2: Chapter 2 Healing with Iron? Zhao Kuang, your death is near!

A devouring will roared in his mind, completely overwhelming Ye Feng's reason.

A hunger deep in his marrow.

This hunger originated from every cell clamoring for reorganization.

Ye Feng instinctively reached out, grabbing at his side.

His fingertips touched a broken, jagged iron blade—scrap left behind after an Outer Sect Disciple died.

The moment his skin touched the cold metal, a strange scene occurred.

The hard refined iron began to soften, flowing through his fingers.

There was no burning sensation, only a chill.

This chill surged crazily along the Meridians in his arm, violently scouring his fractured bones.

Crack. Crack.

A teeth-aching explosive sound came from within his body.

His spine, which had been stomped broken by Zhao Kuang, was forcibly healing at a visible speed under the nourishment of this metal essence.

This ghostly Physique—not eating food, but eating iron?

Ye Feng had just wanted to catch his breath when heavy footsteps suddenly came from outside the mass grave.

Muddy water was splashed by leather boots, sounding exceptionally harsh in this dead-silent, rainy night.

Someone was coming.

Ye Feng's heart shrank violently.

At this time, in this kind of ghostly place, besides wild dogs, only an uneasy enemy would come.

Enduring the pain all over his body, he held his breath and backhanded a corpse that had already mostly rotted nearby to cover himself.

The stench of the corpse rushed straight to his brain, and the feeling of maggots crawling on his face made his stomach churn, but Ye Feng didn't dare to move even an eyelid.

The footsteps stopped at the edge of the pit.

A flash of lightning streaked across, illuminating that sinister face.

Zhao Kuang.

This guy was indeed suspicious by nature; even after his Dantian was shattered, he still had to come and take a look to be at ease.

"Hmph, your life is tough. Even such heavy rain didn't wash you away."

Zhao Kuang stood at the edge of the pit, toying with the dagger that had just been stained with blood.

He didn't come down, but casually threw the dagger fiercely into the pile of corpses.

Puchi!

The sound of a sharp blade entering flesh exploded right in Ye Feng's ear.

The dagger was stuck in the shoulder of the corpse on top of him, the tip of the blade less than half an inch from his eyeball.

The cold air caused his pupils to shrink sharply.

If it had been off by another inch, he would have been done for here.

Zhao Kuang seemed to be just venting his anger, or perhaps he didn't want to dirty his shoes because it was too dirty down there.

He stood at the edge of the pit for a while, even unbuckling his belt to take a leak into the pit, muttering: "Consider yourselves lucky, you group of lonely ghosts. After the Grand Competition tomorrow, I will be an Inner Sect direct disciple."

The smell of urine mixed with the stench of corpses was nauseating.

Ye Feng stared fixedly at the blurry back above, his fingernails deeply embedded in the mud beneath him, fresh blood mixing with the muddy water.

Remember this feeling.

Remember this humiliation.

Until the footsteps completely disappeared into the depths of the rain curtain, Ye Feng pushed away the rotting corpse on top of him.

He gasped heavily, greedily breathing in the cold air.

Cannot stay here. Although Zhao Kuang has left, there is no guarantee that others won't come to dispose of the bodies.

Ye Feng struggled to crawl out of the deep pit. Although his body was still in pain, the power he had gained after devouring the broken blade was supporting his movements.

Under the cover of the night, he braced his body and stumbled back to the back mountain of the Utility Disciples.

This was a remote corner of the Sect, usually only occupied by the Old Cripple who was responsible for watching the medicinal garden.

Just as he turned around the foot of the mountain, the smell of inferior strong liquor hit his face.

The Old Cripple was sitting on a stone stool in front of the thatched cottage, holding a broken wine gourd in his hand, his turbid old eyes half-squinted, as if looking at the rain, or perhaps just zoning out.

Seeing Ye Feng crawling back covered in blood, like a vengeful ghost, there wasn't much surprise on the Old Cripple's wrinkled face, only a flash of imperceptible sharpness in his turbid eyes.

"Not dead yet?" The Old Cripple looked up and took a gulp of wine, his voice hoarse and dry.

Ye Feng leaned against the wall, spat out a mouthful of blood foam, and gave a miserable grin: "The King of Hell thought my life was too tough and didn't collect it."

"Having a tough life is a good thing, it's just a question of whether your bones are hard enough."

The Old Cripple casually picked up a hoe from his feet and threw it over.

That was a refined iron hoe used for turning spiritual soil. Because it had been hitting hard rocks for years, the hoe blade was already rolled, and the handle was heavy.

"Since you're not dead, go turn the soil. A Servant must have the awareness of a Servant; if you don't work, you don't eat."

Clang.

The hoe smashed down at Ye Feng's feet, splashing mud everywhere.

Ye Feng did not argue, bending down to pick up the hoe.

The moment his hands gripped the iron handle, that familiar hunger erupted again.

The black vortex within his body spun wildly, clamoring that it still wasn't enough!

He didn't even deliberately urge it; a powerful suction force was generated from the palms of his hands.

Creak—!

A scalp-numbing sound of metal twisting rang out.

In the Old Cripple's instantly frozen gaze, that solid refined iron hoe, as thick as a child's arm, was twisted into a ball of scrap iron by Ye Feng's hands!

Iron filings flew everywhere, turning into little specks of black light that drilled into the pores of Ye Feng's arms.

Body Refining First Stage... Body Refining Second Stage...

His Qi and blood surged, making a muffled sound in his Meridians.

Body Refining Third Stage!

Just by devouring a discarded refined iron hoe, his Physical Body strength had actually skyrocketed by three hundred catties!

Ye Feng looked at the remaining wooden handle in his hand, stunned for a moment, then felt the surging power in his arms.

This was not spiritual power; this was pure Physical Body strength, domineering, brutal, and unreasonable.

The Old Cripple's hand holding the wine gourd froze in mid-air, his eyelids twitching violently.

He stared at Ye Feng for a long time, then suddenly started to cackle strangely, the laughter sounding somewhat eerie in the rainy night.

"Interesting, truly interesting. To still have such brute force even after the Dantian is shattered, it seems the Feng Shui of that mass grave is actually nourishing."

The Old Cripple didn't ask for the reason, just hung the wine gourd on his waist and turned to walk slowly into the thatched cottage.

When he reached the door, he paused, and his voice drifted over faintly:

"Save some of this strength. Tomorrow is the Outer Sect Grand Competition. I heard Zhao Kuang is going to propose to Su Man in public on the ring. That is a rare grand occasion in the Sect for a hundred years; even the Inner Sect Elders will go to watch."

"I heard he also prepared a special betrothal gift, saying it was stripped from some clueless loser."

Snap!

The half-handle of wood in Ye Feng's hand instantly turned into powder.

He hooked his five fingers, digging them deeply into the hard mountain rock beside him, not even feeling the blood bursting from his fingertips.

Propose? Betrothal gift?

Using my parents' heirloom as a stepping stone for your merit, using my flesh and blood to pave your road to the clouds?

Ye Feng raised his head and looked towards the direction of the Outer Sect martial arts arena.

Rainwater slid down his cheeks; in those pitch-black eyes, there was no light, only a coldness that would devour everything.

You chose a really good day.

Then I will send you a gift you will never forget for the rest of your life.