Chapter Twenty-Three: Boundless Ocean

Mount Mi is towering, so high that it is rarely traversed by humans. Beside it lies the territory of the demon race; some powerful demon beasts, though unable to pass through the Sword Gate and the Spirit Realm—both gateways to the human lands—can nonetheless scale Mount Mi with their formidable physical strength, thus gaining access to human territory.

Yet, few demon beasts actually do this. Most have limited intelligence, obeying only the commands of their own clan’s strongest, and seldom leave their lands. Those strong enough hold high status among their kin and have no reason to climb Mount Mi alone, only to rampage through human lands and eventually be hunted down by human masters.

Thus, Mount Mi is rarely visited by humans or demons alike. Even if a few demon beasts roam the mountain, most linger only in the woods around its midsection, much like the snow fox and the demonic tiger. The appearance of the Demon King Sky Wolf, the lower-tier demonic wolves, and the giant bear clearly signals something special—a particular event or mission, perhaps.

No matter the reason, the possibility of encountering demon beasts, and powerful ones at that, exists on Mount Mi. Therefore, aside from those human experts who enter the mountain in search of demon cores, only hermits like the old man reside here.

Now, as another figure approached from afar, which category did he belong to? Or perhaps neither?

As he drew closer, Zhou Yu could see that the newcomer was powerfully built, wearing a conical hat and dressed in thin clothing that betrayed no fear of the cold. Upon his back was indeed a large box—an iron chest, massive, nearly as big as the man himself.

The stranger approached, removed his hat, and gazed steadily at Zhou Yu without uttering a word.

Zhou Yu studied his face, his body, then the iron chest on his back, casting a questioning glance at the old man.

The man's face was deeply lined, aged beyond measure—at least eighty, by Zhou Yu’s estimation—but his body was robust and muscular, his thin garments unable to conceal the explosive power of his physique. The iron chest strapped to his back was almost larger than he was.

The old man regarded the newcomer for a long time, then tentatively asked, "Is your surname Sun?"

The man did not speak; instead, he opened his mouth to reveal only half of a tongue, uttered a buzzing sound from his throat, and nodded.

The old man’s face lit up with excitement; he rose quickly, eager to ingratiate himself but unsure how to proceed. His gaze fell upon the thin slices of meat Zhou Yu was roasting, so he grabbed one and thrust it into the stranger's hand, proclaiming, "The name of the Medicine King is renowned throughout the land!"

The Medicine King waved the offer away, but the old man's enthusiasm prevailed. At last, he accepted the roasted meat and set down the iron chest, opening it by the fire. He busied himself rummaging through the chest, pulling out jars and bottles and arranging them neatly to one side.

Before long, he had reassembled the iron chest into a bed. Seated upon it, the Medicine King began to eat the meat handed to him by the old man, occasionally sprinkling fine powders from his bottles onto the slices.

Zhou Yu realized these powders were simply seasonings. He wondered—Medicine King? He had expected these jars to contain miraculous pills, yet they were all spices! Clearly a gourmet, not a healer!

The Medicine King finished, and the old man offered him another slice of meat.

This time, the Medicine King accepted without hesitation, and judging by his expression, he found the meat delicious.

After eating, the Medicine King smacked his lips, seeming to savor the lingering taste.

The old man gazed at him with hopeful eyes, knowing that the Medicine King’s medical skills were unmatched, but his temperament equally eccentric. The half-tongue in his mouth was self-inflicted; after tasting every herb, he had once wondered about the flavor of his own tongue and eaten half, rendering himself mute. Yet this did not impede his medical prowess.

Everyone knew the Medicine King loved food; he had even eaten his own tongue—how deep must that passion run?

Thus, the old man had immediately offered him meat, aware that though the Medicine King rarely accepted food from others, once he did, the recipient earned a chance for his medical expertise.

Indeed, after resting for a moment, the Medicine King gestured to the old man, asking, "What do you want from me?"

