A full day had passed since Han Yu began studying the books in Ju Fan's cave.

When he had first arrived, exhaustion had been clawing at the back of his mind, but the discovery of the texts had driven away his sleepiness entirely. The revelations about the sect's history, structure, and sheer power had kept him awake far longer than he realized.

But now, as the last page of the final manual closed, the weight of fatigue pressed down on him again.

His eyelids grew heavy, and his body reminded him that he had not truly rested since arriving at this nightmarish place. He looked around the cave for a moment, realizing that sleep would be difficult in such a filthy environment.

The broken stone bed in the corner was cracked, uneven, and stained with old patches of dried blood.

"Yeah, no," Han Yu muttered under his breath, frowning at the thing. "I'd rather sleep on a bed of thorns."

Instead, he decided to meditate to recover his fatigue.

It would not be as restful as proper sleep, but it would keep his body and mind sharp enough. Fortunately, the area near the bookshelf was cleaner than the rest of the cave. The faint scent of parchment and old ink was preferable to the iron tang of blood that still hung in the air.

He settled himself cross-legged in that corner, his back straight and hands resting on his knees.

The familiar rhythm of breathing exercises took over, and soon his new spirit qi began circulating smoothly through his meridians. Hours slipped by unnoticed as the faint crimson glow that seeped through cracks in the cave entrance dimmed and brightened again with the passing of time.

After about six hours, Han Yu opened his eyes, feeling refreshed enough to function. His fatigue had faded, replaced by a quiet alertness. Now that his mind was clear, he turned his gaze to the rest of the cave and grimaced.

The place still looked like a murder scene.

Everywhere he looked, he saw stains, crusted streaks, and dark patches where the blood had soaked deep into the stone. The walls and floor seemed to drink it up like some hungry thing, leaving behind marks that refused to fade.

"Alright," Han Yu said, stretching his arms. "If I'm going to live here, I can't keep breathing in the scent of rot and old blood every time I meditate."

He began with the simple things. He pulled some buckets of water from his storage pouch, poured it across the stained ground, and started scrubbing with an old cloth he found in one of Ju Fan's chests.

The result was disappointing.

Instead of fading, the bloodstains seemed to mock him, glistening faintly under the thin layer of moisture before drying again into the same dark hue. It was as if the stone itself had absorbed the blood and made it part of its being.

"Of course," Han Yu muttered. "Why would anything in this sect be normal?"

After some thought, he realized he would have to remove the top layer of the stone entirely. That meant scraping the walls and floor until the stains were physically gone. It was a tedious idea, but he could not think of a better one.

Luckily, Ju Fan had plenty of spare weapons inside his ring, most of them old, rusted, or of mediocre quality collected from his victims perhaps. Perfect for makeshift tools. Han Yu picked a short hatchet that had lost its edge and began scraping away the stone.

The first few minutes were easy, but soon the monotony set in.

The sound of metal grating against rock filled the cave, sharp and repetitive. Dust filled the air, and small flakes of stone gathered at his feet. The process was slow and mind-numbing, but Han Yu refused to stop. He could not cultivate or rest properly in a place that reeked of blood and death.

Hours turned into an entire day.

From outside, the rhythmic scratching sound must have carried faintly into the mountain air, but thankfully there were no neighbors in the adjacent caves to complain. Han Yu was grateful for that. He could easily imagine the kind of temper the average sect disciple here would have if woken up by noise.

By the end of the day, his cave looked drastically different.

The old, dark stains were gone, replaced by fresh gray stone. The walls looked brighter, though still scarred and uneven in some places. He looked around, wiping the sweat from his forehead, and allowed himself a small nod of satisfaction.

It was still ugly, but at least it was his ugly now.

Next came the cleanup.

The scraping had left piles of dust and debris scattered across the floor. Han Yu looked at them helplessly for a moment, realizing he was short on water. He had used nearly everything earlier and could not spare any more from his storage for cleaning.

He recalled from the books that a small natural waterfall existed near the base of the Fifth Rib Peak. The map had marked it as a local water source for Outer Court disciples. Fortunately, his cave wasn't far from the cliffside where it flowed.

Stepping outside, Han Yu followed a narrow path that wound along the peak's edge. The faint crimson glow of the Blood Moon above illuminated his way. Fifty meters down, he found what he was looking for: a thin stream of clear water cascading down from a rocky outcrop.

The water shimmered faintly with red reflections, though it seemed clean enough. It was pure water instead the Blood Moon water that flowed everywhere in the sect.

"Perfect," he said, filling a few buckets. "At least something in this place isn't trying to kill me."

He carried the water back to his cave and poured it into the depression in the floor, the same pool that had once been filled with curdled blood. He scrubbed until the dust cleared, then went over the rest of the room, wiping the walls and shelves clean.