Dusk fell.
Inside the Baji Sect compound, Lian Youming huddled near the brazier, having changed into clean clothes. He ravenously devoured two lamb legs and drank half a pot of lamb soup. After regulating his breath for a time, most of the deep bruises on his body had already faded. Such terrifying recuperative power left even Wu Jiu clicking his tongue in amazement.
When martial artists fought to the death, it wasn't just about fist and footwork. Every exertion took an astonishing physical toll; as long as one could catch one more breath than his opponent, he could muster one more reserve of strength, gaining that much more of a winning edge.
Considering the brutal battles still ahead, Wu Jiu arranged for Lian Youming and Xie Ruomei to stay at the sect, then turned and left the courtyard.
Xie Ruomei ate very little. Seeing Lian Youming's astonishing appetite, she kept picking up pieces of rich meat and piling them into his bowl.
Staring at the ever-growing mound in his bowl, Lian Youming wore his lips thin trying to stop her, but no matter how many times he spoke up, the young girl simply would not listen. He sighed inwardly with pity; she must have had few people to be close to in her life. Now that she had found one, she clung to him like a lifeline, wanting to tear out her heart and lungs just to give him everything.
Only when he pulled a stern, scowling face did Xie Ruomei obediently begin to eat her own meat.
"Your constitution is far too weak," he said. "If you try to practice martial arts, an unstable foundation will only drain your vitality. When the time comes, whether you master the art or not, your life will definitely only grow shorter."
How could Xie Ruomei not know that? But given her present circumstances, improving her health was no easy feat.
Seeing the girl look dejected and lower her head in silence, Lian Youming pondered for a moment. His eyes flickered with thought as he said, "Don't lose heart. I'll teach you a method that nourishes the spirit and consolidates the foundation. Once I take down the remaining sects, with Uncle Wu Jiu and the others backing us up, you won't have any trouble."
Meeting Xie Ruomei's clear, dark eyes, Lian Youming glanced around, closed the doors and windows, and spread Tan Fei's fur cloak across the floor before lying straight down upon it.
Just as Xie Ruomei was looking on in confusion, the boy winked and smiled. "Watch closely, and pay attention to my breathing."
Lian Youming shifted his body to lie on his side. His left hand rested loosely, while his right elbow bent down against the cloak, propping up his right cheek. His palm moved gently, massaging his temple. His legs intertwined like coiling black dragons, and his upper torso hovered slightly off the ground. He appeared entirely motionless, yet the great dragon of his spine rose and fell gently with each breath.
"This is called the Sleeping Dragon Gong—a skill practiced while sleeping," he explained. "An old man passed it on to me. It doesn't belong to any sect. Quiet on the outside, active within; three or four hours of sleep can equal an entire night. Unfortunately, I haven't memorized the whole thing, and I didn't bring the manual with me, but mastering just these few postures will be of great use."
As he spoke, he moved through several different sleeping postures.
"This technique uses internal breathing to regulate the mind's emotions—what is known as the breath of the heart. As the book puts it, only when heart and breath rely on one another can spirit and qi unite as one. In the Daoist alchemy classics, heart and breath are called the 'dragon and tiger.' The texts say that 'the dragon is lingering and tender, while the tiger is savage and fierce.' As ordinary people grow up from innocent ignorance, their thoughts twist and turn, just like rearing wild dragons and ferocious tigers. When the mind is unsettled, the breath changes, and the spirit undergoes shifts of vigor, lethargy, negativity, and unrest. This skill is meant specifically to subdue the dragon and tame the tiger."
Lian Youming explained everything methodically.
Xie Ruomei listened attentively. Only after the boy demonstrated several times did she nod to show she had memorized the forms.
"Just watching won't do; you have to practice it."
Lian Youming moved aside to make room.
The girl showed no hesitation, sitting down naturally on the fur cloak to feel out the postures, allowing the boy beside her to point out and correct her mistakes.
Outside the window, the sky gradually darkened.
The snowfall had lightened, with silent specks of frost drifting down.
Seeing that Xie Ruomei was growing familiar with those few forms, Lian Youming pushed open the door and walked toward the wooden cabin where the old woman had stayed earlier that day.
Night snow drifted around the solitary cabin.
He propped open the window and struck a match to light the lamp, then stared blankly at the flame within the glass shade, lost in thought.
He was thinking of the old woman's earlier technique—cradling the lamp with both palms to shield the fire. It had been truly brilliant, so much so that he still could not put it out of his mind.
"Soft force, Cotton Palm, drawing circles."
Lian Youming stood by the window facing the frost and snow, gazing at the cold lamp before him. His feet slowly parted, and his hands lifted lightly—sealing and closing, deflecting and hooking. His footsteps traced circles, his hands traced circles, and his twisting waist and bent wrists all converged toward invisible spheres.
Not only that, but internal force strikes seemed to hit a single point to affect a plane, expanding outward from that point into a circle.
