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[In the first year, I began to continue cultivating the Grim White Bone Observation, making slow progress.]
A moment earlier.
Beneath the trees.
The young man stood here, practicing the Tiger Roar Fist, the wind from his fists stirring dead branches and leaves, covering the ground.
He practiced his punches.
"Contract, give me some points!"
Zhang Fusheng understood that dodging bullets wasnât because his reflexes were extraordinary, but purely due to his powerful spirit, barely achieving âthe cicada senses the autumn wind before it moves.â
But it was too dangerous, each time narrowly perceiving, narrowly avoiding.
He needed a stronger spirit.
The sixty years of Contemplation from Zhong Mountain, pervading his soul like rain and mist, bit by bit, as if I had personally experienced it.
[In the second year, I continued to hone the Grim White Bone Observation, seeming to have some insights.]
[In the third year...]
[In the fourteenth year, I seemed to have hit a bottleneck again, but this bottleneck wasnât limited by my talent.]
[I recalled my masterâs words, ten years of nurturing and refining could glimpse Great Success, a hundred years of accumulating spirit could then see Perfection... What I lacked was spiritual accumulation.]
[Even the Contemplation Technique, even if only Minor Perfection, required a century of spiritual accumulation.]
[In the fifteenth year, I began to quietly accumulate the basics, honing my spirit.]
[Thus, day after day, year after year.]
[In the thirty-first year, I unlocked the second form of Form and Spirit, New Death Appearance.]
[When I contemplated myself as a dead person, my physical body in reality actually began to decline, life force severed, no breath at all, just like the newly dead.]
[In this form, I had no sense of pain, no bleeding, hard to perceive and detect... Is this suitable for being an assassin?]
[In the thirty-second year, I continued to hone my spirit, day after day, year after year.]
[In the forty-ninth year, I finally achieved a century-level spiritual accumulation, allowing me to progress again, albeit slowly, but truly.]
[In the fiftieth year, I pondered the true meaning of âHe should see me as such.â]
[In the fifty-first year, I made small progress.]
[In the fifty-second year, I made small progress.]
[In the fifty-third year, I seemed to have touched the true Spiritual Domain, I could see my own âsoul.â]
[In the fifty-fourth year, through a century of accumulation, I arduously constructed the embryonic form of the Divine Realm, although it quickly collapsed, it still represented my initial contact with the Domain of Perfection.]
[Or rather, I had already achieved âMinor Perfection.â]
[Over the next four years, I gradually became familiar with how to construct the Spiritual Domain, constructing the âDivine Realm.â]
[I realized that the Divine Realm was the reflection of my Spiritual World onto reality, it was illusory, unreal, yet truly existed.]
[In the fifty-ninth year, I could already construct the Divine Realm as I willed, but it could not give birth to the skeletal creatures in my masterâs Divine Realm, my Divine Realm was empty. ]
[In the sixtieth year, I attempted to explore and seek knowledge into the true Domain of âPerfection.â]
Sixty years of dots and drops, all gathered upon this moment, adding wholly to this body.
The Tiger Roar Fist had not yet been fully practiced.
Zhang Fusheng opened his eyes, though I was still myself, the world seemed vastly different.
"No wonder Master said, the Contemplation Technique is even more important than actual cultivation..."
He spread his hands, embracing the invisible mysterious factors surrounding him, these mysterious factors madly rushing into his body, following the path of [Great Sun Illuminates the 72 Snow Mountains], swiftly coursing through his whole body,
They still couldnât penetrate the deepest layer of his skin, unable to complete the Third Refinement.
But, the spirit.
Zhang Fusheng, using his spirit to interfere with reality, bound all the mysterious factors within his body, turning them into a sharp sword, piercing fiercely into the deepest layer of his skin!
The Third Refinement was thus achieved.
The mysterious factors thoroughly soaked into his skin, adding a force of five hundred pounds, his total strength reaching two thousand seven hundred pounds.
The next second.
The force of two thousand seven hundred pounds sank into his foot, the ground shook heavily!
âBoom!â
The woodland cracked, the dead branches and leaves echoing with a burst, under the tremendous recoil, Zhang Fusheng shot out like a cannonball, leaping nearly a hundred meters!
Step, and step again!
Leaping a hundred meters in a step, after several flashes, he had already covered over six hundred meters.
He raised his head, locking eyes with the gunman on the rooftop whose face was filled with horror.
This speed...was too fast.
The gunman swallowed.
Second Refinement.
No, it was Third Refinement!!
The gunmanâs scalp tingled, he moved the muzzle, aiming at the young man below.
âBang!â
The young man slightly tilted his head, the bullet grazing past his ear.
âBang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!â
The gun fired shot after shot, but the young man didnât even move his feet, just tilting his head, shifting his body, raising his hand.
Bullets that could pierce through big trees, laced with anti-coagulant toxins, just kept narrowly missing him.
Not even brushing his hair.
Cold sweat slowly climbed over the gunmanâs entire body, being hundreds of meters away could be explained away by intelligence on âGreat Success Contemplation Technique,â acute spirit, danger perception,
but at this distance of ten meters?
It could only be that before he even pulled the trigger, the young man had already âsensed it,â and started to make evasive maneuvers.
Sweat beaded down the gunmanâs forehead.
This was something the spiritual strength of the Great Success Contemplation Technique couldnât possibly do.
He threw down two grenades, turning and fleeing without hesitation.
