purchasing two packs of Zhongnanhai cigarettes, he inquired: "How's that old swindler's accuracy?"
The vendor sneered: "Eighty for palm reading, a hundred for face analysis. Last week he told a woman her nine-year-old son was pregnant with his brother!"
"Bullshit artist supreme!" The vendor cackled.
Intrigued against reason, Huo Xuan marched to the bridge. Slamming the cigarettes onto the rickety table: "Old man, read my fate."
The fortune-teller didn't glance up. "Palm out. Correct divination—free. Wrong—you owe me 500."
"Fucking highway robbery!" Huo Xuan's nostrils flared.