Han Yimu did not expect much as he closed his eyes.
From what he gathered, Master had deployed a comprehension array, and as someone who'd used the best one his former sect had to offer, he had little hope for Master's. Even if the man had surprised him more than once, it was simply the matter of scale.
For the sect's formation, empowering it for one hour, for one disciple, it cost an equivalent to 10 Divine Spirit Stones. He was blessed enough to complete a particularly difficult mission and was granted a full ten minutes in it. While it may not sound like much, he progressed more in his cultivation method at the time during those ten minutes than he had a full year prior.
Arrays like that were precisely the reason why the strong got stronger while the rest remained behind. The special, chosen ones were allowed to use them almost on a monthly basis, and no matter how talented Han Yimu was, he simply had no way of keeping up with them.
It wasn't just the comprehension array, but a school of others like it. Cultivation array, combat arrays--ones which used a spirit of a former cultivator to manifest an avatar with which one could spar almost indefinitely--elemental arrays, spirit arrays...
And even if his Master did have actual arrays--which Han Yimu would not be surprised about in the slightest considering all the miracles the man had shown thus far--it was unlikely that he had the wealth to power them. He himself had noticed the steady decline in the amount of stones they were given--no, that was unfair. It wasn't that there was a steady decline, but more so a steady pattern.
The amount was in a constant flux, largely depending on whether they scored any stones recently. The kids never complained no matter the amount and Han Yimu employed the same philosophy. His current cultivation method, courtesy of Master, was more than enough to steadily bring him back to the peak of his strength. And he would not give into greed just because he did not have access to infinite spirit stones.
In fact, it was kind of the opposite.
His former sect did have access to perhaps not infinite, but near-infinite supply of Spirit Stones. They controlled six massive Spirit Mines, each the size of a major city, and though he never learned the total output of those six mines, many rumored that the smallest one outputted close to one million Divine Spirit Stones annually.
Most of those never found their way to the Disciples, though; or, well, all Disciples. His Master, on the other hand, seemed incapable of holding onto any wealth. He'd immediately give the stones to the kids in equal distribution, which shocked Han Yimu nearly as much as most of his other miracles.
There was a hierarchy, be that with the sects or rogue and hermit Masters, to follow; the Eldest Disciples had preferential treatment and were given the most resources, while the rest had to slowly earn their keep.
Here, though, there was no such thing. From the onset, Han Yimu was given the exact same resources as everyone else--no, perhaps even more, as Master gave him a weapon and a battle robe on top of everything else. Even the pills that the alchemist would concoct... he and Master--no, he was also Master's Disciple... despite being far older than Master...
... Han Yimu was still wrapping his head around that one properly. But the point was that Master would not start distributing pills until there were enough of them for everyone.
He'd never met an odder Master in his life, but that was becoming a bit of an understatement by this point. Rather than a Master... it really was more like he was a friendly uncle who often came bearing gifts.
Sighing and smiling invisibly, Han Yimu discarded the distracting thoughts and focused. Even if it was a relatively low-level comprehension array, it would still be a great boon for him, so it would be stupid to waste it.
As he focused his mind on the art that he wanted to train--Heavenly Throw. Though he was defiant initially about learning spear, it was... as though Master saw through the depths of his heart and knew the exact right thing for him.
In extension of that, he also recognized that Heavenly Throw would become a cornerstone of his fighting style--agile, battlefield-bounding battlemaster who cannot be contained. However, in order to slowly begin shaping that, he'd first have to reach the complete mastery of Heavenly Throw which would allow him to summon the weapon back regardless of the distance. The art itself was not particularly difficult, and he estimated that it would take him three to four years at most to reach the complete mastery.
As the image of the first form came into his mind, he felt everything freeze and his spirit be almost 'lifted' from his soul; the crude, fading image of the form shuddered and shook as colors swarmed it, and it became the image of a faceless man holding a spear just like his own.
"It all begins with the first form," the voice was... painful. It was as though the words were being carved into his mind directly, rather than him learning them. "If any part of the initial form is off, it ripples out toward every other step of the execution. The image, the wind-up, the follow-through, the loosening. There is no one right initial form, as a weapon can be thrown with a high lift, side arch, low loom, and in every feasible form of human flesh. As such, you must first master them all--down to where your big toes will be and which direction they will be pointing depending on how tense your shoulder is and how bent your elbows are. A demonstration."
The 'man' executed two throws in quick succession--one was an ordinary, normal throw where he pulled back the arm at a high level and threw the spear in a rising arch. The form was eerily similar to Han Yimu's current one, but... perfected. All the flaws that he had been struggling with were completely ironed out and fixed.
The second throw was the complete opposite; the 'man' leaned forward aggressively until his knees were leveled out with his chest, practically, At the same time, his spear-wielding arm was wrung back and tensed up until it looked as though all the muscles in it would burst... but they never did. At the totality of tension, he began to arching motion like the low arm of a standing clock swinging to indicate the passage of seconds.
The follow-through was rapid and smooth, and all the tension was unleashed like a bolt of lightning as the man loosened the grip. Han Yimu watched in horror as the spear tore through the void itself, rupturing spacetime as it curved and rotated in a small point, ripping through everything.
"Neither is better," the voice, as though reading his mind, spoke. "Merely different. You must know your body to know your weapon--and, in the final expression of Dao, they must become one. When you throw your spear, you shall throw your heart, mind, and soul. All in one."
... amidst the pain of having knowledge carved into his mind, a singular, stray thought emerged inside Han Yimu's mind: What the hell is this comprehension array and who the hell was the man who managed to find it?