...
"Sigh!"
In the dead of night, listening to the alternating snores coming from the adjacent room, Lian Youming opened his eyes.
The snorers were, of course, Lu Dazhuang and Lu Xiaozhuang.
"Snore... chug-chug-chug..."
"They snore like a pair of idling tractors."
The two brothers answered each other stroke for stroke, perfectly in rhythm.
Lian Youming's current posture was rather peculiar. His legs were entwined like coiling black dragons as he lay on his side, one elbow bent to prop up his right cheek. Resting before him was the manual for the Sleeping Dan Gong, given to him by the King of Scraps.
Remarkably enough, after practicing it for just a little while earlier, he had drifted off to sleep without even realizing it.
He had assumed that opening his eyes would mean morning had arrived, but less than three hours had passed.
Yet Lian Youming felt no trace of fatigue. Instead, he was brimming with energy, feeling more refreshed than after a full night's slumber.
Not only that, the exercise seemed to nurture the inner breath of his Toad Fishing Skill.
Lian Youming initially wanted to train a while longer, but with the brothers' snoring rattling through the wall, falling back asleep was out of the question. He simply put on his clothes, cautiously pushed the door open, and slipped out of the courtyard.
A cold moon hung high in the sky, shedding water-clear moonlight.
The lights of the thousands of homes had long gone dark. Treading upon the moonbeams, Lian Youming darted forward, leaping and bounding like a mountain ape as he swept through the streets and alleys, stretching his limbs to his heart's content.
He lost track of how long he ran under the moon until he finally halted beneath a pagoda.
The Giant Wild Goose Pagoda.
The Buddhist pagoda stood in solemn silence, surrounded by absolute stillness.
Lian Youming's breath shifted slightly. He bent his knees and sank his hips, poised like a crouching mountain ape about to pounce. His eyes gleamed; with a kick of his feet, he bounded upward, his body flashing through the air to catch the carved crevices along the pagoda's exterior.
He exerted force through both arms, drawing suction from his palms using silk-reeling force to adhere to the stone facade. His body maneuvered with effortless lightness—now leaping, now springing, now flipping, now climbing—using hands and feet in tandem. Viewed from afar, he looked just like an ape tumbling, bounding, clambering, and swinging across the Buddhist tower.
Unfortunately, amidst the surging tide of his excitement, a tiny flaw slipped into his control of force. Half a roof tile shattered in his grip. Mentally muttering, "Forgive me," Lian Youming quickly caught the falling shards, then arched his torso, leaped from the eaves' corner, and landed in a crouch at the very summit of the pagoda.
A gust of wind blew by, stirring the wind chimes hanging from the eaves at the four corners. The Buddhist bells rang with the breeze—ding-ding, dang-dang. Their distant chimes smoothed away every stray thought in a person's heart.
Sitting cross-legged atop the pagoda, Lian Youming listened to the bells and tilted his head to gaze at the moon.
Whether the bright moon was reflected in his eyes or his eyes mirrored the moon, a faint, wondrous radiance seemed to swirl within the youth's clear, dark eyes. It was as though they were communing directly with the lunar essence, the brilliance within his pupils waxing and waning, surfacing and receding.
Exhaling gently, he felt the moonlight cascading over him, transitioning from feeling nothing at all to gradually sensing a thread of crisp coolness.
The key to internal force lay not only in the pathways of muscle and tendon, but also in the method of breathing.
While the art of respiration was paramount, beyond the rhythm and cadence of breath, the nature of the qi one inhaled and exhaled was equally vital.
When the dual qi of yin and yang entered the body, the stimulation they produced was worlds apart—like day and night, yang and yin, hard and soft, hot and cold. At this moment, Lian Youming felt his breath differ completely from its daytime fierceness. It was as tranquil as flowing water, tempering the violent, unruly edge that had sprouted from his killing intent.
These were all insights he had gradually gleaned after cultivating this eye-refining technique: daytime refinement, nighttime refinement, balancing yin and yang.
The word "martial" ought to possess the distinction between yin and yang as well. Attack and defense were yin and yang: offensive techniques projected outward and should embody the aspect of embracing yang; defensive measures drew inward and assumed the aspect of bearing yin.
All things beneath heaven and earth bear yin and embrace yang.
Gazing at the round moon, an eccentric thought suddenly crossed Lian Youming's mind.
Who beneath heaven and earth had been the very first to create kung fu?
