A massive pot sat over a roaring blaze, simmering chunks of tiger meat bound to sinew and bone.
The broth churned and bubbled, releasing a peculiar rankness mingled with a pungent, mouth-watering aroma of meat.
It was not just flesh in the pot—the five viscera, intestines, and belly were all laid out inside as well.
The cast-iron cauldron, a full four feet across, was not only packed to the brim but mounded high above the rim like a miniature mountain of meat.
Yet the smell of cooked meat was one thing, and how it tasted was an entirely different matter—especially since it was boiled in nothing more than clear water with a pinch of salt. In Li Da's words, cooking spices all possessed their own medicinal properties to some degree and would only foul the tiger meat. Simmering it in pure water kept it at its purest.
As a result, Lian Youming took one mouthful and nearly threw up from the rank stench. The meat tasted faintly sour and was remarkably tough to chew, no better than dry, stringy beef.
Even so, Lian Youming gritted his teeth, chewed it rawly, and forced it down his throat in great gulps.
A tiger was a treasure from head to toe, particularly a wild one that fed on all the beasts of the mountains. Those myriad beasts subsisted on vastly different diets—some preyed on flesh and blood, while others fed on rare blossoms, exotic grasses, or aged herbs. Up and down the ascending food chain, everything across the wilderness ultimately found its way into the belly of the king of beasts.
To a degree, such a creature drew upon virtually all the vital essence of an entire mountain. That was precisely why the world viewed a fierce tiger as a "body of pure yang" and revered it as the "Lord of the Mountain."
Lian Youming recalled that this was the very essence and core of that food-replenishing method: "The tiger swallows the world to fortify its qi through sustenance." Moreover, the text concluded by noting that this method allowed one to "devour a tiger to become a tiger, drink a dragon to transform into a dragon"—replenishing the vital essence of dragons and tigers to invigorate one's own constitution.
Right now, Lian Youming was covered in wounds. His foundation was depleted, his internal energy drained, and he desperately needed such potent nourishment. That was why Li Da had hacked an entire tiger into chunks—each piece a web of bone, meat, and sinew—chopped up half the spine, added the five viscera, and boiled this gargantuan pot.
The only thing missing was the tiger's penis, which Li Da had pocketed for himself.
Lian Youming sat in the courtyard. Still in Jilin and far too battered to travel, his only option was to replenish himself first. Li Da had brought him to a rest stop used by mountain roamers heading into the wilderness, where not a single living soul could be found for miles in any direction.
Staring at the steaming, grease-slicked pot of tiger meat, Lian Youming couldn't be bothered about flavor. He fished out a large chunk and began tearing into it with his teeth, hissing from the heat.
As he ate, he did not forget to channel the Three Yin Earth Fiend Force. A surging breath churned down into his belly, continuously breaking down and dispersing the vital essence locked within the tiger meat, while his digestive tract quickened its contractions.
He ate for more than two hours straight, until his belly visibly swelled.
Yet his digestion was remarkably swift. Heat rose from his entire frame, his face flushed with a crimson glow, and his eyes burned blood-red. Knowing his vital essence was overflowing, he stripped to the waist and began drilling his strikes right there in the courtyard. He paid no heed to proper forms or routines, caring only to vent the sweltering heat within. Moving purely on instinct, he freely drew upon lethal combat techniques, grappling techniques, and every method of violence he had ever witnessed, unleashing them in a frenzied flurry devoid of structure or pattern.
After practicing for over half an hour, Lian Youming finally stopped and rushed straight into the outhouse.
Once he had emptied his bowels, he washed his hands, returned to the iron pot, sucked the marrow from the bones, and tore into more meat and gristle.
It was a relentless cycle: eat until bursting, train, head to the outhouse to empty himself, eat again, and train once more.
Undisturbed by outsiders, Lian Youming kept that pot of tiger meat simmering for six days and six nights. Aside from resting at night, he ate this concoction for every single meal by day, suffering through a culinary torment worse than death.
Yet the transformation was staggering.
In those six days, nearly all of his wounds closed and formed scabs. A strange, radiant luster seemed to wash over his entire body. His hair stood stiff like halberds, sleek and glossy black. His weight had not ballooned unnaturally, either—likely because Golden Bell Shield kept his muscles tightly bound inward at all times. His physique appeared leaner than before, his waist narrower, yet vastly more ferocious.
