His movement was slight, as though he had merely flicked his wrist forward.
Yet the effect was like that of an old bear rubbing against a trunk; the tree, as thick around as a large bowl, began to shake. Leaves fluttered down, and even severed twigs fell from the boughs.
"Y-you... you've mastered hidden jin?!"
Sha Lifei stammered, his eyes wide with disbelief.
In this world, the hallmark of the peak of clear jin was the vibrating of major sinews and the harmonious resonance of sinews and bones; every move and stance could mobilize the full power of the entire body.
When ordinary folk struck, ignorant of how to channel force, at least half the power behind the blow was lost. But for martial artists who trained year in and year out, the same strength wrought far greater devastation.
The human body possessed a skeletal frame bound by tendons and fascia, much like wooden mortise-and-tenon joinery—deceptively simple, yet delicate and stable. Only by forging proper form could one understand how to channel force.
Ordinary people needed only rigorous training to basically reach that level; it was merely a matter of time.
Once one reached the stage of hidden jin, however, the focus shifted from bone to fascia.
Fascia was like a dense web connecting every tissue in the body.
Through the surging billow of breath and internal-external resonance, the tendons contracted and vibrated at extreme speed, elevating one's power to an even higher plane.
This was the hallmark of hidden jin: qi membranes surging and swelling, wrapping sinew into rounded wholeness!
Once hidden jin was mastered, even the slightest motion could unleash astonishing lethality. Some masters could lightly pat a man, only for him to return home, cough up blood, and drop dead.
Nor was this its only advantage.
Hidden jin twisted through a thousand coils and folds, rendering techniques far more unpredictable. Moreover, to produce identical damage required less brute exertion; wielding great weight with effortless grace, one could endure in battle far longer.
To master hidden jin, one needed not only talent, but also a master to cross hands daily to listen to the jin, carefully pondering each subtle shift. Only then could one succeed.
This young tiger had traveled all this way with no one to guide him—could his talent truly be so monstrous?
Sha Lifei's disbelief quickly gave way to sheer ecstasy. An idea struck him, and he whispered, "Before the ring match, whatever you do, don't show this off. When the time comes, I'll place a bet first..."
Li Yan gave a slight nod. "Put some down for me as well."
Looking upon Sha Lifei's weathered, excitement-flushed face, Li Yan remained perfectly calm.
This breakthrough into hidden jin was purely a coincidence.
Over all these years, he had practiced his martial arts daily, through summer heat and winter cold without cease.
Yet during the days following his grandfather's passing, he had wandered in a daze, soul-scattered and numb—how could he have had time to train?
Had it not been for the Daluo Dharma Body, even the spirit he had just preserved would have dispersed.
On the road to Xianyang, he had resumed his training.
At first, driven perhaps by impatience, he had trained like a madman, straining his sinews and bones once more.
Yet this time, something was different.
After spirit preservation, his perception of his own body had grown exceptionally keen. Furthermore, guarded by the Daluo Dharma Body, he did not need to divide his attention; he could simultaneously preserve spirit and practice his arts.
He had already stood at the peak of clear jin to begin with; it was only because his father was dead and his grandfather had been aged and infirm—leaving no one to cross hands, listen to his jin, or feed him counters—that he had remained stuck at that threshold.
Preserving spirit at the same time had provided the exact spark needed to break through.
Naturally, having only just mastered hidden jin, he could not unleash it at will every instant, nor was he like seasoned hidden jin masters who handled every move with effortless lightness and endless variation.
Yet aided by the Daluo Dharma Body, in the worst case he could trade blow for blow and wound for wound.
So long as he landed even a single touch, he could cripple his opponent!
……
The commotion promptly stirred quite a few people.
Seeing this, Wang Daoxuan let out a noticeable sigh of relief.
His partnership with Li Yan went beyond the boy's divine sense of smell.
There was something about which he had spoken no lie that day.
