Half a Year

Only when Daoist Priest Jixin mentioned it did Qin Sang learn that Old Wu was actually not even forty years old. Old Wu hailed from Jiaoming Commandery in the north. He had originally raised two sons and a daughter, making a living by tilling the fields; though impoverished, they had managed to get by. Last year, disaster after disaster struck, and beacon fires flared across the northern commanderies. Rebel troops turned into bandit gangs, slaughtering the innocent without mercy. Old Wu's village was sacked by marauders, and his wife and sons died horrific deaths. He managed to flee with only his youngest daughter, but before long she fell gravely ill. With no money for treatment, she died by the side of the road. In the blink of an eye, a fine family of five had been reduced to Old Wu alone. In a daze, he followed his fellow townsfolk as they fled to Sanwu City, where he eked out a living tracking boats at the First Ferry and slept under the eaves and entryways of local households. Pitying him, the old Daoist had taken him in to stay on the mountain. Who could have imagined that the situation in the north had deteriorated to such a degree? No one knew when this vast kingdom would finally find peace. Spring passed, and autumn arrived. Every morning upon waking, fallen leaves could be seen scattered across the courtyard, swept about by the mountain wind. Without realizing it, a full year had passed since he came into this world. Qin Sang pulled his clothes tighter around himself and walked toward Qingyang Hall to stoke the fire and brew the medicine. After lighting the fire, he ran into Old Wu while practicing fist forms in the courtyard. The two nodded to each other, and Old Wu hunched his back, walking silently outward. Watching Old Wu's stooped back disappear outside the Daoist temple, Qin Sang shook his head. He truly had not expected that Old Wu's frail-looking body would possess so much strength. He had been working as a tracker for more than half a year now, with never a word about returning to his hometown. Over these past six months, Old Wu had left early and returned late, tracking boats every day without taking a single day off. Sometimes, when Qin Sang woke up late, he would not see him all day. Seeing Old Wu's resolve made Qin Sang feel secretly ashamed, spurring him to work even harder and rarely slack off. Qin Sang had never seen Old Wu smile once. Moreover, being mute, whenever they crossed paths and greeted each other, he merely lifted a hand in response, his face completely devoid of expression. Qin Sang did not know whether Old Wu had simply not recovered from the catastrophe or if his heart had truly died, leaving him indifferent to everything. To Qin Sang, he felt like a walking corpse. Although they lived under the same roof, Qin Sang found little inconvenience in it and gradually grew used to his presence. During these past six months, his fist practice, cultivation, and medicinal baths had never ceased. After realizing the bath's efficacy, Qin Sang became exceptionally enthusiastic, accompanying the old Daoist up the mountain to harvest herbs every time. He had traversed the dozens of peaks surrounding Mount Huanghuang. The terrain on both banks of the Wuling River was treacherous and infested with wild beasts, making danger unavoidable whenever they ventured deep into the mountains to gather herbs. The most perilous encounter had been running into a pack of wild wolves. It had happened at night while Qin Sang and the old Daoist were cooking over a fire in a mountain cave. A pack of over a dozen wild wolves, lured by the firelight, drew near. By the time Qin Sang heard their howling and stamped out the bonfire, it was already too late. In his hands, he held only an iron rod he had bartered from a stonemason. The pack encircled the cave entrance. The beast-repelling powder the old Daoist had made from the dung of ferocious predators proved utterly useless in frightening them off; if they wanted to survive, they could only fight for their lives. Iron rod in hand, Qin Sang held the mouth of the cave alone like a lone guard defending a mountain pass, using the rod in place of his fists to unleash the Tiger-Subduing Long Fist. He had expected a grueling battle, but to his surprise, he handled it with remarkable ease. Because the cave entrance was narrow, at most three wolves could squeeze in at once, and Qin Sang was able to manage three vicious wolves simultaneously with room to spare. Relying on that single iron rod, Qin Sang smashed the alpha wolf's head until its brains burst forth. Then, moving like lightning, he struck down several more in succession, sending the rest fleeing with their tails between their legs. After that, without Qin Sang even asking, the old