A simple **Fireball Spell**, yet Yang Fan felt a deep sense of satisfaction, unlike anything he'd experienced before. After all, even to cast such a basic spell required at least the cultivation level of the **Qi Refining Stage**. Though Yang Fan had only just recently developed his **Qi Sense** and hadn't fully entered that stage, the strength of his spiritual insight allowed him to effortlessly unleash the spell. This alone made him far superior to others at the **early Qi Refining stage**, including the once highly regarded "Eighth Uncle."
Gazing at the charred mark left on the verdant tree, Yang Fan smiled faintly. His steps lightened as he moved, feeling the pulse of life all around him. Casting that single fireball had consumed a full quarter of his **mana**, yet now, having walked through the forest for only a short while, both his mana and spiritual power had completely recovered to their peak.
"This recovery ability is terrifying..." A shiver of awe coursed through Yang Fan. His body's natural regeneration rivaled even the effects of rare elixirs. With such an astonishing rate of recovery, how could any cultivator of the same level dare to challenge him? Though the **Xianhong Technique** wasn't a combat-focused method, its unbelievable healing properties alone could ensure his dominance over others.
A mere ten breaths after using up a quarter of his mana, Yang Fan had fully recovered.
"Could this be a **Wood Element Technique**?" Yang Fan wondered. In traditional **Five Element Techniques**, those who cultivated wood were known for their endurance. In prolonged battles, their stamina often outlasted that of other practitioners. Wood element spells also encompassed a variety of healing abilities and had a knack for concealing one's aura. Additionally, those who followed this path typically lived longer than others of their rank.
"Yet, during my epiphany, it seemed as if every blade of grass, every brick, every stone was infused with spirit. This goes beyond the scope of ordinary **Wood Techniques**." Yang Fan still couldn't fully grasp the nature of the **Xianhong Technique**. Perhaps, when he reached its final stage of mastery, all would be revealed.
Standing on the main road, Yang Fan glanced back at the nameless forest, a faint sense of sentiment welling up within him.
"Leaving the **Yang Fortress**... It's time to return home," he whispered. With a deep breath, he began walking toward **Fog Willow Town**, south of the fortress.
Along the way, Yang Fan encountered a few scattered travelers—villagers heading to nearby markets. Though they gave him passing glances, none lingered long on him. It was strange. Only the day before, leaving the Yang Fortress had drawn a constant stream of stares and whispers, even finger-pointing from some. But today, things seemed... different.
"What changed?" The question gnawed at him as he continued down the path until he came across a calm lake nearby. Standing by its shore, he looked down at his reflection in the still waters.
A scholarly, refined young man gazed back at him—his once stark white hair now jet black, hanging loosely yet elegantly over his shoulders. It gave him a gentle, almost ethereal air.
"Is this... me?" Yang Fan was startled. His once snow-white hair had turned into a deep onyx, and his entire demeanor had shifted drastically.
"No... if I go home like this, it'll definitely raise suspicion," he muttered to himself, realizing the potential danger. Taking a deep breath, he began to restrain his aura. Ripples formed in the lake as his vitality gradually diminished. Bit by bit, the life energy around him faded.
Soon, his complexion turned pale, and he appeared fragile and feeble, like a man who had suffered great illness. Yet he didn't stop there. Concentrating further, he subdued his aura until it was almost nonexistent. The transformation was astonishing—within moments, he had the appearance of a withered tree, devoid of life.
Then, with a soft thud, his body collapsed onto the ground like a wooden statue, stiff and cold to the touch. He seemed... dead.
Half an hour passed. The sun's rays began to warm his face, and with the touch of daylight, his body started to stir. Slowly, his cold skin regained warmth, his pale cheeks flushed with color, and his rigid limbs loosened.
"How bizarre... this **Withered Wood Art** feels as if it's innate, as though I've always known it. I mastered it without even trying." Yang Fan was bewildered. The **Withered Wood Art** wasn't found in the **Side Paths**, but in the **Sacred Healing Chapter** of the Xianhong Technique.
"Could it be that any spell from the **Sacred Healing Chapter**, I can learn with ease?" he wondered aloud. Testing his theory, Yang Fan attempted to learn the **Dewdrop Spell**, another technique from the Sacred Healing Chapter. This spell was designed to treat external injuries, especially wounds.
As expected, within moments, he grasped three or four aspects of the spell. Opening his palm, a barely visible mist formed around his hand, filling the air with a subtle, refreshing energy that invigorated the senses. The mist was faint—so faint that even with the **Spirit Eye Technique**, most cultivators would only detect a soft green hue.
Curious about the spell's effects, Yang Fan decided to test it. He bit down on his left finger, drawing a small wound, and cast the **Dewdrop Spell** with his right hand. But even before the spell was fully formed, the wound had already sealed itself shut. By the time his spell took effect, the injury was long gone, leaving only a faint trace of cool energy coursing through his hand.
Yang Fan stood there, stunned. This defied all reason. Legendary warriors and beasts were said to possess bodies so resilient that wounds healed instantaneously, but for him... it was happening now.
"So not only does my mana regenerate at an alarming rate, but even my injuries heal in an instant." Yang Fan was beginning to comprehend the true power of the Xianhong Technique. Terrifying didn't even begin to describe it. Monstrous seemed more fitting.
In one night, his body had undergone an earth-shattering transformation. While his physical strength, speed, and agility hadn't changed dramatically, his **recovery** had reached an astonishing level—even by his own standards.
Breathing deeply, Yang Fan wiped the cold sweat from his brow and once again employed the **Withered Wood Art** to cloak his aura, this time aiming for an even more mundane appearance. Gradually, he adopted a look of slight frailty. He smiled at his reflection in the lake, admiring the bookish air that now accompanied his handsome features.
Returning to the main road, he passed by travelers once more, unnoticed by most. One elderly woman, however, gave him a second glance, her eyes brightening as she exclaimed, "What a handsome young man, though he does look a little weak." Then, with a sigh, she added, "Ah, these young people today, already drained by women at such a tender age."
Yang Fan nearly tripped over a stone as he overheard the old woman's comment from a distance. In terms of romance, Yang Fan had spent all of his eighteen years living under strict discipline. As the **number one genius**, he had attracted countless flirtatious glances from beautiful women within the Yang Fortress, but he had remained a virgin.
Not because he lacked desire, but because he refused to let distractions hinder his cultivation.
As he walked, her words lingered in his mind. "My body's transformation... with this kind of regeneration, my endurance in *that* area would probably be pretty strong too…" He smiled to himself, his heart racing slightly at the thought.
He traveled for hours without stopping, his energy never waning. As the sun began to set, a grove of willows appeared on the horizon. Beneath the golden glow of the dusk, a quiet, peaceful town came into view.
His eyes grew moist as tears welled up. "Fog Willow Town… my home. At last, I've returned…"