After seeing off Xiaoqing and changing the part about soaking in the water of the Child-and-Mother River back to drinking it, Ding Songyan, who had almost broken out in a cold sweat, sat down. He blew out the oil lamp and earnestly conducted a review in the dark.
He was mainly examining which questions he had wanted to ask but ultimately "forgot" to bring up.
"I didn't mention the matter of a mysterious figure imprisoned in Zhen Manor's dungeon...
"I didn't ask about the Northern Darkness Fish-Back Scripture mentioned by Yan Changqing...
"I didn't ask what kind of method allows one's spirit to forcibly enter another's sea of consciousness and leave behind a 'seed' to influence their thoughts... Not being allowed to ask this either—does it suggest that such techniques are few and rare, making it easy to pin down Yan Changqing's true identity? And that once his true identity is known to me and leaked, many of the contingency plans he prepared would be rendered useless?
"After expending that strand of 'qi' once, the degree to which the 'seed' influences my thoughts hasn't noticeably diminished..."
Weighing these against the matters that concerned him, Ding Songyan went over his conversation with Miss Xiaoqing, roughly deducing what Yan Changqing did not want him to know or reveal to the outside world.
Whatever the enemy feared was precisely what he should attempt to do moving forward, and find ways to circumvent!
Ding Songyan let out a breath, packed up his wooden box, tidied his brush and ink, and lay back down on the bed. Though exhausted in body and mind, his mind was too active for him to fall asleep for a long time.
***
When Yang Shiduo woke from his dream, the dazzling flash of lightning from yesterday still lingered in his mind, as did the wooden dummy shattered into splinters and the figure who had unhurriedly walked away with hands clasped behind his back.
The incident had left such a profound impression on him that he had dreamed of it again in the night.
He often imagined what it would be like if he could obtain a divine art, master it to great accomplishment, and roam the jianghu unhindered. But those reveries had always been vague and lacked detail. At this very moment, however, the picture of his fantasies suddenly became vivid and clear in his mind.
It was exactly how Ding Erlang had appeared yesterday!
At this thought, Yang Shiduo rolled out of bed. First, he wiped his face with cold water, and then, in the small courtyard piled with clutter, he began practicing his body-tempering fist forms with vigorous, whistling wind.
He had reached great accomplishment in aperture refinement more than a year ago, his Mortal Realm having long attained completion. Yet due to a lack of sufficient silver, he was unable to obtain the subsequent cultivation methods of the Iron Harm Fist from his master, leaving him to waste his days away.
Over a year ago, Yang Shiduo had been proud and confident, for he was two months shy of turning twenty-two when he achieved great accomplishment in aperture refinement. Though he could not compare to those favored by heaven, he was roughly on par with the more outstanding disciples of the Xiaoming Sect. One had to realize that he had no family background, no sect, and could barely afford the monthly tuition for the martial arts school, all while practicing the utterly ordinary Iron Harm Fist.
At the time, Master Liu of Shichi Martial Arts School had indeed valued his talent and diligence, promising that if he could scrape together a few key items on his own, Master Liu would take him on as a true disciple, assist him with aperture crafting, and teach him the condensing method.
That scraping together had lasted for more than a year. Yang Shiduo had watched helplessly as several Xiaoming Sect disciples who had once been on par with him began aperture crafting. By now, they had already crafted more than three, their strength leaping forward.
He could only maintain his body day after day, hone his strength, visualize and refine apertures, and repeatedly drill that not-too-complex Iron Harm Fist over and over, taking it apart and putting it back together, putting it back together and taking it apart.
Thinking of how Ding Erlang had still been an ordinary person just days ago, yet yesterday could strike with a palm like that of a descended god or demon, Yang Shiduo could not deceive himself into claiming he felt no envy or jealousy.
Why couldn't it have been me who had a miraculous encounter?
Finishing his morning exercises, Yang Shiduo wiped down his body, reheated and ate yesterday's leftover food, and headed out toward Shichi Martial Arts School near Duokang Temple.
His master, Liu Yuxuan, had already warned them yesterday not to spread the words Ding Erlang had spoken or the palm strike he had displayed, otherwise they would face disciplinary punishment.
Arriving at the bustling market outside Duokang Temple, Yang Shiduo subconsciously walked toward the spot where Ding Erlang usually told his stories.
Crowds jostled there four or five layers deep; from the back rows, nothing could be seen at all, and one could only listen with ears strained.
Relying on his height and strength, Yang Shiduo pushed forward just a bit, and Ding Songyan's figure was reflected in his eyes.
The storyteller stood up at times, making all kinds of gestures, and sat down at others, fluttering his folding fan. At times, words flowed from his lips like a torrent; at other times, he smacked the gavel down, delivering the chapter "A Handsome Young Gentleman Drinks Water and Conceives a Ghostly Fetus, A Charming Queen Dispels Evil and Awakes with Amorous Yearning" with consummate brilliance that left everyone's imaginations running wild.
Yet Yang Shiduo froze. The storyteller Ding Erlang before his eyes was completely different from the extraordinary expert Ding Songyan etched into his memory—they were like two different people.
For a moment, he even doubted whether what he had seen yesterday was real.
Within just a few breaths, Yang Shiduo saw Ding Erlang look toward his direction.
Their gazes met. In his sight, Ding Songyan offered a faint, meaningful smile.
