Chapter Forty-Five: The Third Level of the Ripple Step Technique

The entire arena, including the spectator stands, was stained a vivid red with fresh blood. Of course, blood was not the only thing—thick white fluids were splattered everywhere. Witnessing this scene, even someone as strong-willed as Hu Mo felt a wave of nausea.

A trace of exhaustion colored Yan Xiao’s face. Though his strength was formidable, such prolonged slaughter had taken a terrifying toll. Fortunately, most of the beasts had already been killed. Only a handful managed to break through the encirclement, and presently, they too were being hunted down by the Flame City’s garrison. There should be no further trouble.

From a distance, Yan Xiao noticed Hu Mo and his companions approaching. His expression shifted slightly, and he hurried to meet them, apologizing as he walked, “Young Master Hu, gentlemen, I am truly sorry for this grave mishap at the arena. The fault lies with me. I will personally call upon you another day to offer my apologies.”

“Boss Yan, you’re too courteous. We weren’t harmed; it’s nothing serious. There’s no need for a formal apology. I’m sure you have much to attend to, so we’ll take our leave for now. Once the arena is restored, we’ll be sure to return. Farewell!” With a respectful gesture, Hu Mo turned to go.

At that moment, the Hu family guards, panting from their beast-slaying frenzy, came stumbling over. They had desperately tried to rush to the VIP section, but were blocked by the rampaging beasts, and in the process, had inadvertently rendered the arena quite the service. Thankfully, their combat experience ran deep, so despite the chaos, they had suffered only a few broken bones—nothing life-threatening, though their battered state was pitiable.

“Young Master, are you…are you all right?” the captain of the guards asked anxiously. This group of guards had truly drawn the short straw. On arrival, they were barred from the VIP area; once the beasts rioted, they were trapped below and mauled by crazed animals. Had Hu Mo suffered so much as a scratch, they would have been held gravely responsible. The very thought made them want to weep.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry,” Hu Mo replied with a broad grin. And indeed, he was untouched—unlike those poor souls from the other families.

The guards from the Huang, Lin, and Du families looked as if they might wet themselves, their young masters reduced to half their former selves, as if they’d been through utter hell. With their masters in such a state, their own lives hung by a thread.

Thus, the three young lords were carried away by their respective guards, leaving only Hu Mo and his men. He offered Yan Xiao another parting gesture, said his goodbyes, and quickly led the Hu household’s guards away from the arena.

“Boss, what should we do next? This can’t be a simple accident, we—”

“First, stabilize everything. With these beasts gone mad, who knows how much compensation we’ll have to pay? Whether the Grand Beast Gala can be held again is uncertain. Yan Long, return to the valley and report this to the master. If we don’t get to the bottom of this, I, Yan Xiao, will not rest!” Yan Xiao’s voice was grim, his fists clenched tight.

“Yes, at once!”

Outside the arena, Hu Mo suddenly stopped. Slowly, he turned to see the young girl in white standing by the main gate, as before, with Cang Ling trailing behind her.

Hu Mo smiled faintly, turned, and continued walking. “Are you all right?” he asked as he walked, though he made no sound.

“It has nothing to do with you,” Cang Ling’s voice was as cold as ever, as if Hu Mo owed her a great debt.

He took no offense. With the same calm, he said, “I know it doesn’t concern me. I just wanted to know.”

Silence fell between them once more.

“I’m fine—just overexerted. I don’t like people showing off in front of me. As the inheritor of the Lingbo Technique, I hope you can develop the same awareness.”

Hu Mo broke out in a cold sweat. This woman’s words cut deep—she’d saved him, and yet accused him of showing off. It was almost too much.

Lingbo Technique… at that mention, Hu Mo suddenly realized his strength was surging as it had before. Without him noticing, the Three Treasures within him had whirred ceaselessly, and his power was once again at its peak—the very threshold of a ninth-level warrior.

He couldn’t help but sigh. If he had been cultivating with the Three Treasures since birth, perhaps he’d already be standing at the pinnacle of this world, looking down on all creation.

There was no point arguing with Cang Ling; it would only be a waste of breath. For now, all he wanted was to return home and break through that final barrier.

Before he reached the Hu estate, he was met by Uncle Fu, who had come with a troop of guards to rescue him. Seeing Hu Mo safe, Uncle Fu’s joy was palpable.

“Young Master, you’re finally back! The Marshal had urgent business at the border, and as soon as I got the news, I hurried here. Seeing you unharmed—what a relief!” Uncle Fu gripped Hu Mo’s hands, scrutinizing him for injuries, especially as the limping guards were so conspicuous.