No.
Perhaps it had not been human at all.
It was likely an ape that had not yet evolved into man.
The human form was born stiff and clumsy. Over long ages, from crawling on all fours and tottering forward to learning to walk upright on two feet, then running, leaping, and tumbling, to eventually mimicking the movements of myriad beasts, observing the turning of the sun and moon, and comprehending all the wisdom and transformations of heaven and earth—only then did they grasp the ability to turn clumsiness into skill.
And that very first ape who attempted to stand upright was perhaps the genesis of every martial concept, the fountainhead of all martial arts.
The movements of wild beasts—pouncing, mauling, biting—became external forms, while mankind's exploration of the cosmic mysteries yielded the shifts of yin, yang, and the Five Elements, forming the internal art of mastering oneself. Down the long river of time, the two gradually merged, grinding and honing each other, flowing and intermingling, until at last they struck a balance between bestiality and divinity.
That balance was humanity.
Humanity was the heart, the very foundation of a martial artist's intent, dictating the internal balance of yang and yin, hardness and softness, good and evil.
Excessive hardness breaks easily; adept softness never falls.
Cross-legged atop the pagoda, Lian Youming sat in quiet contemplation, refining his eyes in the lunar glow while his spirit soared far beyond, drifting outside the heavens. He unleashed his imagination completely, conceiving his own understanding of martial arts—a martial philosophy belonging solely to him.
Gong Wu'er's sincerity leaned toward divinity; though he had not renounced the mortal world, he bore a detachment from earthly passions.
And Xue Hen? He leaned toward bestiality, indulging primal desires, defying all bounds, slaughtering without restraint.
Meanwhile Li Da—that man had preserved his humanity.
"Everyone walks a different path, yet each finds balance within themselves... The world's heroes are as numerous as carp in a river; it truly is magnificent."
Lian Youming broke into a sudden smile. The deeper his kung fu grew, the profounder his perceptions became. Right now, he felt an immense joy—not the superficial gratification born of material comforts, but a stir deep within his soul, a pure sensation, enduring and destined to persist for ages to come.
The more he explored this enigmatic world, the vaster and more boundless it seemed, like an inexhaustible treasure hoard.
Looking at the moon, Lian Youming once again tilted his head, gulping air and cycling his inner breath. The periodic toad-like croaks harmonized with the pagoda's bells, giving rise to a peculiar cadence.
Not until the bright moon sank into the west did the youth close his eyes, holding his breath to clear his mind of all unbridled reverie. Then, he climbed down the pagoda and retraced his steps.
Along the way, roosters had already begun to crow and dogs were barking; dawn was about to break.
When he returned home, a lamp was already lit in his parents' room, and steam was rising from the kitchen.
Seeing that his parents had not noticed his absence, Lian Youming pretended to have been on a morning run, trotting into the courtyard at a jog.
Zhao Lanxiang was rolling out dough in the kitchen. Catching sight of her son returning from outside, she poked her head out. "You silly boy, you've only been back a few days. Sleep in when you have the chance!"
Father Lian, who was stirring the filling beside her, chimed in, "Sleep in for what? A little extra exercise never hurt anyone. Hasn't he grown up doing that since he was small?"
Having bought meat yesterday, Zhao Lanxiang planned to steam baozi. A little over a jin of meat minced together with seven or eight jin of vegetables yielded two large basins of filling. With the cold weather setting in, it could serve as breakfast for nearly half a month.
"Did the King of Scraps say what he's heading to Mount Zhongnan for? The old man is getting on in years; why does he still want to go running into the mountains?" Zhao Lanxiang grumbled a bit, but then added, "Take plenty of baozi with you in a bit. That round trip takes four or five hours at least."
Lu Dazhuang and Lu Xiaozhuang were awake as well. After learning that those pots and jars wouldn't fetch any money, they had behaved themselves. Upon getting up, they went into the courtyard to sweep and chop firewood, and they were set to head back alongside Lian Youming's group shortly.
Lian Youming's plan was to hunt some game while in the mountains, then have the two brothers return to the village, harness a cart, and meet him at the foot of the mountain.
After busy preparations lasting roughly half an hour, a pale fish-belly white began to show on the horizon.
Slingshot and pack ready, Lian Youming slung his bag containing seven baozi over his shoulder and led the well-fed Dazhuang and Xiaozhuang out the door.
