RYEY -Chapter 418 Test Subject

This discovery left him utterly shocked. If the true qi in his body was gone, then what kind of superhuman was he? One must understand that the powers of these individuals were inherited from the womb.

The difference in power among them depended on the true qi in their bodies. Those with high-level abilities had true qi that circulated endlessly, while those with low-level abilities, once their true qi was depleted, were no different from ordinary martial artists.

He thought rapidly. Now, if he wanted to know whether he could recover, he had no choice but to risk everything and mobilize the true qi hidden deep within his body.

He wanted to form hand seals to draw his true qi, but then he realized his hands were bound—tied behind his back. Even if he tried with all his strength to break free, it wasn’t so simple.

But no matter what, he had to regain his freedom. Otherwise, not only would his lifetime reputation be ruined, he might even lose his life. With this thought, he focused all his strength on his arms, ready to exert himself.

Yet, no matter how he struggled, the ropes didn’t loosen; instead, the more he struggled, the tighter they became. Only then did he realize something was wrong. He forcefully turned his head and finally spotted a thin silver cord.

Just such a fine rope, and he was a superhuman—how could it possibly be unbreakable? The agent squinted, recalling something in his mind.

“There is a treasure in China, said to be a gift from the heavens, used to deal with cultivators or superhumans who might harm China. Once bound by this treasure, even the greatest skills cannot help you escape.”

The agent finally remembered what his country’s prime minister had said. At first, it sounded ridiculous—does the heavenly realm only protect China? What about them?

Now recalling it, his heart shuddered. Indeed, that was it. This treasure had a beautiful name: the “Immortal-Binding Rope.” Thin and white, reflecting specks of silver in the sunlight.

He couldn’t help but glance again at the rope around his hands. Sure enough, it was thin and white, reflecting silver specks in the sunlight—but somehow, the silver glow seemed unusual.

The agent calmed himself and closed his eyes, intending to examine the rope with his consciousness. Normally, his level didn’t allow him to freely enter his consciousness, but today he managed it.

Conscious perception was clearer than eyesight. He clearly saw that the specks of silver in the sunlight formed the pattern of a Bagua diagram, and the diagram seemed alive, moving with his motions.

The agent maintained this state for a while, then fell into an endless coma. Cheng Qiao ignored him and turned her attention to Hu Lata, wanting to see how he was doing.

A white mist enveloped the doorway of Hu Lata’s room. Ye Xiaolin anxiously stood at the entrance, clearly thinking there was a fire, but the door couldn’t be opened.

“Cheng Qiao, come quickly! What’s going on?”

Cheng Qiao sensed a familiar scent in the mist—it was the water from her spatial well. Could it be…

“Brother Xiaolin, let’s not disturb Uncle Lala. I think he’s about to advance.”

“Advance… could it be…”

Seeing the admiration in Ye Xiaolin’s eyes, Cheng Qiao couldn’t bear to look directly. What do men truly need? If you think it’s money or women, you’re wrong.

Men need power—a force that allows them to control everything. But Ye Xiaolin clearly didn’t have it. He couldn’t even control his own fate.

“I’ll go take a walk.”

Feeling a little dejected, Ye Xiaolin left the Li family’s yard and headed toward the back mountain. Cheng Qiao didn’t stop him. Time would ease everything; Ye Xiaolin would come to understand.

Cheng Qiao returned to tending to Li Huan, who gradually calmed himself. After bathing and practicing according to the meditation manual Hu Lata had given him, he felt a subtle change within his body.

“Qiao, take a look at this meditation manual. I feel like something in me has changed, but I can’t tell exactly what.”

Cheng Qiao took the few thin pages and noticed their unique texture—they were very rough, almost coarse to the touch.

She examined the illustrations of people meditating. The longer she looked, the more she felt that the figures in the drawings seemed to move.

“Li Huan, focus on these figures and really pay attention.”

Li Huan took it skeptically. He looked at it every day, but listening to Cheng Qiao had become a kind of obsession, so he concentrated on the drawings.

Ten minutes, twenty minutes, thirty minutes passed. Finally, enlightenment dawned in his eyes. He put down the manual and imitated the poses of the figures to meditate.

This time, he seemed to enter a wondrous state. Previously stiff or impossible movements now flowed effortlessly, connecting seamlessly.

Cheng Qiao quietly stepped out, went to the kitchen, and cooked some meals to store in her spatial pocket. She also tidied the woodshed. That agent needed a place to stay—he couldn’t keep sleeping in the backyard.

Night fell, and Ye Xiaolin returned. Cheng Qiao could tell from his expression that he had come to terms with things. Everyone has their own path in this world; there’s nothing to envy.

“Brother Xiaolin, after dinner, help me carry that agent to the woodshed. I’ve prepared it.”

“How is he now?”

“Still unconscious.”

“I’ll go right away.”

Ye Xiaolin carried the agent into the woodshed, washed his hands thoroughly, and returned to his room. Midnight fell, and snowflakes like goose feathers drifted down, the temperature dropping several degrees.

Cheng Qiao entered the house and saw Li Huan still meditating. The only difference was that he was sweating. She felt pleased but dared not disturb him.

She went to the woodshed again. The reed-knife pill had been in the spy’s stomach for over twelve hours, yet there was still no reaction. Had the pill failed to be made?

Xiangyang Village didn’t have electricity yet, so Cheng Qiao lit a pine branch, which could be used for both lighting and as a weapon. She paused at the door for a moment, and seeing no movement inside, pushed the door open.

As soon as the door opened, a gust of cold wind mixed with falling snow rushed into the woodshed. The spy shivered, finally waking from his unconsciousness. He stirred, trying to regulate his inner energy to break the Binding Immortal Rope.

But as soon as he took a breath, a chill that seemed to seep into his bones assaulted his entire body, instantly shattering the inner energy he had painstakingly gathered.

“Cold Poison, impossible. Wasn’t he already dead? Could he have poisoned me when I wasn’t looking? I didn’t notice when my powers were at their peak, but now it’s taking effect.”

The spy’s first thought was that he had been poisoned by his partner. His partner’s most potent poison was named after himself: Cold Poison.