Lian Youming even downed the broth from the pot. The flavor was sour, rank, and gamy—viler than swill.
It was not until the entire tiger was reduced to a single pelt and a skeleton, followed by two days of deep sleep, that Li Da showed up again.
"You ate it all?"
Looking at the giant cauldron, nearly scorched through at the bottom, the smile on Li Da's face froze.
That had been hundreds of jin of tiger meat, polished off in a single week.
Lian Youming blinked. "Didn't you say it was intensely nourishing and that eating more would do me good?"
Li Da frowned faintly, but taking in Lian Youming's current appearance, his surprise deepened. "Your aura has undergone quite a shift. You're right on the verge of overt force—where your hair stands like halberds and your frame feels poured from lead. You ate your way into this?"
Lian Youming changed into the clothes Li Da had brought him. Naturally, he wasn't about to mention that he also possessed Golden Bell Shield. That was a secret nobody else knew, what wuxia novels would call a bottom-of-the-chest trump card.
No, wait—Yan Lingyun knew too.
It was supposed to be a secret between the two of them.
Li Da was versed in the kung fu of every sect and familiar with a thousand fighting styles and ten thousand variations, yet even he hadn't figured out Lian Youming's secret. There was no way Lian Youming was going to blurt it out himself.
It was time to head back to Tahe.
Dressing in a white collared shirt and green military trousers, Lian Youming packed up the tiger pelt and bones—including the ones he had boiled for broth and gnawed clean—along with the two large gold bars and the bag of large Eastern pearls.
On this journey, not only had his Golden Bell Shield broken through two barriers, but he had also acquired Tantui and witnessed a multitude of combat styles. His harvest had been rich indeed.
Lian Youming asked, "How are things up on the mountain?"
Li Da said softly, "The White Lotus Sect blew up several entrances to the underground fortress. Everything's buried inside."
Lian Youming sighed. "What a pity."
Li Da smiled faintly. "For them to blow it up so decisively, they probably had another way in and out. It might have something to do with that tomb deep within."
Lian Youming wanted to press further, but seeing that Li Da seemed disinclined to say more, he let the matter drop. Grabbing his packed belongings, he prepared for the return to Tahe.
Perhaps out of a sudden stroke of conscience, Li Da didn't make them travel day and night on foot this time; instead, they boarded a truck heading north.
On the road back, Lian Youming asked curiously, "Brother Li, I heard people say that the tribulation of cultivation dispersal only strikes supreme masters who preserve their vital essence past a certain age. May I ask how old your senior martial brother is now?"
Li Da gave a mild smile. "Eighty-three."
Lian Youming stared blankly. "Then your master...?"
Li Da did not conceal the truth. Sitting cross-legged in the truck bed, he said gently, "I never met my master. I was accepted into the sect by my senior brother on our master's behalf after my brother had already turned sixty. Our master was surnamed Li, a grandmaster of the Baji Sect... Seeing how completely clueless you are about all this, I'll give you a few books some other day that offer a rough introduction to the various sects... Oh, right, I've got something good for you."
"What is it?"
Standing in the truck bed, Lian Youming shifted his center of gravity according to the postures of Tantui. The muscles throughout his body coiled and spiraled rapidly along his spine, yet his torso remained motionless as though rooted in a horse stance, tempering and steadying his lower body.
Li Da pulled a novel with a thoroughly worn-out cover from his pocket and tossed it over.
Lian Youming caught it and looked down, his eyes instantly widening. It was actually *Journey to the West*.
Li Da said slowly, "This is a genuine treasure. My senior brother gave it to me years ago, copied out entirely by hand. Now I'm passing it to you as a token of the fate that brought us together on this journey. If you end up sinking back into the mundane world, this trip might very well be the last time we ever see each other in this life."
Lian Youming flipped through the pages and saw that every single stroke had indeed been copied by hand. "Is there some hidden trick to this?"
Li Da laughed. "There is. But I can't spell it out for you; you have to see the trick for yourself. If you can glimpse what ordinary folk cannot, within three to five years, you'll be able to fight Xue Hen. But if you can't, you might find yourself wandering between the three forces for the rest of your days until you're thirty-five, wasting your life away."
Hearing that, Lian Youming carefully tucked the book away.
"Xue Hen? I'm definitely going to beat him to death."
Chapter 49