The King of Scraps was waiting for him at the street corner, leaning on his limp.
The old man had actually brought himself to change clothes, and looked to have bathed as well.
Lian Youming teased, "Well now! Have you taken a fancy to some maiden? You actually changed your outfit!"
The King of Scraps shot him a sidelong glance. "Can't you speak with some propriety? A person's outward attire often reflects their inner state of mind. For so many years my body has been like withered wood and my heart like dead ashes; I'd long grown sick of living, so what difference did it make what I wore?"
"Then why change now?"
As Lian Youming spoke, he bent down to give the old man a piggyback ride, but the elder pressed his hand down to stop him.
"Wait until we're out of the city. I can still walk for a bit."
Falling into step beside Lian Youming, the King of Scraps said softly, "I changed today because I've seen something different. I want to live a bit longer."
Seeing that the old man was having a hard time walking, Lian Youming wasted no breath. With a sweep of his broad hand, he hoisted the elder onto his back, drawling, "What nonsense are you spouting? My parents told me to look after you in your old age. Who knows, you might even live to hold my son."
Seeing the youth disregard his wishes, the old man knit his white brows, about to scold him. But hearing the words that followed, his expression softened considerably, his features turning much gentler.
"Your parents are both good kids. You're the only rascal in the bunch, though I suppose it's no bad thing for a boy to have some fight in him."
The group departed through the North Gate.
"Cousin, take care on the road!"
The Lu brothers picked a shortcut back to their village, while Lian Youming and the King of Scraps took the Qin-Chu Ancient Road, having agreed to rendezvous in the village that afternoon.
Once out of the city, Lian Youming picked up his pace.
Though folks often said Xijing sat right at the foot of the Qinling Mountains, that was a sweeping generalization. Looking at a mountain, a horse could run itself to death before reaching it; driving a cart would take an hour or two at the very least.
Lian Youming strode uphill, watching the cascading waterfalls and admiring the mountain scenery, his spirits soaring.
Snow had already fallen on the Qinling peaks.
Frost crystals clung to branches heavy with snow. As they ventured deeper, it felt as though they had stepped into a magnificent, fantastical winter wonderland.
Yet as they continued forward, the ice and snow vanished again, replaced by a vista of towering peaks and overlapping ridges.
Once they entered the territory of Mount Zhongnan, Lian Youming followed the King of Scraps' directions and truly found an unknown mountain trail, exceptionally well concealed.
The farther in they went, the more desolate the path became, until eventually all traces of a road disappeared entirely. Yet in such an untamed wilderness, one could still spot dilapidated Daoist shrines. They had all collapsed into ruins, turned into dens for wild mountain beasts, the ground littered with droppings and reeking of foul musk.
"Behind that hollow up ahead stands a Daoist shrine. There ought to be a patch of aged Solomon's seal inside. Go see if it's still there."
Lian Youming was currently weaving left and right, parting vines and ducking around trees. Hearing this, he couldn't help asking, "Aged? How old? If it's only ten or twenty years, I won't even look at it."
He was only bantering, but the old man on his back replied, "Ten years? Who are you insulting? That patch is five hundred years old at the very least."
"Huh?" Lian Youming froze in his tracks, his eyes wide. "Five hundred years?"
Munching on the baozi Lian Youming had brought, the King of Scraps mumbled, "Ignorant boy. Do you know how many Daoist adepts have cultivated in these mountains throughout history? Once their cultivation bore fruit, they basically stopped eating mortal grains, often sustaining themselves on the rare herbs and oddities of the peaks. Solomon's seal is also called celestial sustenance; some patches grow wild by heaven and earth, while others were planted by those high Daoists themselves. This patch belongs to the latter."
Lian Youming caught on, his eyes sparkling. "Even hand-planted is incredible—that's five-hundred-year-old Solomon's seal!"
He suddenly thought of Yan Lingyun's eight-prong old wild ginseng. Striding toward the hollow, he asked, "Between aged ginseng clubs and old Solomon's seal, which is better?"
After a moment's contemplation, the King of Scraps remarked blandly, "Hard to say. If both are over a thousand years, Solomon's seal is superior. While ginseng can preserve life at death's door, its potency is too overbearing; it requires various supplementary herbs to balance its nature before its medicinal power can be unlocked. Solomon's seal, on the other hand, possesses a much purer medicinal virtue; a millennium of accumulated essence rivals a miraculous elixir. However, for younger roots, their relative strengths shift."