Even Li Da's fist art, thrusting and retracting like a great spear, operated on the same principle.
Gong Wu'er's footwork and palms also formed arcs, drawing circles in their own way.
Lian Youming instinctively tried to imitate it, but as his fists and feet shifted, his breath grew slightly obstructed, and his movements became sluggish from the straining of his sinews and bones.
His eyes lit up as understanding dawned on him.
This invisible circle was not something consciously forced; it was the outward manifestation of the three treasures—essence, qi, and spirit—condensed to a certain realm. There was no need to force it. Once the body achieved a certain degree of coordination, it would naturally follow the will.
A circle meant perfection and harmony.
Everyone was drawing their own circle, pursuing their own completeness, revealing their devotion to the Dao.
With his mind enlightened, Lian Youming removed the warm glass shade. Hovering his palms lightly, he imitated the old woman by using his bare hands to brave the wind.
Yet the moment he moved, the upright flame violently fluttered and swayed, bending left and pitching right, until it was snuffed out by the draft Lian Youming had stirred.
Far from feeling discouraged, Lian Youming felt his enthusiasm surge.
"Something new to ponder."
Just as he relit the flame, an intangible chill suddenly pierced through the window.
Lian Youming's body tightened. The hairs on the back of his hands stood on end, his pores clamping shut instinctively, and the match and lit oil lamp in his hands were snuffed out simultaneously.
In the darkness of the night.
He instinctively looked up, his gaze cutting through the swirling snow and bitter frost outside the window toward the high wall bordering the martial training grounds.
Vaguely, a figure was crouched atop the wall, looking down as if scrutinizing him. From the pitch-black shadows of that face, a pair of deranged eyes radiated unmasked murderous intent and malice.
"Xue Hen?"
Lian Youming's pupils contracted.
The dark silhouette on the wall merely chuckled softly, then stood up.
Only then did Lian Youming notice a boy of ten or so tucked under the man's arm, apparently a disciple of the Baji Sect.
Without a word, the shadow turned and leaped off the high wall.
"Put him down!"
Lian Youming did not even bother opening the door. Leaping forward, he tumbled through the window and plunged into the wind and snow. Crouching low, he bolted forward, and upon reaching the high wall, he kicked off a crack in the brickwork to vault high into the air. Catching the top of the wall with his hand, he pulled himself up with the momentum.
Beyond the wall lay a narrow alley leading out to a street.
Scrambling onto the wall, Lian Youming swept his gaze across the area. Spotting the dark figure flickering out of sight at the alley's exit, he dropped from the wall and gave chase.
One fled and the other pursued, covering an unknown distance in a single breath. Lian Youming pursued him all the way to the rooftop of a department store before finally getting a clear look at him.
It was indeed Xue Hen.
"You killed someone again?"
Catching the scent of blood on the man, Lian Youming twitched his fingers. His face remained expressionless, but his feet were already circling, his eyes repeatedly darting toward the child lying on the ground.
"Don't panic; he's only asleep."
Xue Hen crouched on a stone step like an ape. Though his posture appeared completely indolent, Lian Youming could not find the slightest opening to strike.
Sizing up the boy before him, who resembled a prowling tiger, Xue Hen's eyes gleamed as his pupils rolled. He rasped, "In just two years, you've actually built up such a presence. A body like cast lead, hair bristling like halberds. Interesting. I made a trip to the Eagle Claw Sect just now to fetch something, and took the chance to draw Wu Jiu and his crowd away so I could see you."
Lian Youming was in no rush to attack; he had too many questions for this man. "What did you take from the Eagle Claw Sect?"
Xue Hen raised his right hand, revealing a medallion and a letter. "Don't you have one too? That old bastard Tan Fei assassinated the master of the Eagle Claw Sect and drove away plenty of disciples. Xie Laosan, a true lineage disciple, was actually forced to turn to the White Lotus Sect. Heh, when all is said and done, they're all fools blinded by greed."
These words were entirely unexpected.
Yet that was not what Lian Youming wanted to know. He asked, "What were Xie Laosan and the others fighting the Old Man Who Guards the Mountain for? What are you and Gong Wu'er searching for? What is at Mount Lu?"
Xue Hen smiled playfully. The smile was on his face, but there was no amusement in his eyes; rather, it was a display of sheer malice, teeth bared, like a shanxiao draped in human skin.
"You have so many questions. Fortunately, I'm in a good mood today, so I'll indulge your last question.
"You must have already entered that secret chamber beneath the Northeast forest farm. Do you remember that poem? Subduing the fire dragon and taming the tiger, the earthbound immortals. That refers to a profound realm of martial arts, and Mount Lu holds clues to such beings. Perhaps given your current martial climate, you can't quite comprehend it. Let me put it another way: to behold that realm is to look upon a true immortal.
"Heh, what about you?"
Hearing that mocking laughter, Lian Youming's breath hitched, a chill running down his spine.
He did not know.
