The Substitute Idol

Within his dantian sat a statue of a Daoist priest. Seated upon a lotus pedestal, it was ancient, its facial features blurred beyond recognition, and even the folds of the Daoist robe on its body had been worn smooth. It appeared completely ordinary, no different from ancient relics found scattered across the wilderness, yet atop its head and upon both of its shoulders burned eerie blue flames. This very item had been the culprit behind his transmigration! In his previous life, Li Yan's job had frequently required business trips. Wherever he went, he made sure to stroll through the local museums and antique markets, considering himself an amateur enthusiast. Naturally, he knew his own limitations. Though he had a bit of knowledge, he was by no means an expert, so he had always only looked and never bought. Only with this object, laid out plainly on a vendor's stall, looking in every way like an artificially aged fake, had he felt inexplicably drawn to it by some uncanny whim and purchased it. Not long after, he woke from sleep to find his soul transmigrated into this world. Over the years, he had been constantly studying it. Though its origins were eerie and bizarre, he had figured out what it did: it functioned like a substitute doll. The three fires atop its head and shoulders could substitute for his life. Whenever he met disaster and perished, one of the fires would be snuffed out. In other words, he still had three chances to revive. And the statue's other function was to take on injuries in his stead. Whether internal trauma, poisoning, or wounds from blades and weapons, all could be transferred to the statue in the span of a breath. To put it simply, it made him somewhat like Deadpool, albeit with limitations. At present, a tiny claw scratch had visibly appeared on the statue's neck. Li Yan's audacity in hunting Blind Old Third had come from having this treasure as his foundation. Not only that, but over the years, he had practiced martial arts like a madman, fearing neither internal nor external wounds, pushing past his physical limits again and again, all by relying on this substitute idol to transfer his injuries. As the saying went, a prolonged illness makes a good physician; his formidable mastery over his own body had likewise been forged through injuries of every size. And his fair, pale skin was also a side effect of transferring those wounds. Though the statue looked whole on the outside, its interior was now riddled with cracks. Li Yan knew he had to use it cautiously from now on and not rely on it too heavily. If too many injuries accumulated within the statue, it might very well snuff out one of the fires. Of course, with his current control over his body, he could already skirt the razor's edge of his limits with ease, and the Ten Great Coiling Exercises were as second nature to him as breathing; he would not injure himself at all. Having warmed up, Li Yan moved once more. Though it appeared to be a set routine, every technique was full of shifting variations, unpredictable and difficult to fathom. These were all the authentic combat techniques passed down through his family: the Thirty-Six Cloud Hands, the Nine Route Kicks, and the Thirty-Six Grasping Seizes, with bracing and chopping as their foundation, organized sequences as their form, stringing scattered strikes and discrete moves into seamless chains. Real combat methods were far less pleasing to the eye than choreographed forms. Yet, as the saying went, the layman watched the spectacle while the connoisseur looked for true mastery. Li Yan's movements seemed simple and unrefined, yet they brimmed with murderous intent. Back then, Heidan had been the strongest among the village boys his age, cocky to the extreme. But it was only when he accidentally caught sight of Li Yan practicing his fist routines that cold sweat drenched his back, teaching him that there was always someone greater. Every move of Li Yan's was forceful and vigorous, and as his body stretched and unfurled, crisp popping sounds rang out. His great tendons vibrated, muscles and bones resonating in unison. According to the classifications in the General Compendium of Military Preparedness, he had already reached the pinnacle of clear jin. One should not underestimate this achievement. Reaching such a realm meant one was no longer an ordinary person; in the jianghu, one would be qualified to earn a wage and eat from the bowls of any armed escort agency. What was more, Li Yan was only fourteen years old. The next step would be surging the Qi membrane, wrapping the sinews into a rounded harmony, and cultivating hidden jin. In this world where martial arts