Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Ruthless and Ferocious Wu Hong

Chapter 29: The Ruthless Wu Hong

Wu Hong locked himself alone in his room, his mind in turmoil. Suddenly, a jolt of fear struck him. "This is bad! These are the signs of going mad from inner demons!"

What Wu Hong did not know was that for those who practice martial arts, the greatest taboo is a wavering heart and doubting one's own actions. Such situations usually end in sudden death, and among ten thousand, not one can safely recover from a fit of inner demons.

Wu Hong felt his blood boiling throughout his body, at times seeping to his skin, now dim, now bright. The Supreme Sun Tathāgata Manual was entirely different from other martial arts texts.

Others in the martial path, when encountering such a crisis, would mostly calm their thoughts, meditate, and regulate their chaotic energies, never daring to move recklessly. Even so, the chance of surviving such a calamity was minuscule.

But Wu Hong’s Supreme Sun Tathāgata Manual consisted only of nineteen peculiar body-refining movements. With no precedents to draw from, he could only move all his limbs, stirring up a gale in his bedroom as he practiced the nineteen forms of the Supreme Sun Tathāgata Manual.

Yet, to his shock, the routine he had practiced countless times now felt almost insurmountable. Every movement was exhausting, his whole body wracked with agony, as if millions of ants were gnawing at his flesh.

Fortunately, Wu Hong possessed a mind as unyielding as steel. The cataclysm in his family, the villainy of Feng, and the trials of human suffering had forged his indomitable will.

A golden mist seemed to steam from Wu Hong, filling the small room. The Supreme Sun Tathāgata Manual floated from his chest and hovered midair, emitting a soft, holy golden glow.

Every movement Wu Hong made was slow as a tortoise, but there were results. With each completed form, the chaotic energies within him became a little more harmonious.

Not daring to lose focus for an instant, Wu Hong continued practicing, hoping desperately that no one would disturb him.

What he did not know was that at this inn, as long as the guest paid enough, there was never any interruption mid-stay!

Indeed, this inn was frequented by martial artists who most dreaded being disturbed—a fact Wu Hong was unaware of.

For two days and nights, Wu Hong practiced the Supreme Sun Tathāgata Manual without rest. He felt the turbulence in his energy flow gradually subsiding, his taut nerves slowly relaxing.

But outside, rumors about Wu Hong were exploding across the martial world like a bomb, and he was now regarded as a fiend, the equal of the notorious Invincible East.

At that moment, chaos reigned in the wealthy Li household of Yunluo City. Master Li, accompanied by his servants, entered his young son's room to find the boy—less than ten years old—lying naked on the floor. Most devastating to Master Li, his son's lower body was a bloody ruin, the most vital part of a man gone without a trace.

Master Li was not only a rich merchant but also well-connected with various martial sects, and no one dared offend him.

"Who did this?" Master Li's voice was chilling, each word forced out with trembling fury.

None of the servants dared reply. Master Li, half-mad, shouted himself hoarse, but no answer came.

Tears streaming down his face, Master Li knelt by his son. This was his only child, the family's sole hope for the future.

Kneeling, he noticed fresh blood dripping from his son's fingertips, forming shapes on the floor—were those words? Master Li squinted, peering closely.

"Hurt me? Wu Hong." The blood was blurred, but on careful inspection, the name could be made out.

"Ah! Beast! I swear I will not be a man if I do not avenge this!"

Just days before, Master Li had heard rumors of several martial artists' children being killed outside Yunluo City. It was said to be the work of Wu Hong, the wanted scion of the Wu Wei Prince’s household. At the time, he had not cared, thinking, however ruthless Wu Hong might be, he bore him no grudge; why would he be harmed?

In just two days, several noble sons in Yunluo City had been rendered eunuchs by cruel means, though their lives were spared. The victims were always only children.

Now, all the victims’ families hated Wu Hong with a fury, wishing to drink his blood and eat his flesh.

Meanwhile, Wu Hong's deeds had sent shockwaves through the martial world, like a bomb dropped into a vat of oil, leaving many wounded and reeling.

Because of Wu Hong, the wanted scion of the Wu Wei Prince’s household, the martial world was in uproar, and every household with sons was in constant fear.

To cut off a bloodline was as grave as exterminating a family—perhaps even more hateful.

In the streets of Yunluo City, five distinctive young men walked, trailed by several men in black. These were none other than Wu Songran and his companions, who had once been drugged in the desert inn. Now, Wang Liang, Xiao Fei, the Daoist youth, and the armored youth all looked bleak and grim.

These four, whenever they overheard martial artists on the street discussing Wu Hong's cruel acts, would give cold, mirthless laughs.

"Hmph—Wu Hong, let's see how you ever show your face in the martial world again! I’ll make sure every martial artist sees you as a demon who eats flesh and drinks blood."

Since being castrated in that desert inn, Wang Liang’s personality had warped. In a few days, his mustache had fallen out, his masculine traits fading, and even his voice had shifted to a hoarse croak.

The mere thought of Wu Hong filled Wang Liang with rage.

