Black-Rock Valley was located ten miles away from where Fang Xing’s own cottage was located. Despite Fang Xing’s young age and the fact he was only at the second tier, it took him around a mere half an hour to arrive. A few people were using the early morning sun to train as he swaggered into the valley, but everyone only saw him as a young daotong and didn’t pay him a second glance.

　　Fang Xing casually strolled around the area to find Hua Qianzhi’s cottage before walking up and knocking on the door.

　　“Who is it?” a muffled voice rose up from within.

　　Fang Xing cleared his throat, coughed, and lowered his voice. “I… I am Little Snivel…. I’m here to send a message….”

　　“Send a message?” a whisper came from within before the speaker opened the door. The voice belonged to a surly-faced man in his thirties with a solid stature, long spindly fingers, and a pair of eyes and brows that perfectly matched the counterfeiter from the Black Market. As he looked at the child in front of him, the man asked in a low voice, “What message?”

　　Fang Xing put on a deliberately scared expression and stuttered out, “It was a tall shixiong with very narrow eyes….” Once Fang Xing had described the general features of the disguise he’d used last night, Hua Qianzi’s face immediately grew dark. He grabbed onto Fang Xing’s arm, pulled him into the cottage, and gave him a sharp stare before coldly demanding, “What is that person’s name? Where does he live? Tell me everything, and if you dare to miss any details, I’ll make sure you suffer….”

　　Fang Xing continued to show a fearful expression as his body shivered. “I— I don’t know. I was just carrying s— some water, he came up to me and told me to send you a message…. He— he also said that once you listened, you w— would give me a reward….” Fang Xing’s performance was really quite vivid, and he looked every bit like a child scared out of his wits. Then again, he himself was still a child; perhaps this was simply another side of him.

　　Hua Qianzhi asked a few more rounds of questions, but Fang Xing answered each one without any mistakes. It was only then that the man let out a sigh and finally believed this daotong was nothing more than a messenger. He wouldn’t get anything useful from him.

　　“What message did he want you to send?”

　　“He said he wanted Ore Essence Powder!”

　　“Ore Essence Powder?” Hua Qianzhi’s eyes glimmered with anger as he shouted out, “Where the hell does he expect me to get….” He suddenly stopped halfway through as he came to a realization—he wasn’t being asked for the genuine item, but a counterfeit. He calmed down at this and began to collect his thoughts. ‘Ore Essence Powder is used to break through into higher tiers and the sect has tight control over it. I’ve fortunately seen it during my work at the alchemy mill, but even then I’ve only seen it a few times. Hmm, how to make it realistic….’

　　Although he had such thoughts, Hua Qianzhi still didn’t want to actually do this. Just as he was trying to think of an excuse to get out of it, Fang Xing added, “The shixiong also said that if you don’t decline, I’ll have to give you this.”

　　“‘This’?” Hua Qianzhi asked while the boy pulled out a small cloth bag that seemed a bit heavy. When he took a look inside the bag, his pupils suddenly shrank as he saw what was inside: ten bright red Spirit Stones and a gold leaf.

　　“The shixiong said th— that this is just an advance payment. Once it’s finished, there’ll be twenty more…” Fang Xing stammered out, as though doing his best to remember the details of the message.

　　Hua Qianzhi’s breathing grew more hurried as he stared at the Spirit Stones in front of him, far more convinced with this than with words. Thirty Spirit Stones was a very good deal for him, especially since making counterfeit Ore Essence Powder only needed a few worthless materials; crafting even the most realistic fake would cost him only a single Spirit Stone.

　　Hua Qianzhi considered it for a long while before retying the bag and grasping it tightly in his hand. “Did he say anything about what he plans to do with the powder?”

　　Fang Xing carefully shook his head. “He didn’t, but….”

　　“But what?”

　　“He said…. If you don’t have Ore Essence Powder, he’ll tell people something….”

　　Hua Qianzhi immediately covered his forehead with his other hand and released a heavy sigh. He was being forced into this! He realized rather quickly that he didn’t have a choice in the matter and released another long sigh. “I’ll take the Spirit Stones. You go back and tell him to send someone here in seven days to collect the powder!” After finishing, he noticed the daotong was looking at him longingly without budging an inch, and he recalled what he’d been told—the boy was expecting a reward. With this, he realized what the extra gold leaf inside was for and passed it over with a wave of his hand. “You can go now!”

