Chapter 8: The Formal Disciple

After nearly six months of relentless cultivation, Han Li stood before Doctor Mo for his final assessment.

Zhang Tie fidgeted nervously beside him. Despite his diligence, the nameless mantra had yielded no results—no energy flow, no progress. Han Li, though marginally better with a thread-like cold energy in his dantian, felt equally uncertain.

"Show me your progress," Doctor Mo commanded, reclining in his chair with icy detachment.

Zhang Tie extended trembling hands. Mo gripped his wrist and pressed a palm to his dantian. Moments later, he withdrew, expressionless.

Zhang Tie flushed, hiding his hands. *He knows I failed.*

To everyone's surprise, Mo merely sighed, disappointment fleeting in his eyes.

Mo turned to Han Li, seizing his wrist. The doctor's calloused fingers prickled Han Li's skin.

Instinctively, Han Li's cold energy surged through his meridians—**Eight Extraordinary Vessels**, **dantian** to crown, limbs, and back. The discomfort vanished.

"Again!" Mo's voice trembled with suppressed fervor.

Han Li obeyed.

"Yes! **This** is what I sought!" Mo erupted into laughter, gripping Han Li's shoulders with manic intensity. His eyes blazed like a collector beholding a rare treasure.

Han Li winced, unnerved by the doctor's fervor.

"From today, you are my true disciple," Mo declared, regaining composure.

Mo's gaze shifted to Zhang Tie. "Your aptitude… lacks."

Zhang Tie's heart plummeted.

Then Mo's tone softened. "But your bones suit another art. Will you learn it?"

Zhang Tie nodded frantically.

"Good. Very good." Mo's rare smile lingered. "Return tomorrow for your new techniques."

Outside, Han Li and Zhang Tie exchanged relieved glances. Against odds, both had passed.