Han Li did not have the luxury of waiting that long. In at most four or five months, Doctor Mo would force a final confrontation, and he had to possess some means of self-preservation before then.
Thus, he ultimately decided to focus only on a few simple and quickly applicable secret techniques, setting the others aside for later—if he managed to survive this ordeal.
This approach significantly shortened his training time, allowing him to master several swift and easy-to-learn techniques as soon as possible.
Deep down, Han Li knew that even if he mastered all the techniques, he might still not be a match for his opponent.
If Doctor Mo hadn’t been lying during their last encounter, given his former status as a powerful faction leader, he likely possessed numerous ruthless methods he hadn’t revealed. The skills he had displayed were probably only a fraction of his true strength.
Even so, the memory of Doctor Mo’s ghostly movements sent chills down Han Li’s spine, filling him with deep apprehension.
He was fully aware that what he could learn in such a short time was limited and would pose little to no threat to Doctor Mo. Yet, Han Li would never resign himself to capture or allow himself to be manipulated without a fight.
He knew that if they clashed again, his only chance of victory lay in Doctor Mo’s underestimation of him. Only if his opponent let his guard down, neglecting to take Han Li seriously, could he seize an opportunity to strike unexpectedly and grasp a sliver of hope for survival.
In the following days, Han Li memorized the entire Blinking Sword Art manual and selected several techniques useful for his current situation, researching them to devise an efficient training method.
After days of racking his brains, he compiled a complete training regimen from the book. He took pride in accomplishing such a meticulous task in such a short time.
Over the next half-month, Han Li tidied up loose ends, ensuring he was fully prepared without leaving any unresolved matters.
First, he returned the original manual to Li Feiyu intact one day and took the opportunity to tell him about encountering the spy from the Wild Wolf Gang, including exposing the kitchen steward’s identity.
Upon hearing this, Li Feiyu was both shocked and delighted. He threw an arm around Han Li’s shoulders, repeatedly calling him “good brother,” deeply moved that Han Li would freely hand him such a significant credit.
Little did he know that Han Li was preoccupied with saving his own life and had no interest in catching spies. Passing the task along effortlessly while earning goodwill was a win-win situation for him.
After settling matters with Li Feiyu, Han Li personally visited several skilled blacksmiths in the sect.
He commissioned several different styles of sheathed short swords from them, requesting subtle secret modifications. Additionally, he ordered some unnamed components of unclear purpose and a few small, exquisite iron bells, demanding they be completed as quickly as possible. The considerable silver spent left him feeling a pang of regret.
A few days later, Han Li collected his custom orders. He was highly satisfied with the gleaming short swords and delicate iron bells, praising the blacksmiths’ craftsmanship and feeling his money had been well spent.
That night, Han Li vanished from his residence without a trace, leaving only a note on his bedside that read:
“Master Mo, there’s no need to worry or be angry. I am not running away or hiding. I simply find the atmosphere in the same valley too oppressive, which hinders my cultivation of the Eternal Spring Art. Thus, I have decided to find a secluded spot on the mountain to cultivate in seclusion. Rest assured, I will return to meet you on the same day four months from now.
Respectfully,
Han Li”
Leaning back in his armchair, Doctor Mo held the note in his left hand, scrutinizing it with a dark expression. On the table beside him lay another slip of paper detailing Han Li’s recent orders from the blacksmith.
The room was silent except for the soft tapping of Doctor Mo’s right finger on the table.
Suddenly, he snorted coldly, and the note in his hand crumbled to dust, scattering onto the floor.
Agitated, he stood up and paced around the room, furrowing his brow in thought. After a few rounds, he stopped and muttered to himself, “You little brat, whatever scheme you’re plotting, you won’t escape my grasp. I’ve marked you as mine.”
With that, Doctor Mo turned abruptly to the window and let out a low, prolonged whistle. A small yellow-feathered bird of an unknown species flew in from outside, circled the room a few times, and landed on his shoulder.
Once perched, the bird affectionately rubbed its beak against his face, emitting crisp “coo-coo” sounds.
“Alright, I know you’re hungry. Here, your favorite ‘Yellow Millet Pellets.’”
At the sight of the bird, Doctor Mo’s gloomy face softened into a faint smile, his eyes filled with doting affection. He took a yellow bird treat from his pocket and fed it to the bird.
“Go now, just like before. Keep a close watch on that person. If he leaves this mountain range, return immediately and inform me,” Doctor Mo instructed as if speaking to a person.
Upon eating the treat, the bird excitedly fluttered around the room with cheerful “coo-coo” sounds. After hearing his words, it circled once more before darting out the window and disappearing into the sky.
“Hmph! With the ‘Cloud-Winged Bird,’ said to be faster than an arrow shot from a strong bow, keeping watch, let’s see what tricks you can pull,” he muttered darkly to himself.
“Four months? I’ll await that day. It seems the plan is nearing success! Now, anyone who stands in my way or hinders the plan’s execution will die. If gods block my path, I’ll kill gods; if Buddhas obstruct me, I’ll kill Buddhas.”
“Ha! Ha! Ha!” Doctor Mo suddenly burst into wild, unrestrained laughter, his eyes filled with madness.
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