　　The daotong held on to the gold leaf with a face full of excitement. “Now I can tell you the last part. That shixiong also said he won’t show up if you planned to find him by following me….”

　　Hua Qianzhi had actually planned to tail behind the boy, but hearing these words left him taken aback at just how meticulous the person he was dealing with was. He waved his hands once more, signaling for the boy to leave. His plan had been to follow the boy to find out who this mysterious man actually was, but with his intentions laid bare, he had to give up on it in the end.

　　—

　　Fang Xing felt rather proud of himself after leaving Hua Qianzhi’s cottage. He grew up in a bandit nest, after all, and he’d tagged along with his seventh and eighth uncle in the shady businesses of kidnapping and ransoms by the time he was seven years old. It had left the town officials angry and confused without any leads, and all of the tricks his uncles had used were imprinted in that little brain of his. All Fang Xing had to do today was alter it slightly to suit the situation, and Hua Qianzhi had been turned into a sheep waiting to be butchered.

　　Trusting there wouldn’t be any problems from Hua Qianzhi, Fang Xing returned to his cottage in high spirits. Fang Xing wasn’t worried since Hua Qianzhi had said it would be ready in seven days, and he’d just return once it was finished. In the time before then, he became even more diligent in practicing his cultivation in order to prepare for the days to come.

　　It became clear, however, that after Fang Xing had stepped into tier two, using the same methods from before had grown many times more difficult. In a way, it was as though a streamlet had turned into a full-sized stream, and the amount of water that was required to fill it was many times larger. Similarly, practicing his cultivation using Spirit Stones of the same size as before was like using the exact same spoon to fill streams of differing sizes—the time and effort it would take was vastly different.

　　Under normal circumstances, a person who had an abundance of resources would typically need around two months to go from the beginning of tier one to the peak. From the beginning of tier two to its peak, it would take around half a year under the same conditions.

　　Once someone reached the peak—or the mastery of the tier—they would then have to try to break through into the tier above. This process also required time, but the amount necessary varied considerably based upon luck and talent. Some would find this “breakthrough” effortless and require no more than a couple of days, while those with less talent would need much longer. One year, two years, ten years, the rest of their lives… sometimes those without talent ended up dwelling at the peak without ever going higher.

　　A cultivator would need and consume resources to increase and accumulate Qi through practice, but a combination of talent, willpower, and assistance from powerful helpers were the deciding factors for breaking through a bottleneck.

　　Accumulation and breakthrough: cultivation’s quantity and quality. Only when both conditions were met could it be said that cultivation was truly practiced.

　　Naturally, every breakthrough carried with it great benefits.

　　Fang Xing hadn’t learned any spells yet, but he could feel the abundance of energy and vitality within him. He was far more agile and stronger than he was before, and he could even spend fewer hours on sleep without sacrificing his physical strength and health.

　　Although he practiced his cultivation for a while, Fang Xing felt it was progressing too slowly and instead got out of bed to practice some martial arts. He stood up inside his wooden cottage, took out his dagger, and tucked his long robe into his pants.

　　Wherever the dagger could be seen passing by, rays of white light would follow. The dagger swished from one side of the room to the other, his figure closely resembling that of a nimble animal as he jumped high into the air to pierce areas far beyond his reach.

　　His imaginary enemies were all adults. Every enemy he’d faced up to now had been an adult, even back when he was at the bandit nest.

　　At age four, he was thrown into a house filled with mad hounds.

　　Age five, he faced off against a one-year-old wolfling with his bare hands.

　　Six, he was taken away by town officials, hanged on a tree by his feet, and then given seventeen lashes until he was dripping with blood.

　　Seven, he single-handedly poisoned a traitor of Guiyan Valley who wanted to take him as a hostage to threaten his uncles.

　　Eight, nine, and ten, many terrible things happened, things he had nightmares about to this very day.

　　Every one of his nine uncles had been good to him, but they were not good people!

　　Fang Xing believed there was no injustice in the murder of his nine uncles. Even if he himself were to be killed, there wouldn’t be any injustice.

　　Their deaths weren’t unjust, but they had raised him like their own. As long as he was alive, he had to grow—he had to take their revenge.