âBoom!!â
Amidst the explosion, a shadow leapt up high and then descended heavily, landing accurately, blocking the gunmanâs escape route.
The gunman trembled slightly, retreated, and stared at the seemingly gentle but excited young man.
Indeed.
He was excited.
"Monster..." The gunman took a deep breath, his expression indifferent, about to crush the capsule in his teeth, locking eyes with the young man.
The next second.
The sky went dark.
âClick, click, click!â
He bit down hard, again and again, but the poisonous capsule in his gums had disappeared. The sky turned a deep black, and beneath his feet was no longer the villaâs rooftop, but a withered, cracked, and scorched earth,
desolate on all sides, with only the occasional sight of a decaying tree, and at the end of the black sky, a blood-red sunset.
"This... is it the Divine Realm?"
The gunmanâs heart pounded wildly as he stared intently at the young man in front of him, who was decaying, deteriorating, and turning into a grim skeleton.
"Yes."
"This is my Divine Realm."
Zhang Fusheng said, stepping forward, walking up to the gunman, and speaking gently:
"Who sent you?"
"Was it... Zhou Quan?"
The gunman gritted his teeth, remaining silent.
In the guise of a skeleton, Zhang Fusheng stood within the mental illusion he constructed, closely scrutinizing the gunmanâs face,
shaking his head he said,
"No, itâs not Zhou Quan, heâs not that stupid... but if itâs not him, then who could it be?"
The gunman still remained silent.
Zhang Fusheng chuckled:
"The Divine Realm, in essence, is my spiritual world, and everything here follows my will."
He snapped his fingers, and the desolate, broken earth disappeared, replaced by seventy-two snow-capped mountains, and above them was a blazing Great Sun.
With the Great Sun scorching, sweat dripped from the gunmanâs forehead, yet the icy seventy-two snow mountains froze his lower limbs stiff,
the sensation of heat and bone-chilling cold coexisting upon his body.
"Of course, I could also... do this."
The gunman saw the grim skeleton speak thus, and in the next second, the snow mountains vanished, the Great Sun dimmed, supplanted by a massive mountain range, with fierce flames burning on the ground, blades protruding from the dirt,
soon, he felt an uncontrollable urge walking towards that mountain range.
Taking a step, a blade tip pierced his foot, flames searing his skin, he howled in agony, yet had no control over his own body, stepping across the mountain of blades and the sea of fire.
"Still unwilling to speak?"
Zhang Fusheng commended:
"Such strong willpower... oil pot."
The world transformed into a gigantic oil pot, and the gunman fell into it, boiling oil flowed through his seven orifices, filling his body, he longed to howl, but immersed in the boiling oil, no sound could emerge, and he could not die!
"Tongue extraction, scissors, iron tree, steamer, copper pillar..."
The Divine Realm shifted with Zhang Fushengâs thoughts, as the eighteen levels of hell manifested one after the other, each form of punishment played out in turn.
He himself expanded into a giant towering over ten thousand feet, holding up layers of hell in his hands, watching the man suffer within.
This was his spiritual world, constructed and manipulated at will.
Ten minutes.
In just ten minutes, the gunman, who had come on a mission with the resolve to die, was completely broken.
"Iâll talk... Iâll talk!!"
He wailed, tears streaming down his face:
"I received the mission at No. 19 Bar... as soon as I accepted it, someone kidnapped my entire family, sent me the poison capsule and your information... I had no choice, I couldnât do anything!"
The towering giant skeleton silently watched the man floating in the spiritual hell, sighing deeply:
"Is that so?"
The gunman saw this terrifying world collapse abruptly, sunlight, a gentle breeze, and the sirens wailing in the distance.
Back on the villaâs rooftop again.
He knelt on the ground, trembling, opened his phone, and handed it over:
"Itâs... itâs true!"
Zhang Fusheng took it, glanced at it, and in the chat, someone had sent the gunman a video, showing bound elders, wife, and child pleading for help,
as well as dossier information about himself.
âZhang Fusheng, a Peak Martial Artist of the First Refinement, with a perfected Tiger Roar Fist, Spring Thunder Technique Minor Perfection, and Contemplation Technique Great Success.â
His eyes sharpened abruptly.
The sirens grew louder.
"Do what you must." Zhang Fusheng coldly regarded the gunman, who was visibly startled, then gave a bitter laugh.
He crushed the poison capsule in his teeth, his complexion swiftly turning from white to blue, and within a few breaths, he collapsed on the ground, twitching slightly, mouth foaming and bleeding, and in his final moments, Zhang Fusheng pulled him back into the Spirit Divine Realm again.
He needed to verify something.
Once the gunman died completely in reality, his consciousness trapped in the Spirit Divine Realm remained, though now dumbfounded and confused.
Like a Residual Soul, left with only an obsession.
But this was also the first âlifeâ in his Divine Realm.
"Indeed, whether itâs skeletons from the Purgatory Illusion, or ancient soldiers from Huang Qiuxianâs Divine Realm... they were once real people."
"No wonder I canât create a similar life."
Zhang Fusheng murmured to himself, his expression deep and pensive, as the sirens drew nearer.
It was time to leave.
He looked at the corpse, sighing softly.
The gunman couldnât live; whether it was his entry into the Third Refinement, or his mastery of the Divine Realm with the Minor Perfection Contemplation Technique, it all needed secrecy.
Once confirmed the other was dead.
Zhang Fusheng put away the phone, and with a few leaps, vanished from the scene.