Xue Hen said coolly, "The three forces are merely training methods. When you have grasped and mastered all three forces, and sensed the wonders beyond them, only then will you understand what my words mean. But I came looking for you today for another reason: hand over your medallion."
Lian Youming reeled in his racing thoughts and sneered, "Nonsense."
Xue Hen seemed to have anticipated that response, saying indifferently, "Though you've made startling progress, growing too fast isn't always a good thing. You've had too many fortuitous encounters and too little tempering. Though you've faced deadly peril several times, benefactors have always stepped in to help. You think you're fortunate, favored by the heavens, the chosen protagonist of this martial world. You think that beating a few stray dogs gives you the right to contend with me—"
Suddenly, Xue Hen wore a bizarre smile, his tone shifting to outright mockery. "Heh, what a coincidence. Every prodigy and genius who fell beneath my feet thought the exact same thing at first. This martial world has never lacked extraordinary talents, yet those who truly rise are few and far between. Today, I'll teach you that there are heavens beyond the heavens and people beyond people. I'll cool your head, lest a future setback leaves you completely crushed."
As he spoke, he straightened up, casually setting the medallion and secret letter on the ground. He grinned slyly. "How about a little wager? Don't worry, before you've fully matured, I can't bear to kill you."
Lian Youming showed no expression as he placed his own gold medallion on the ground. "Do those Eight Banners nobles also harbor some unbelievable figures?"
Xue Hen said nothing more, seemingly having lost the urge to speak. He merely watched with cold eyes, his temperament truly erratic.
Abruptly, the wind and snow surged in. Xue Hen moved, leaping and lunging like an ape. His footwork was utterly bizarre: the bridges of his feet arched, his soles cupped inward to form hollows as if sinking into shallow pits. With each kick and pounce, his legs expanded and retracted, fast as a ghost.
Lian Youming had experienced Xue Hen's movement technique before. He lightly rubbed his palms together, internal force surging from them. His sleeves snapped outward, smoothing every crease, ripples cascading beneath the fabric.
Having unlocked his heart meridian, he could now channel this neutralizing force into his hands with exceptional mastery.
"Taiji Cotton Palm!"
Light erupted in Xue Hen's eyes. With a sharp bark of laughter, he clenched his right fist in midair. His entire sleeve visibly expanded by a ring as he hammered toward the boy's chest with the momentum of a ballista bolt.
Two streams of internal force ground and collided. Lian Youming pushed and deflected with both palms, drawing a circle in midair that encompassed Xue Hen's fist, attempting to disperse and grind away that domineering punch like a millstone.
Xue Hen's gaze turned vicious. Jerking both arms, he broke free of Lian Youming's silk-reeling force in an instant. His fists snapped out like arrows as his steps pressed relentlessly forward, the flurry of strikes falling as thick and fast as a torrential downpour, impenetrable to water.
Yet Xue Hen seemed disinclined to measure himself against the boy purely through striking techniques. At the moment their fists and palms met, he rubbed his own palms together to meet the strike, pressing palm against palm.
He wanted a contest of pure internal force.
Lian Youming grew grave. Meeting palm with palm, he circled with his feet as they clashed with their hands. Wherever his soles scuffed against the floor, the accumulated snow was instantly pulverized to fine powder, scattering like dust.
Xue Hen's footing was even more startling. Like splitting gold upon landing, his feet stepped down without creating the slightest tremor, yet with every step, a series of muffled popping sounds burst from his soles like grinding beans, shattering the stone and gravel beneath him into fragments.
Only upon this clash did Lian Youming realize how terrifying Xue Hen's offensive truly was. His internal force was as dense and solid as iron, piercing through to the bone as though he held two invisible great spears thrusting and retracting, agitating Lian Youming's blood and sending sharp pains through his heart and lungs.
"*Gu!*"
With an internal inhalation surging into his throat and tongue, Lian Youming had no choice but to channel the Toad Fishing Skill to resist.
The two appeared to push and circle slowly, yet wherever their bodies brushed against the surroundings, bamboo poles shattered and masonry crumbled. Just as the commotion woke the slumbering child, Xue Hen planted his feet, his body shifting like a collapsing mountain. As he thrust both palms forward, the veins on the backs of Lian Youming's hands bulged outward, twitching and writhing like earthworms.
Commotion sounded from below.
It was Xie Ruomei and a group of Baji Sect disciples arriving.
It turned out Lian Youming had left his footprints behind along the way while pursuing Xue Hen.
Unflustered, Xue Hen flipped backward, snatched up the medallion from the ground, and vaulted straight off the edge of the building. Leaping and maneuvering across the gaps in the brickwork and the building's cornices, he was terrifyingly nimble.
Lian Youming's face was pale. His arms hung limply, and the stitching on his sleeves burst soundlessly, tearing into scraps that drifted down like snow.
Feeling the cold snow melt against his cheek, he watched Xue Hen's receding figure and whispered softly, "Who says they're the protagonist of this martial world? Heh... guard against pride and impetuosity!"
Chapter 82