flourished, one who possessed hidden jin could be counted as a third-rate expert in the jianghu, capable of leading vanguard escorts on missions or making a name for himself, just like his father had. Moreover, given Li Yan's youth, if some of the martial arts schools in Chang'an City caught wind of him, they would surely come bearing gifts to take him into their fold, where he might well become the pillar of their sect in the future. Yet a discordant voice drifted from the courtyard. "Hmph, what's the use of practicing all that!" The voice was aged, belonging to none other than Li Yan's grandfather, Li Gui. At some point, the old man had hobbled back into the courtyard on his cane. Li Yan pulled back his fists and smiled. "Grandfather, why such a fiery temper? It was just a beast. Did you really think I couldn't handle it?" "What does a beast matter?" Li Gui knocked the pipe ashes against his shoe, his face still dark. "I never should have passed down the fist arts in the first place. Once you learn martial arts, the urge to kill arises on its own, and that only invites trouble. "Your father refused to listen and ran off to be some blade-wielder, only to get himself killed! You're just as troublesome—do you really intend to end the Li family's lineage?!" Li Yan smiled along placatingly, offering no argument. This world shared many similarities with his past life, yet differences abounded. For instance, in martial arts, things like holding the elixir to form astral Qi or reverting to the innate realm existed only in novels in his previous life, but here, they were real. The geography was basically similar to his former world, but the historical dynasties were different. It was currently the Great Xuan Dynasty, the ninth year of the Yuanheng reign, a century since the dynasty's founding. Another difference was that individual martial prowess in this world was astonishingly formidable. Renowned grandmasters could claim an enemy commander's head from amidst ten thousand troops, and with nerves of iron, they thought nothing of infiltrating imperial palaces to commit assassinations. In chaotic times, they held dominion over entire regions, and when dynasties rose and fell, they stirred the winds and clouds. His grandfather had once been a fierce warrior in the imperial army. Having honed his martial arts to the peak of hidden jin, a single step away from transformative jin, his future had been bright—until he crippled a leg while quelling rebellions on the frontier. Coupled with having offended his superior at the time, his years of military service earned him only some farmland and a plaque bestowed by the Ministry of War inscribed "Valiant in a Hundred Battles." The very plaque that hung outside above the door. A "Valiant in a Hundred Battles" plaque was not something just anyone could obtain. With its prestige, his father could have entered the county yamen as a head constable, but he chose instead to wander the jianghu as a blade-wielder, leaving a thorn forever stuck in Li Gui's heart. Naturally, elders were to be respected, but one did not have to obey every word. Times were relatively peaceful now, and what his grandfather wanted was for him to settle down and be an honest farmer. Yet Li Yan knew full well that in any era, one's fists had to be hard. Having a blade and choosing not to use it was an entirely different matter from having no blade at all. Seeing that Li Gui was still upset, Li Yan's eyes darted with a thought. Sitting down on the threshold, he chuckled playfully and said, "Grandfather, tell me about the frozen plains again, will you?" Li Gui snorted coldly. "How many times have you heard it already, and you still want to hear more!" Even so, he lit his long pipe and took a few puffs, seeming to sink into distant memories. "That cursed place was truly no fit place for a human being... "Back then, a general on the northern frontier rebelled, colluding with foreign tribes to push south. We were ordered to suppress them, and under the command of Brigade General Zhang, we pushed into the far northern ice plains, determined to wipe out every last remnant of the rebels... "Everywhere the eye could see was ice and snow. In the dense forests, whether it was tigers, bears, or vicious wolves, every beast was terrifyingly huge. That Blind Old Third you killed really amounted to nothing... "The scariest thing was the weather. The icy mist was so thick that you couldn't see anything beyond a dozen paces, and quite a few men froze to death along the march... "Aside from those fleeing rebel remnants, there were other people in the woods—white skin, red hair, blue eyes, clad in animal pelts. The moment they saw us, they