The Teahouse

The night passed without incident. When they set out on the road again the next morning, Mo Beidou could be seen sporting two dark circles under his eyes. Every now and then, he threw out a fist, scratched his head vigorously, pondered for a moment, and then threw out another strike... Anyone with eyes could tell he was learning a new fist technique. Naturally, glances drifted toward Fang Shuwen, their hearts tinged with envy. Fang Shuwen had searched Tong Tianba's body the previous night and retrieved the Fierce Tiger Fist manual, and already Mo Beidou was practicing it today. Yet this was hardly something one could truly envy. Who told them they didn't have such an extraordinary junior martial brother? What they did not know was that Fang Shuwen had not originally intended to teach Mo Beidou the Fierce Tiger Fist. While decent enough, once he read through it last night, he felt it was far inferior to the Mahakala Palm. Initially, Fang Shuwen had wanted to pass on the Mahakala Palm to Mo Beidou. Yet after a brief attempt, he discovered that stances that seemed completely effortless to him were maneuvers Mo Beidou simply could not perform. Only then did Fang Shuwen realize that the disparity in aptitude and comprehension was very real. If he insisted on drilling him, it wasn't as if Mo Beidou could never learn it. But learning the motions and truly mastering them were two entirely different matters, and there was no telling how much time that would take. Thus, Fang Shuwen settled for the next best thing, teaching Mo Beidou the Fierce Tiger Fist, which in his eyes was considerably lesser. This time, matters went far more smoothly. While expecting him to learn the entire technique overnight was asking the impossible, picking up a stance or two in an evening was well within reach. To tell the truth, at times Fang Shuwen felt as though the novels and television dramas of his past life had lied to him... When watching television in his previous life, the protagonists often mastered a martial art in practically no time at all. But in reality, once it came to oneself, even a relatively simple fist technique took ten-odd days just to figure out the forms properly. To perform it without making a single mistake could easily require a month, or even several months. And that was only having learned it—still nowhere near true mastery. Achieving mastery demanded steady, day-by-day accumulation until every stance, strike, and variation was known by heart. Only when one could dismantle all the forms in combat and adapt fluidly on the fly could it truly be considered mastered. Fang Shuwen had been able to learn the Mahakala Palm in such a short time primarily because of his astonishingly high comprehension, bolstered by a twofold enhancement. Combined with his formidable internal skill, picking it up had been effortless. That was also why he could turn around and teach Mo Beidou the Fierce Tiger Fist the very night he had acquired it. After all, his circumstances now differed from when he had first learned the Mahakala Palm; he currently possessed a threefold boost to his comprehension. With everything he had accumulated so far, a martial art like the Fierce Tiger Fist was something he could truly master at a glance. Mo Beidou, however, had neither such comprehension nor a cheat, so he could only take things slow. Fortunately, Fang Shuwen had plenty of patience. The road ahead was long anyway, so taking his time was fine. He still remembered how, when he had first learned the Four Seas Dragon Fist, Mo Beidou had passed on their master's teachings with that very same untiring patience. The Fierce Tiger Fist also had the effect of tempering blood, qi, sinews, and bones, which in turn could promote the growth of Mo Beidou's internal skill. Practicing it over time offered no shortage of benefits. Time slipped by in this manner. Each night, Fang Shuwen taught him a move or two, though Mo Beidou was liable to forget earlier steps as new ones were introduced, requiring several repetitions. After a few days, Fang Shuwen felt perfectly fine, but Mo Beidou was beginning to wear thin. Traveling by day and training by night took a heavy toll. Fang Shuwen offered to advise him to rest, assuring him there was no rush, but Mo Beidou refused. The road ahead was treacherous and such opportunities were rare; he was unwilling to give up easily. Perhaps because Tong Tianba had been slain by Fang Shuwen, the road remained calm and peaceful over this stretch of time. It wasn't that there were no highwaymen lurking along the route... However, the name of the Lu'an Escort Agency was no hollow ornament. Usually, an exchange of a few words of cant was enough to see them disperse on their own. Even on occasions when fighting proved unavoidable, there was no need for Fang Shuwen to step in. Lu Guiyan's saber technique alone was sufficient to convince the bandits to cut their losses and retreat. After all, Fang Shuwen was a native of Julu City and had naturally heard of the fame of the Lu'an Escort Agency's Nine-Breath Crimson Phoenix Saber Technique. He had not had the chance to witness her wield it before, but seeing it now, it was indeed extraordinary. Watching her saberplay, Fang Shuwen felt that given enough time to cultivate a deeper foundation of internal skill, she might not necessarily be an inferior match to Tong Tianba. Autumn was drawing near, and a sudden downpour disrupted the party's pace. An escort attendant reported that there was a teahouse ahead where they could temporarily take shelter from the rain. However, with many people and prying eyes gathered there, it might draw unwanted attention. Lu Guiyan pondered for a moment, then glanced at the condition of their two charges—the master and servant. It wasn't that the pair lacked martial arts entirely, but their skills were thoroughly unremarkable. The autumn rain was cold; if they continued to be drenched like this, they would likely fall gravely ill. If they died on the road from a lack of medicine and doctors, everything would be lost. Gritting her teeth, she directed the party toward the teahouse. The teahouse was not far off, and as they drew near, they saw quite a crowd gathered inside. This was mostly due to a passing merchant caravan also sheltering from the rain; their three carriages and dozen-odd guards took up more than half of the modest establishment. At the remaining tables sat solitary jianghu wanderers bearing sabers and swords, as well as several groups of young men huddled in clusters, talking loudly. Fang Shuwen's gaze settled upon a young man dressed in black. Having crossed the Fierce Tiger Gang, Fang Shuwen had grown rather sensitive of late toward anyone dressed in black robes with tiger patterns embroidered on their cuffs. Yet after a couple of glances, he noticed the young man's robes were solid black without the slightest trace of embroidery; he likely did not belong to the Fierce Tiger Gang. Of course, nothing was absolute, so it still warranted vigilance. In particular, the sword resting on the black-clad man's table caught his eye. Its design was quite unique: the guard was forged in the likeness of a qilin's head, its jaws agape as though spitting forth the blade into the scabbard. It looked far from ordinary. Fang Shuwen's gaze swept past him and landed on a man dressed in blue sitting at another table. This was a middle-aged man who seemed to be in poor health, coughing every now and then. What drew his attention was the fact that the loud-talking youths, while appearing nonchalant, kept stealing covert glances toward this man. One could only wonder what sort of relationship existed between them. Lu Guiyan took in the scene within the teahouse as well, instructing in a low voice, "Shelter carefully, and the moment the rain stops, we leave." The others nodded in agreement before stepping inside. The waiter greeted them with brimming warmth; after all, every patron was a god of wealth. Lu Guiyan remained vigilant. Anything passing their lips naturally called for caution: they not only tested the food and drink with a silver needle, but an escort master even pulled a small mouse from his robes. Only after testing it with the creature and ensuring it was harmless did they dare partake. Fang Shuwen watched with mild curiosity, wondering where on his person the man usually kept that mouse. A mouthful of hot tea went down, indeed bringing a touch of warmth. Of course, to Fang Shuwen, this was of little consequence; his internal skill was profound, having already reached the point where he was impervious to the extremes of cold and heat. Just then, a derisive scoff rang out, coming from none other than that middle-aged man in blue: "Just because you've tested it with a silver needle and a mouse, do you really believe it's poison-free?" The moment those words were uttered, the most unnerved were not Lu Guiyan's party. Instead, it was that cluster of young men, whose faces suddenly drained of all color as they stared down at the teacups before them.