Daoist dragged him along every time he went herb gathering. Only after this real combat did Qin Sang realize that his strength seemed genuinely formidable now. Later, to verify his impression, he sparred with Yang Zhen's disciples at the Wuwei Escort Agency's manor. Although he feigned defeat every time, Qin Sang knew he was actually using only half his strength. Their fist techniques were far superior to the Tiger-Subduing Long Fist, and their moves seemed extraordinarily powerful, yet in Qin Sang's eyes, they appeared sluggish. If he wished, he could easily spot an opening and counter. Possessing such martial skill, Qin Sang's thoughts inevitably began to stir. The rebellion in the north had remained unquelled for a long time. People raised banners in revolt across every commandery, rising one after another, while the commandery princes responded lethargically, running the imperial forces ragged and exhausted. In the middle of the year, the Sage Emperor issued an edict calling upon men of noble ideals across the realm to join the army in the north and put down the rebellion, declaring that those who achieved extraordinary merit would soon be made kings and marquises. When the imperial edict arrived, Sanwu City was abuzz with commotion. Many ambitious men headed north to rally to the sovereign's cause, and three of Yang Zhen's disciples even set out together, eager to make a name for themselves. Qin Sang was somewhat tempted as well, but his eye was not on wealth or glory. The words Daoist Priest Jixin had spoken remained etched in Qin Sang's heart: even Immortal Masters could not abandon the seven emotions and six desires, and they too enjoyed worldly splendor. By getting close to princes and nobles, he might well come into contact with an Immortal Master. Still, Qin Sang had never experienced war and felt somewhat apprehensive. The battlefield was merciless; if a stray arrow took his life, wouldn't that be a tragic waste? Furthermore, the world was full of capable individuals and eccentric masters. Just how strong was his own martial art? How did it compare to martial arts masters who possessed internal force? Could he truly stand out from the crowd? Because of this, Qin Sang found it difficult to decide. In the end, he resolved to remain at the Daoist temple and patiently cultivate the Nether Scripture, waiting until he broke through the first layer before considering his next move. Day in and day out, Qin Sang cultivated. The wisp of qi within his body, once as thin as a strand of hair, could now gather into a small stream coursing through his meridians, finally bordering on a breakthrough. The vat of medicine had just been freshly prepared today. As Qin Sang approached a breakthrough, his demand for the medicine's potency had grown; the previous vat had lasted only five days. That evening, Qin Sang patiently finished his evening duties. When the dead of night arrived and all was still, he shut the doors and windows tight, sat cross-legged on his bed, and silently recited the Clarity and Stillness Scripture more than a dozen times before his mind settled. Sinking deep into meditation, he circulated the technique. In the blink of an eye, five heavenly circuits passed. As the qi flowed through his meridians, Qin Sang sensed instinctively that after the next heavenly circuit, he would break through! The Nether Scripture made no mention of any bottlenecks between the two realms. With an uneasy heart, Qin Sang pushed the technique forward. Once the heavenly circuit was complete, the qi returned to his dantian. Qin Sang suddenly let out a muffled grunt. The qi boiled within his dantian, and a sharp, swelling pain erupted from the dantian, surging rapidly through every meridian in his body, followed closely by a tearing agony. Fortunately, as violent as the pain was, it passed just as swiftly. In the wake of that excruciating pain came a wave of profound comfort! A look of profound delight surfaced on Qin Sang's face. Suddenly recalling the inner vision mentioned in the Nether Scripture, he subconsciously "looked" toward his dantian. With a sudden boom, his perception opened wide, and he finally "saw" that qi clearly. A blue stream of qi curled within his dantian, magnificent and mesmerizing. With a shift in Qin Sang's thoughts, the qi moved in response to his will, entering his meridians and surging like a rushing river. As it circulated through his meridians, its speed was several times faster than before. Before long, a single heavenly circuit was complete, and the improvement was far more pronounced than during the first layer. He continued cultivating without pause until the tenth heavenly circuit. The pain from his memory never appeared. Qin Sang was overjoyed and paused his cultivation for now.