He paused, then added, "It's the silver spoon types you got to watch. The ones from good families. Good gear, good pills, good backers. You might beat them in a fair fight—hell, you might out-think them—but it won't be fair. Not with the kind of spiritual tools they carry. You won't even get close."
Zhao Ming's fingers tapped the scar once, like punctuation. "Those are the ones who walk out clean. Not because they were stronger. Because they never had to take risks in the first place."
Li Wei's gaze stayed steady. "How do I survive it?"
Zhao Ming didn't answer right away. He refilled his cup and took another long sip, this time quieter. When he set it down, his fingers lingered around the rim.
"First year?" He finally spoke, voice even. "Hide. Don't play the hero. Learn the terrain. Inventory the environment—look for spirit plants, natural shelters, predictable patrol routes from the outer ring beasts. It's all information. You survive by not drawing attention."
"First year's the worst," he said plainly. "That's when most die. No one knows anything. No teams. No caution. Just panic and posturing. Half of them run straight into beast dens thinking they'll get lucky."
He continued, counting off with two fingers.
"Second year, if your foundation's solid and your gear's decent, go after the demon beasts. Take the cores you need. Don't push for extra merit. It's not worth the risk."
"Second year is Quieter. Those who survived already learned not to play hero. Most just try to stay out of sight, gather resources, kill their quota if they're brave."
His fingers curled slightly.
"Third year? Don't die. That's it. No strategies. No plans. If you're still alive by then, it's not about climbing—it's about crawling out with your bones intact. There's nothing left to prove."
"Third year is when the real ones show up. The cultivators with proper backing, bloodline talents, weapons that shouldn't be allowed in there. They come to hunt. Not beasts—disciples. Anyone who's made it that far is a threat. You become a target by surviving."
Li Wei didn't interrupt.
Zhao Ming continued, "I only got through it because I had this."
Zhao Ming reached under the counter and unwrapped a cloth bundle. Inside lay a thick forearm bracer fitted with three dark, curved claws—each one about the length of a finger and fixed firmly along the wrist and knuckle line. The metal was darkened, slightly pitted, with a reddish hue along the edges.
"Rust Grasp," he said. "Simple really..."
Li Wei picked it up. The bracer was heavy, clearly made for someone who expected close contact. The claws were solidly forged, not delicate, not ornate—designed for function, not aesthetics.
"The claws are made with a slow-reacting alchemical rust," Zhao Ming continued. "When they cut flesh, the coating draws out residual Qi from the wound. Not enough to cripple someone immediately—but it stacks. Every scratch, every tear… more Qi slips out. Makes the next technique slower. Less stable."
He paused, tapping one of the claws. "It won't do anything against someone with proper armour. But if you land hits, even light ones, the drain starts to show."
Zhao Ming gestured to the weapon. "It makes those silver spoon killers more hesitant to mess with you."
Li Wei nodded. It wasn't elegant, but it didn't need to be. In a drawn-out fight, or one where every opening mattered, it would tip the balance.
"It's on the lower end of spiritual tools," Zhao Ming admitted. "Some high-end ones? One attack, one kill—This won't do that. But it kept me breathing long enough to trade up."
He tapped one claw with a fingernail. "The rust doesn't just bite. It disrupts rhythm—Qi flow, reflex timing. Makes casting harder, movement clumsier. It's not obvious at first, but every slash adds up. Doesn't kill fast, but it kills eventually."
Li Wei strapped the bracer on experimentally. It fit snugly, and the weight didn't interfere with his range of motion.
Li Wei asked, "How much?"
Zhao Ming's eyes flicked to the vial of Foundation Establishment Elixir. "That covers most of it. You survive, pay the rest later. If not, I'll visit your cave. Take what I like."
Li Wei nodded. "Fine."
Zhao Ming slid the cloth bundle across the counter—the wrapping the Rust Grasp had come in.
Then Zhao Ming added, "Try not to die, yeah? Business is better with you around."
Li Wei returned to his cave.
