C4 Consuming the Blood Strength Fruit

Feng Yimo had sorely underestimated the rich spiritual energy of the Blood Power Fruit, and he had forgotten that his body had never undergone cultivation. Even after the Spirit Devouring Silkworm absorbed a staggering ninety-nine percent, the residual energy was still too much for him to bear. His veins swelled grotesquely, and his skin, loose and stretched, bulged as if infested with countless writhing green worms. His bones crackled ominously, and he was on the brink of exploding. Terrified, he focused intently, observing his breath and centering his mind, as he channeled his energy in full force, attempting to neutralize the overwhelming spiritual power to avert a grisly demise.

Time lost meaning as he struggled, but eventually, plumes of white smoke exhaled from Feng Yimo's nostrils, and his eyes snapped open, gleaming with a sharp clarity. Remarkably, he had managed to neutralize the formidable spiritual energy of the Blood Power Fruit by evening, a feat that left him silently rejoicing. He had overlooked the fact that his body, untrained and mortal, was ill-equipped to handle such potent spiritual energy. Had it not been for his awakened memories and the breathing techniques from his past experiences, his body would have been reduced to mere flesh and blood.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Feng Yimo couldn't help but smile wryly. His body was disappointingly frail, and his Spiritual Root seemed exceptionally weak. No sooner had he ceased his cultivation practice than ten percent of the spiritual energy within him had vanished. He estimated that in less than an hour, all the spiritual energy would dissipate completely. While the Spirit Devouring Silkworm played a role in this loss, it was primarily due to his body's inability to retain spiritual energy. He knew that to make any headway in his cultivation journey, he must transform his physical constitution; otherwise, all his efforts would be in vain.

With a sigh, Feng Yimo plucked the remaining Blood Power Fruits from the branches, then began to disrobe, intending to fashion a makeshift bundle. But as he undid his robe, several jade fragments tumbled out. A pang of loss hit him as he realized the only token of his mother's identity was now shattered. Likely, it had been crushed during the tumultuous ordeal in the belly of the Gold Horned Green Python. With a bitter smile, he collected the fragments. Trying to piece them together, he saw that two were missing, leaving the pendant incomplete. Only the image of a swirling wind was visible, with the crucial words below it lost. He carefully placed the jade pieces, python skin, horn, and scales into the bundle, and only then did he have the chance to take in his surroundings.

The area was dominated by colossal trees that pierced the sky, towering at a staggering height of 300 to 400 feet. Beneath these giants lay a tapestry of low shrubs, interspersed with exotic blooms and unusual plants. Clearly, this was no longer Ironwind Ridge Village; it must be somewhere above it.

As dusk settled, the mountain winds howled, chilling the air. The chorus of frogs and insects failed to evoke any pastoral charm for Feng Yimo; instead, it unsettled him. He hastily scooped up his belongings and burrowed back into the belly of the Gold Horned Green Python, which paradoxically offered the greatest safety.

Deep into the night, Feng Yimo sensed the python stir. Outside, a harrowing roar pierced the silence, signaling a savage battle over the python's remains. Clutching a broken sword, his eyes wide with vigilance, he watched the crevices in the python's carcass, daring not to relax. His current state was akin to a convalescent, weak as a kitten, barely able to walk unaided by a cane. Any wild beast could easily rend him to shreds. Thankfully, the skirmish raged on until daylight, with neither side claiming the python's body as its prize.

Once the outside grew still, Feng Yimo cautiously emerged. Scattered around the python's remains were the carcasses of a dozen wolves and two tigers. The Gold Horned Green Python, a demonic creature, was a coveted feast for wild beasts, its demonic essence a powerful lure. Consuming it promised immense strength and the potential for transformation into a demonic beast—a lure too potent to resist. Wolves and tigers had converged, driven by instinct to fight ferociously.

Feng Yimo wasted no time; he shouldered his bag and fled the scene, stumbling through the terrain. After an indeterminate distance, he discovered a cave on the mountainside and crawled inside, gasping for breath, drenched in sweat.

Inside the cave, a subterranean river provided a refreshing respite from the stifling air, as a gentle breeze wafted through. Only then did Feng Yimo become aware of the foul stench clinging to him, a smell so repulsive it turned his stomach. Approaching the river, he peered into the water, only to recoil at the sight of the creature reflected there. A disheveled figure with hollow eyes, prominent cheekbones, and sagging skin stared back at him. His pants, eaten away by the python's digestive fluids, hung in tatters, revealing much of his lower legs. His cloth shoes were in ruins, toes poking through the fabric. The stench emanating from him was worse than that of the most bedraggled beggar.

Feng Yimo leapt into the river without hesitation, vigorously scrubbing both his clothes and himself. A film of grime quickly surfaced, and when he finished his thorough cleanse, several dead fish bobbed up in the water.

"Could the filth from my body have actually poisoned the river fish?" Feng Yimo's eyes widened in disbelief. After soaking for quite some time, he emerged from the river, naked, and spread his clothes out to dry on the scorching rocks outside the cave entrance. He then returned to the cave, unwrapped the long robe containing the Blood Power Fruits, and washed it in the water. Such dirty wrappings were no place for the Blood Power Fruits.

Before long, his clothes had dried. He dressed, tore off a strip of fabric to tie back his hair, and took a Blood Power Fruit. Biting into half of the vibrant red fruit, he began his cultivation, channeling the rich Spiritual Energy. Mindful of his past experiences, he was careful not to overindulge.

The cave offered water and ample space, and it was dry—a perfect refuge. Feng Yimo decided to stay for a while, at least until he consumed all twenty-three Blood Power Fruits. These were Spiritual Fruits, after all, easily attracting the attention of other cultivators or demonic beasts, any of whom could crush him as effortlessly as one would an ant. He understood the principle of "a man is not guilty for carrying treasure, but the treasure itself invites trouble" from his past life.

It took two hours to fully assimilate a quarter of a Blood Power Fruit with intense cultivation, and a full eight hours for an entire fruit. Excluding sleep, he could only consume one Spiritual Fruit per day. With nothing but time on his hands, he settled down to focus solely on cultivating with the Blood Power Fruits.

......

Five days whisked by, and Feng Yimo had consumed seven Blood Power Fruits. His vitality had returned to normal, his strength had increased significantly, and his complexion was healthy, his hair lustrous and black, a stark contrast to its previous dullness. His reflection on the water's surface revealed a dashing young man. With memories of his current life, he knew he inherited his looks from his mother. Oddly enough, his father also bore the Feng surname—could they possibly be cousins?

Now, Feng Yimo's muscles were robust, and his vitality surged. His absorption rate had markedly improved. Even though the Spirit Devouring Silkworm absorbed all the spirit energy that entered his dantian, his muscles, bones, and organs were continuously being transformed by the spirit energy. His physique became more compact, his bones denser, and impurities within his body were gradually expelled, resulting in a purer form. Feng Yimo radiated with spirit energy, his movements brimming with vitality.

In his past life, Yimo had endured the struggle of practicing a low-grade cultivation technique. He understood that a superior technique could make cultivation exponentially more effective. With his memories reawakened and a fresh start, he faced a choice: either abandon cultivation and lead an unremarkable life or select the finest technique available. A complete cultivation technique presented few bottlenecks and could propel one swiftly to higher levels. Thus, he resolutely ceased his current practice, intent on finding an exceptional technique to pursue further.

Yet, as he considered the sixteen Blood Strength Fruits, the Storage Bag, a horn, scales, python skin, and half of a low-grade spiritual artifact in his possession, he was beset with concern. How was he to carry all these items?