“Don’t worry, Uncle Fu. I’m fine. I was in the VIP section when someone came to my aid.” Hu Mo spoke honestly, holding nothing back.

“Oh, that’s good. Who was it that saved you? I’ll send a heavy gift to thank them at once,” Uncle Fu replied, visibly relieved.

Hu Mo smiled lightly and shook his head. “It was Bai Han, the Grand Elder of the Situ family.”

“Bai Han? Then there’s no need. They’re probably up to their old tricks again.” Uncle Fu was blunt and suspicious. If Bai Han heard this, he’d probably explode with rage. Not that Bai Han was in any condition to do so—after falling for Cang Ling’s schemes, he was in dire straits himself.

Surrounded by several squads of guards, Hu Mo soon returned to the Hu estate. With Hu Yihu at the border, there was no need for lengthy formalities. After a brief word with Uncle Fu, he retired to his room.

Cang Ling walked along, arms folded, kicking pebbles as she went. Her mood was strange—sometimes quiet, sometimes mischievous. Right now, she aimed her kicks at Hu Mo’s backside.

Much to Hu Mo’s annoyance, even using the Misty Step, the pebbles seemed to find their mark every time—landing squarely on his rear. Cang Ling’s malicious delight in this game was evident, as she put considerable force into every kick.

Hu Mo wanted to resist, but felt utterly powerless. Cang Ling had always gone her own way, immune to both flattery and threats—something Hu Mo knew all too well. Enduring this torment all the way back to his room, his misfortune finally subsided a little.

“Cultivate well and break through quickly. You’re too slow—clearly lacking in talent.” Cang Ling stopped at the door, her tone dripping with disdain.

Only then did Hu Mo realize she had merely been testing him. Still, her knack for deflating his ego was as potent as ever—she left him feeling utterly worthless with just a few words.

He nodded, black lines crossing his face, sighed, and muttered, “I’ll have to trouble you, Sister Cang.”

With that, he shut the door, rubbing his sore backside, tears streaming down his face. “It hurts so much! Why always aim for that spot? You’ll kill me!”

After a bout of tears, the pain eased a little. Needless to say, the next few days would be miserable whenever he needed to relieve himself.

He climbed onto the bed and sat cross-legged. The floor was cold and hard, and his rear could take no more abuse.

Centering himself, Hu Mo calmed his mind. Ever since reaching full capacity in his power, he had been suppressing it. Otherwise, with no guiding technique, he could easily lose control and fall into disaster.

He took a deep breath, and that familiar script appeared in his mind—nine sections, the first two clear, the remaining seven shrouded in mist.

Yet the mist over the third section was now much thinner than before. Hu Mo sensed that the next stage, which he so desperately sought, was finally within reach.

He stopped suppressing his strength. In that instant, his clothes were blasted to shreds by the surging power—a bare, pale body sitting exposed on the bed, his skin whiter than most women could boast.

Hu Mo had no idea what he looked like just then. All he could feel was that he was in a state of torment, as the raging energy wreaked havoc through his meridians.

He had thought he could control it easily, but the difficulty was beyond what he’d imagined.

The tumultuous energy split into five forces, each wave battering his meridians—now fiery, now icy, now sharp, now heavy, now brimming with vitality. In this crucible, Hu Mo drove the Misty Step technique to its limits. The mist on the third section of script grew ever thinner.

At last, when the mist vanished, a mass of black flame leapt from the Azurewood Cauldron, alive and sentient, engulfing Hu Mo in an instant. He barely had time to react before a wave of agony crashed over him, nearly making him lose consciousness.

He had no idea what was happening—only that his body felt as if it were melting. Smoke began to rise from him, and his entire skin flushed crimson.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, his gaze fell on the script. He bit his lip, a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth.

“Chaos fire, essence of heaven and earth. Nurturing water, spirit of the universe. Pure yin and pure yang, utmost hardness and softness, water and fire merciless, heavens and earth unscarred.”

Hu Mo forced himself to finish reading, his nerves strung to the breaking point. The smell of burning filled the air—he was like a roasted suckling pig.

As the scent grew stronger, a black liquid began to seep from his pores, but the stench was masked by the smell of burning.

Just as he was about to collapse, the Holy Water Lord, which had been dormant, released a pale blue glow. It flowed along his Du meridian, sinking into his dantian.

When blue light met black flame, they quickly tangled together—heat and cold, two extremes interwoven. Hu Mo felt a wave of dizziness, and then everything faded into unconsciousness.