The very night before Li Yan's arrival, Wang Daoxuan had awakened in terror from a dream of being besieged by evil ghosts.
In dream divination, this was termed a ghost dream, an ominous portent. Even among the Shang oracle bone inscriptions, there was a passage: *Divined on Dingwei, the King tested: Many ghost dreams, will hardship not come?*
Divination was an art profound and esoteric; when touching upon the nebulous fabric of destiny, even masters of numbers and stars could not guarantee accuracy.
Yet practitioners of Xuanmen were different. Once spirit preservation was attained, their minds remained tranquil most of the time; if an omen arose, something unusual was surely brewing.
It was rather like a martial artist's instinct—sensing the approaching autumn wind before the cicada even stirred.
After rising, feeling uneasy, Wang Daoxuan had cast divinations before the ancestral master's image. Yet several successive hexagrams indicated fortune turning from ruined to prosperous, an omen of great auspiciousness.
And when morning came, he saw a magpie holding a blossom fly to his door.
This was omen divination through images—a sign of good fortune.
Yet on a whim, he had cast a few more divinations, and they turned up great calamity.
Wang Daoxuan had then realized that this was perhaps a turning point, where fortune and disaster were inextricably entwined.
Thus, though he had intended to go out that day, he had remained at home waiting.
When he saw Li Yan's phoenix eyes and dragon gaze, he had already formed a plan. After testing him in conversation and finding him worthy of trust, he had imparted the secret art.
Sure enough, subsequent events had taken their course.
First came good fortune, followed immediately by an encounter with the saber bandits—fulfilling the omen of unpredictable fortune and woe. Though he had found no fault with Li Yan's decision to fight a life-and-death duel in the ring, Li Yan was young after all, and Wang Daoxuan had inevitably harbored misgivings.
Only now, seeing Li Yan break through, did Wang Daoxuan truly breathe easy.
Troupe Leader Zhou of the Spring Breeze Troupe was equally astonished. Gazing at Li Yan's youthful face, he hesitated for a moment, then gritted his teeth and turned back into his room.
Stepping onto a stool, he brought down an old wooden chest from atop the wardrobe. He blew away the dust on its surface, caressed it a few times with trembling hands, and carried it out the door.
"Young Brother Yan..."
Troupe Leader Zhou began, "Do you have a training method for hidden jin?"
Li Yan nodded. "My father passed one down."
To wrap sinew into rounded wholeness for hidden jin, ordinary martial practice alone was not enough; after all, it could not reach the fascia, much less penetrate deep into the five viscera and six bowels.
To advance, one relied on different training methods.
The Tiger and Leopard Thunder Sound, the Toad-Fishing Skill, the Twin Heng and Ha Breaths, the Crane Cry Sound, the Daoist Thunder Sound, the Buddhist Lion's Roar, the Great Cloud Thunder Sound... all were such arts.
Though lineages differed from sect to sect, the principle across the world was identical: using acoustic vibrations to drive the billowing of the fascia, steeping deep into marrow and viscera.
Red Fist likewise possessed a secret transmission: the Thread-Piercing Sound.
As the martial proverb went: *Inhale and exhale, qi like fine thread; passing intestines and belly, threading meridians through.* It was perfectly suited to Red Fist's character—light as a swan feather, heavy as Mount Tai, striking like grasping fire.
Just as Li Yan wondered why he was asking, Troupe Leader Zhou held up the wooden chest, stroked it with lingering reluctance, and spoke: "Young Brother Yan can likely tell that I, too, practiced some martial arts in my day, having learned our ancestral Pi Gua.
"My skills are mediocre, but my ancestors passed down something truly fine.
"My ancestors originally hailed from Xianyang and studied the war drums of Qin and Han. Not only was my forebear the Drum King of that era, but he was also renowned across the jianghu. Alas, he later crossed powerful enemies and was forced to seek refuge in Huayin.