The old man hurriedly replied, "Please examine this boy. He was gravely injured—nearly died—but recovered in just a few days. Help me confirm whether he’s some kind of anomaly."

Zhou Yu nearly fainted at the old man’s words.

The Medicine King was terse. He waited for the explanation, then approached Zhou Yu and signaled for his left hand.

Zhou Yu rolled up his sleeve and offered his right hand instead. The Medicine King's hand was cool—not icy as Liu Yueming’s touch, but a peaceful, tranquil chill, like the ancient well in summer, utterly serene.

The Medicine King closed his eyes, his breathing slow and silent; Zhou Yu could barely sense it. Suddenly, the Medicine King's brow twitched, his wrinkles drawing tighter, his sallow skin making his face resemble a wind-dried orange peel.

"Where are you from?" The Medicine King opened his eyes, excitement in his gestures as he questioned Zhou Yu.

"Can I not say?" Zhou Yu replied, deciding to keep the secret until he understood more about this mysterious crossing.

The Medicine King was not offended. He reached out again, peeling back Zhou Yu’s eyelids, then meticulously examined every inch of Zhou Yu’s body.

Zhou Yu tried to evade, but the Medicine King moved swiftly and with precision, always one step ahead, checking another spot before Zhou Yu could react.

"Never seen, never heard," the Medicine King gestured in astonishment after his examination.

"What do you mean?" The old man, forgetting his wine, pressed for an answer.

The Medicine King frowned in deep thought, ignoring the old man, his expression shifting from excitement to gloom.

"This child’s body is peculiar. It appears utterly ordinary, yet the activity of his cells is extraordinary. His meridians are abnormal, varying in thickness—some as wide as barrels, others as fine as needles. Moreover, every organ is tainted with toxins; he is a living poison."

After a long silence, the Medicine King finally spoke, using ventriloquism to communicate with Zhou Yu.

"What are cells?" The old man, unfamiliar with the term, asked.

The Medicine King shot him a glance. "A technical term—telling you won’t help."

Zhou Yu was puzzled—did this world also possess the concept of cells? And could the Medicine King discern them merely by touch?

"What does strong cell activity signify?" Zhou Yu inquired.

The Medicine King looked at him with interest, surprised that Zhou Yu asked the crucial question rather than the basic one the old man had posed. "You ask what matters most. Strong cell activity means you have great talent for cultivation; your body can store more energy. I’ve never seen such capacity before—it’s like beholding a vast ocean."

The old man was astonished. The capacity of an ocean? What level was that? Cultivators accumulate power by storing energy within themselves, and though more storage does not necessarily make one a master, it is certainly key.

"I thought he was just a foodie, but his constitution truly is unique," the old man said, gulping down his wine.

"For someone like you, I don’t know whether to rejoice or grieve," the Medicine King sighed.

Zhou Yu thought, am I not a genius? Why grieve?

Sensing Zhou Yu's confusion, the Medicine King patiently explained, "Cultivation has many tiers. Let’s simply categorize them as A, B, C, D, E, F."

It was the second time Zhou Yu heard such a classification, aside from what he had learned from Baidu. With the Medicine King's mention of cells, Zhou Yu even wondered if he was another traveler, or perhaps a deity—or an asura?

"Let’s compare the human body to a container. The average person is a bucket, the stronger ones are jars, but your capacity is more like an ocean."

The Medicine King wiped sweat from his brow—Zhou Yu’s capacity was truly terrifying.

"Cultivation is like filling the container with water. Some people have smaller capacity but fill it easily; once full, they level up and use a bigger container. In simple terms, that’s cultivation."

Zhou Yu listened intently, but the Medicine King fell silent. "And then?" Zhou Yu prompted.

The Medicine King regarded him with sympathy, letting out a sigh. "Others only need to fill a jar to advance. You have to fill an ocean before you can level up."

The old man spat his wine in surprise.

Liu Yueming, lying nearby, opened her eyes.

Zhou Yu was stunned. "How long does it usually take to fill a jar?" he asked.