Committing the words to memory, Lian Youming quickened his pace. But when they rounded the hollow, there was no Daoist shrine to be seen.
Amidst withered vines and rotting leaves, only broken walls and crumbled ruins remained. Bricks lay scattered across the ground, and several charred beams poked out through the withered grass, as if a catastrophic fire had swept through many years ago, reducing everything to cinders.
Lian Youming gasped, "Where's the shrine?"
The King of Scraps replied calmly, "Burned away... Go see if the Solomon's seal is still there. Check toward the southwest corner."
Lian Youming set the elder down and hurried into the ruins, parting the rotten leaves and decaying weeds. Suddenly, his eyes lit up. Pushing aside a half-collapsed earthen wall, he discovered a tarnished, rust-pitted cauldron half as tall as a man. Its surface was overrun by withered creepers, abandoned for who knew how many decades.
There was still something inside the cauldron.
Noticing Lian Youming's curiosity, the King of Scraps explained, "Those are herbal dregs."
Lian Youming pinched a bit and gave it a sniff. It carried a medicinal scent, but seemed laced with a foul, animal stench as well.
Seeing nothing of value there, he turned his gaze elsewhere. After moving several charred timbers aside, he saw a dense patch of yellow stalks more than a meter tall poking up from the ground.
Good grief, it was all Solomon's seal.
Delight showed in his eyes. Clearing away the surrounding debris, he found nearly the entire open clearing covered in this so-called celestial sustenance.
"It really is a whole patch... Huh, why does this section look like it was dug up? Whatever, let's harvest it first."
Untying the cloth bundle he had brought, Lian Youming was joyfully digging away when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sudden movement in the woods beside him. A terrifying dark shadow accompanied by a rank gust of wind came hurtling straight down from the mountain.
Whatever the creature was, it arrived with astonishing ferocity and ghostly speed.
In the time it took to turn his head, a hideous visage with jutting fangs, a white face, and blood-red eyes had lunged right before him, snapping its jaws to bite.
It went straight for his throat.
Lian Youming narrowed his eyes and dodged to the side. A sharp claw swiped through the air, snatching away the root of Solomon's seal he had just broken off.
Once the figure steadied itself atop the great cauldron, Lian Youming could see the dark shape was an astonishingly large black-furred monkey with a long face, a bright red nose, and a bulging cranial crest. Chewing on the Solomon's seal, it bared its teeth and screeched at Lian Youming, its savage nature on full display, its eyes completely crimson.
"Is that... a shanxiao?"
To make matters worse for Lian Youming's eyes, the beast hitched up its red rear end and dropped a steaming pile of dung straight into the cauldron.
"What the...?"
Moreover, the shanxiao was clutching a living creature in its arms.
Looking closer, Lian Youming saw a round, fluffy little beast with black-and-white fur.
It was actually a panda cub.
The little creature appeared injured, pinned tightly by the sharp claws. Curled into a ball, it whimpered incessantly.
Even more unexpected was what followed: barely had the shanxiao bounded out when another dark silhouette broke from the woods in hot pursuit. It was colossal, toppling small trees in its wake, roaring like a blend of wolf and tiger with a note of desperate anguish.
It was an enormous panda. Rearing up on its hind legs, its forepaws could have easily rested on Lian Youming's shoulders.
Seeing the mother bear in pursuit, the shanxiao bared its teeth like a mocking human, letting out a couple of cackles. It tilted its head back, opened its maw, and hoisted the little creature into the air, looking ready to swallow it whole.
Swish!
A pebble shot through the air, striking the shanxiao's raised right paw.
With his slingshot scoring a direct hit, Lian Youming closed the distance in a flash. The instant the shanxiao withdrew its claw in pain, Lian Youming brought his palm down against its chest, while his other hand smoothly caught the falling panda cub.
The shanxiao flipped backward and landed on the ground, completely unhurt. Instead, its vicious nature was fully provoked. Stamping in fury, it snarled repeatedly at Lian Youming, as if itching to tear him limb from limb. In its wild rage, it raked its own chest with its sharp claws in a fit of venting, leaving bloody gashes that made it look all the more terrifying.
"Roar!"
Setting the cub down, Lian Youming regarded the shanxiao before him, surprise in his eyes. "This beast has one tough frame."
Chapter 68