With the Reaping approaching, he remained inside. He did not leave. Even basic supply runs were suspended Jiao Han could handle those. Each night, Li Wei slept lightly, using shallow meditative cycles to stay half-aware. There had been no direct threats, but that meant nothing. The sect was entering its quiet phase. That always came before the violence.
With the Rust Grasp secured, he added it to his loadout. It was durable, simple, and usable without Qi. That gave it clear tactical value. He practiced with it regularly, alternating between striking drills and simulated combat routines with his bone slave.
Coordination with bone sand was next. The goal was to trap or disrupt with the sand closing distance then using the Rust Grasp. Both tools required precision. In confined terrain or ambush scenarios, hesitation would be fatal.
After experimenting a while , he noted a significant loss in his stored bone dust. Portions had scattered the the wind beyond his control. He needed a fresh supply.
Li Wei used his bone growth technique to begin regeneration. The process took a few hours, with discomfort concentrated around his forearm and femur. Once hardened, the bone was extracted and handed to his bone slave for grinding.
The results were visibly different. The new dust had a finer consistency and sharper response to Qi. He ran several tests using light manipulation techniques—movement speed, cohesion, reaction time—all confirmed it: the new dust was superior.
Lw concluded that bone dust produced now was stronger. Likely due to his increased cultivation base as 2nd level foundational establishment. Older material was no longer optimal.
Li Wei discarded the remaining old dust. Bone slave swept it into his meditation room. All future reserves would be made fresh.
He continued production until his main storage pouch was fully restocked. No resource gaps before the Reaping.
He also resumed attempts at the Desert Soul Technique.
Jiao Han was dispatched to retrieve batches of mortal ash. It arrived the next day—refined, dry, packed in thick cloth sacks. The Bone Slave spread it across the floor of his meditation room, layering it evenly, then Li Wei sat cross-legged in the centre. The sensation was immediate: faint grounding, a slight draw against his Qi flow. The ash worked—technically.
Its effect was real but nearly imperceptible. That was to be expected. It was mortal ash—low-grade material. Still, anything that could help stabilise his foundation as it deepened was worth using. His cultivation increased by an amount so small it could barely be measured. No breakthroughs, no visible change in Qi density, but the structure felt marginally steadier. It was progress, however limited.
In the absence of new insights, quiet consistency was the only viable method.
As he sat motionless in the low light, Li Wei ran through a familiar chain of thoughts.
"This would be so much more effective in a real desert. With proper high-grade bones."
The image of a sun-blasted wasteland came to mind—scorched sand and dense Qi bone remnants soaked into the terrain.
But for now, all he had was mortal ash, low-tier bones, and time.
"And the runes."
That part still frustrated him. The system's mention of runes that could increase the technique's efficiency hadn't left his mind.
Li Wei continued practicing the Bone Whisper Art. Though the technique itself had become second nature, he remained fixated on the elusive fourth Mind Rune. He had failed to form it multiple times—too much noise, not enough clarity. Still, the obsession lingered.
This time, it happened during a focused session deep in his meditation chamber. The floor had been freshly coated in mortal ash, layered evenly by his bone slave.
The scent of scorched marrow and burnt incense hung low in the meditation chamber. It wasn't purely ceremonial—Li Wei had instructed Jiao Han to bring in supplies that could aid focus and spiritual awareness. Some were standard fare: dried herbs, powdered minerals, mortuary ash. Others were stranger—calcined marrow, and fragments of beast cartilage steeped in resin.
His bone slave handled the actual burning. Mundane, repetitive tasks like that weren't worth Li Wei's time. The slave would grind the materials, mix them according to instruction, and place them into a small container at the room's centre. The heat released a faint smoke, acrid and slightly sweet, meant to clear the mind and deepen meditative clarity.
It worked—mostly.
One time, the bone slave had fumbled a resin blend, adding too much Qi-infused fat to the mixture. The result had been a smoking resin blob that melted through the burner and left a permanent scar in the stone floor. Concentration had not improved that day.