"Our ancestor received the Great Cloud Thunder Sound from an extraordinary master and combined it with the art of war drums to create this 'Divine Drum Cloud Thunder Sound.' It is a superior training method, and I now present it to you, Young Brother."
Li Yan was visibly moved. "This... is far too valuable, Troupe Leader..."
The Great Cloud Thunder Sound—he had heard his father mention it—was an esoteric Buddhist transmission.
Buddhist scriptures spoke of the Great Cloud Thunder Sound as grander than ordinary thunder.
To bear such a name was proof enough of the method's extraordinary nature, something rarely seen by ordinary folk. That Troupe Leader Zhou possessed such a treasure and was willing to give it away left Li Yan utterly taken aback.
Yet halfway through his words, Troupe Leader Zhou waved a hand to cut him off.
He shook his head slightly and sighed. "My aptitude is mediocre, and my unworthy son has already preceded me in death. Keeping this hidden serves no purpose anymore. Selling it casually to wicked men would only bring shame upon my ancestors.
"Yesterday, you could have walked away, yet you chose to fight a life-and-death ring match. Was that not taking the disaster upon yourself on behalf of my Spring Breeze Troupe? What is more, with your talent, you will not dishonor this art."
With that, he handed the wooden chest straight forward.
Seeing this, Wang Daoxuan pondered a moment and chimed in, "Young Brother Yan, accept it. Troupe Leader Zhou, we shall waive the ritual fee we agreed upon earlier."
This ritual was by no means cheap. In the Spring Breeze Troupe's current plight, they would have had to exhaust all their meager savings to scrape the money together, leaving them to go hungry afterward.
Doing this suited both sides nicely.
Upon hearing this, a smile touched Troupe Leader Zhou's eyes. He called his apprentices over to continue listening to Wang Daoxuan explain the ritual taboos.
Li Yan, meanwhile, sat to one side and opened the wooden chest.
Generally, methods of this kind consisted of a single slim volume, and some were handed down only by word of mouth from master to disciple. Inside this chest, however, lay three yellowed tomes.
One was *Manual of Pi Gua Fist*, another was *Qin-Han Drum Rhythms*, and only the last was *Divine Drum Cloud Thunder Sound*.
Li Yan flipped through them casually and was immediately surprised.
This method involved not just breathing; it actually required the accompaniment of a specially forged iron drum...
……
On this autumn day after the rain, the sky appeared all the loftier.
The afterglow of the setting sun reflected across the fading evening clouds, heralding another clear day tomorrow.
The official highway was thick with mud as a dozen-odd people trudged forward.
Besides Li Yan and his companions, over a dozen members of the Spring Breeze Troupe had come, including shadow puppeteers, the music ensemble, singers, and even several apprentices.
As for the dependents, they remained behind in Xianyang.
Before long, they caught sight of the mass graves.
Among the group was a somewhat flabby, pasty-faced man—Sha Lifei's acquaintance, the troupe's suona player, "Lao Baimian."
Wiping the sweat from his brow, he looked at the distant mass graves with eyes full of worry. "Daoist Wang, I hear the hills back there are the lair of the Western Route Beggars' Gang. Those folk are nasty to deal with—could they ruin our business?"
"No matter."
Wang Daoxuan shook his head. "The place we seek is where yin fiend accumulates, unfit for the living to dwell. The mass graves are so vast, and we are performing the ritual in the dead of night; we will not disturb them."
With that, he drew out his compass, studied it back and forth for a moment, and pointed toward a mountain hollow to the west of the mass graves. "The White Tiger holding a corpse brings great calamity, while the Black Tortoise bowing its head brings great auspiciousness. Who would have thought these mass graves possessed such a peculiar geomantic formation? We head up from this side!"
Though none of the others understood the art of geomancy, they remembered Wang Daoxuan's instructions firmly. Arriving at the foot of the hill, every one of them shut their mouths tight, helping one another as they climbed up the steep, muddy slope.
In the distance, the last ray of evening twilight vanished, and night fell over the earth...
Chapter 35