fled. "I heard from the scholar accompanying the army that those were shamans of the Luosha people from further north. Who would have thought that cursed place was inhabited at all... "In the days that followed, more and more men died. They kept having nightmares, and when morning came, they had frozen into ice sculptures, smiles still fixed upon their faces. It was terrifyingly eerie... "We finally caught up with the enemy, but just as the two sides were clashing, a whiteout blizzard suddenly swept in. Many of my old comrades died, and the remaining rebels froze to death too. Only by digging ice burrows were we able to scrape through alive... "Though I lost a leg, compared to those old comrades buried in the ice plains, I count myself lucky..." Listening to the old man speak, Li Yan fell silent. The geography of this world resembled that of his past life. According to his grandfather's account, the place they had gone was likely Siberia. Only it seemed far more perilous than in his former world. He had heard these tales many times; pestering his grandfather to tell them again was merely a way to divert his attention. Though his grandfather scolded him harshly, Li Yan knew what a devastating blow his father's death had dealt the old man—having the white-haired bury the black-haired. Elderly folk liked to reminisce about the past. That expedition to the ice plains was the greatest feat of his grandfather's life; speaking of it more often kept him from dwelling on those heartbreaking matters. After a while, the old man finally finished his story, but the muddleheaded fog crept over him again. He seemed to forget what he had just been saying, his cloudy eyes staring blankly. After watching Li Yan for a moment, he suddenly spoke: "Yan-wa..." "Yes, Grandfather?" "Remember, when you take a wife, find one with big hips." "Big hips are a bit ugly." "What do you know? Big hips mean good childbearing." "All right, all right, whatever you say..." A smile touched Li Yan's face, yet a tinge of sorrow darkened his eyes. Over the past two years, his grandfather had grown increasingly forgetful, and his health was failing. Back when his father was alive, he would return a few times each year to tell Li Yan of the trials and tempests of the jianghu, the secret cant of the underworld, and all manner of uncanny legends and tales. Fascinating though they were, if he had the choice, he would rather stay cooped up in this little mountain village for his whole life just to let his grandfather live a few years longer... *** At the village entrance, Blind Old Third's carcass had already been hung from the old locust tree. The adults of Fort Li glanced at it as they passed, then hurried off to the fields; after all, wolves were a common sight to them. No matter how savage Blind Old Third had been in life, once dead, those legends were reduced to mere talk and laughter. In the end, the work in the fields mattered more. The village scamps, on the other hand, found themselves some amusement, picking up stones one after another. "Let's pelt Blind Old Third!" "Throw! Stone it to death!" Amid bursts of giggling and laughter, stones flew through the air. Blind Old Third's hanging carcass was battered into a bloody pulp, swinging violently to and fro... *** Night fell, the moonlight as cool and clear as water. Yet tonight was somewhat different from usual. Insects did not chirp; birds did not cry; even the frogs in the ditches fell silent. From the great locust tree beside the dirt road at the village entrance, Blind Old Third's carcass hung quietly, tattered and mangled after the day's torment, the foul blood covering it long since blackened. In the distant wheat fields, several rustling shadows emerged. Gazing up under the moonlight, they were indeed several wolves of smaller build. Clan Patriarch Li Huairen's thinking had been completely mistaken. Wolves could hunt cooperatively, but they would just as readily prey on their own kind. Back in the old days, wolf packs had been deterred only because Fort Li was home to many living veteran soldiers, and the wolf carcasses hung thick and dense, creating sufficient deterrence. The scent of a lone wolf carcass, by contrast, only drew in wolves from the surrounding area. Yet, gazing at Blind Old Third's carcass in the distance, the pack circled a few times, visibly fearful, and held back without daring to approach. Suddenly, as if spooked by something, they whimpered and scattered into the wheat fields, vanishing into the darkness of the night. Then a chill wind swept up abruptly, setting the great locust tree rustling. In the gloom, shadows flickered indistinctly, resembling a swaying, monstrous beast...