The other three felt similarly. So, they secretly called upon family experts in marrow-forging, who went about harming the sons and daughters of notable martial figures.

These marrow-forging experts were not considered members of the martial world and felt no guilt in committing such atrocities, especially when acting on orders from their masters—the young lords themselves.

If the child was an only son, he was subjected to castration; if a daughter, perhaps Wang Liang, in the past, would have violated and killed her, but he was now incapable. He could only order his men to carry out these acts.

Within four or five days, Wu Hong’s name spread from Yunluo City throughout the Da Qian Dynasty.

Wu Songran was not much better. He was convinced Wu Hong had tried to violate his half-sister, and though ultimately unsuccessful, Wu Songran would never believe Wu Hong had relented out of mercy.

He faintly sensed that the panic in the martial world—the hiding away of all children—was the work of Wang Liang and his group, but did nothing to stop them.

Some among them even felt a malicious glee. Each of these young men had been seeded with inner demons by Wu Hong; unless they destroyed him, they would never progress further in their cultivation.

Among martial artists, lechery and thievery were the greatest taboos. Even the notorious Qingyang Sect acted only in secret, but to commit such acts and then boldly sign one’s name—no one had ever heard of such madness.

Yet Wu Hong was oblivious, practicing day and night in the inn, neither eating nor drinking for seven days and nights, mastering the nineteen forms of the Supreme Sun Tathāgata Manual. The fit had passed, but he was reluctant to waste this rare insight.

By now, a golden radiance enveloped him, dazzling as a blazing sun, though in the eyes of outsiders it was merely a faint aura.

Wu Hong's entire body was now covered in a layer of golden old skin, which sloughed off as his movements grew faster and faster.

This was a clear sign he had entered the Blood Refinement stage. Unlike other martial artists, Wu Hong's transformation was almost like shedding his old self.

The hallmark of the Blood Refinement stage was the ability to channel all the energy of one's blood to the surface, forming a protective layer of true energy. In combat, a mere touch could transmit destructive energy into an opponent, wreaking havoc within.

Blood Refinement was considered the mark of an expert in the martial world, but not the peak. Only those who forged their marrow could be counted as true masters.

The martial world was filled with experts, and many had reached the Marrow Forging stage, but it was a decisive dividing line.

A master at the peak of the acquired Marrow Forging stage could defeat dozens, even hundreds of those newly entered into it.

The silver-armored general who had once pursued Wu Hong was at the early Marrow Forging stage, while his teacher, Master Guigu, was at the mid-stage.

Those who reached the peak of the acquired Marrow Forging stage were extremely rare.

As the last of his old skin dropped away, Wu Hong’s movements slowed.

With a series of crackling pops, Wu Hong finished the last form. His entire body twisted in ways that defied physics, joints popping as his neck rotated a full 360 degrees, arms and legs bending at will, the sound of bone grinding echoing incessantly.

He discovered that with a push or a kick, his limbs could extend slightly, providing an element of surprise in combat.

His monstrous strength now likely equaled that of a peak acquired master; a solid punch from him would shatter any ordinary martial artist.

The comfort flooding his body lifted his spirits.

Unaware how long he had trained, Wu Hong was just about to leave, only to notice the pile of golden old skin on the floor. Looking at his arms, he froze.

His skin now glowed with a faint gold, gone was the previous sallow hue; golden streams, like thousands of serpents, flowed over his body, eventually calming and sinking beneath the surface with his steady breath.

He felt his arms had grown much thicker. What he did not know was that everyone who reached the Blood Refinement stage experienced some transformation in appearance.

Wu Hong hurried to the mirror and was stunned. He stared for a long time, hardly believing his eyes—was this truly himself?

Gone was his once gaunt frame, his sallow skin replaced by a healthy golden hue. His limbs were now muscular but not grotesquely so.

His skin had a pale yellow tint, not bronzed, but radiating vitality. His once disheveled hair now hung smoothly over his shoulders, his formerly skeletal cheeks were full, his temples high, and his eyes sharp as blades.

He touched every part of his body, half-afraid this miraculous transformation would vanish the moment he turned away, but it was all real. Delight filled his heart.

"Marvelous! With this new appearance, even without a mask, no one would recognize me." The only thing unchanged was his short stature, still slightly below average.

This was because he had not yet reached the Bone Refinement stage. Wu Hong did not know that while many reached the Blood Refinement stage, none underwent such a complete transformation—a rebirth spoken of only in legend.

He gazed at his reflection for a long while, then, convinced it was real, tore off his iron mask and tossed it aside.

Turning to leave, he noticed the Supreme Sun Tathāgata Manual, its golden cover calm and still. He picked it up and flipped to the last page.

"Transcend the demon barrier! Rebirth and transformation." Indeed, new words had appeared in the manual. Wu Hong was deeply moved; his fate had truly been changed by a single book.

As he stood there in a daze, the manual grew hot in his hands. He involuntarily loosened his grip, and the book floated into the air, opening by some mysterious force to a new chapter. Wu Hong’s eyes widened as he read the words on the freshly revealed page:

"The Supreme Sun Tathāgata Vajra Palm."