A shiver ran down Yang Shiduo's spine. By instinct, he stepped backward and retreated from the crowd of onlookers.
He actually did not dare meet Ding Erlang's gaze!
The eight-foot-tall, dark-skinned martial artist hurried away from Duokang Temple, circling around to the gate of Shichi Martial Arts School.
Only now did he seem to regain his composure:
"He clearly had a miraculous encounter and shot up into heaven in a single step, so why does he still tell stories to entertain people?
"If I were him, I would establish achievements and make a name for myself, earning an ennoblement over a hundred li."
With thoughts tumbling in his mind, Yang Shiduo stepped into the martial arts school.
"Morning, Senior Brother Yang."
"Senior Brother Yang, this move of mine always feels awkward when I use it. Could you take a look for me later?"
"Senior Brother Yang, I'd like to spar with you."
...
Yang Shiduo nodded to each of them in response.
Over the past year, he had been teaching in his master's stead. The benefit was an exemption from tuition, which allowed him to save silver to purchase the key items.
For this, he was very grateful to his master; after all, this was a martial arts school, not an orthodox sect.
Circling toward the training grounds, as he passed the side courtyard, he thought of Ding Erlang once again, and suddenly felt an irritable restlessness, a surge of resentment welling up inside him.
Why him?
Why not me?
As he drew near the training grounds, Yang Shiduo calmed these emotions, feeling a pang of shame over suddenly harboring so many ugly thoughts.
It seems Ding Erlang shooting into heaven in a single step has shaken me far more than I imagined... he thought to himself.
***
Having finished today's storytelling, Ding Songyan waved goodbye to Miss Xiaoqing and her maidservant, heading toward Beishui Street with plans to grab something convenient to eat along the way.
He had actually been looking forward to Miss Xiaoqing returning today with inquiries from elders of her family or sect after last night's conversation, but to his surprise, nothing came of it.
Suppressing his disappointment, Ding Songyan turned into a street that was not very wide.
There were plenty of cheap snacks and dishes here.
As Ding Songyan walked and searched, he suddenly noticed some commotion ahead, as though an altercation had broken out.
"Huh, Mother..." Ding Songyan glanced over and saw Liu Yuzao on the edge of the crowd, wearing a black veiled hat and a dark-colored horse-face skirt.
The minor chaos caused by the clash led a pedestrian to bump into Liu Yuzao, knocking the steamed bun from her hand so that it tumbled to the ground.
Liu Yuzao bent down to pick up the bun, merely brushed it off, and moved it toward her mouth beneath the veil.
"Mother!" Ding Songyan hurried over.
Hearing him, Liu Yuzao ate even faster. Though taking small bites, she quickly shoved the entire soiled bun into her mouth.
"If you get an upset stomach from this, the silver for a physician will cost far more than that steamed bun," Ding Songyan said helplessly as he reached his mother.
He had intended to invite his mother to eat with him.
During this period, the one he had interacted with most at home was his younger sister, Ding Qingyan, followed by his elder brother, Ding Daniu. Perhaps because they were of the same generation, he—who initially lacked deep emotional bonds—found it easier and less constrained to get along with them.
Compared to his father, Ding Shengyi, his mother Liu Yuzao was habitually gentle, quiet, and reserved. Aside from the day of Ding Songyan's misfortune and the moment it was resolved, she rarely displayed her emotions. Even when disciplining Ding Daniu, she merely maintained a cold face while being firm with her hands. Ding Songyan had conversed with her even less.
"It's no trouble," Liu Yuzao replied softly.
Ding Songyan glanced at the approaching patrol squad and asked his mother curiously:
"Mother, where are you headed?"
She wasn't carrying her fine-toothed comb tools, nor was she in the state of rising early to copy Buddhist scriptures.
Liu Yuzao pointed in the direction of the county yamen.
"To the Relief Hospice."
"The Relief Hospice?" Ding Songyan was somewhat puzzled.
Understanding his condition, Liu Yuzao explained simply:
"The yamen shelters widowed, orphaned, and solitary elders there, as well as the sick and disabled who have no one to rely on."
"You're going to volunteer there?" Ding Songyan roughly understood.
Liu Yuzao looked at him, her cool voice revealing a touch of sentiment:
"After your misfortune that day, when I went to copy Buddhist scriptures, I made a silent vow to do good deeds and accumulate virtue one day every ten-day period. I do not ask for you, Qingyan... um, for the three of you to enjoy great wealth and nobility, only that you be free from disaster and misfortune."
Ding Songyan parted his lips, feeling a swirl of complicated emotions, momentarily at a loss for how to respond.
After seeing Liu Yuzao off, he somewhat moodily ate a large, cheap bowl of braised rice loaded with various ingredients.
Past noon, Ding Songyan unhurriedly arrived at Zhen Manor. Following the previous routine, he was blindfolded with a black cloth, guided along winding turns, and finally brought before Yan Changqing, where he sat down.
In the blink of an eye, that refreshing coolness plunged into his mind once more.
Relying on that hazy, clear "seed," Ding Songyan split his mind in two. One half diligently recited his story, while the other met Yan Changqing—dressed in a Huayang cap and a blue scholar's robe—within his sea of consciousness.
Looking at Ding Songyan, the emaciated Yan Changqing chuckled:
"Has my young friend given the matter proper consideration?"
"This junior has considered it carefully." Ding Songyan cupped his hands in greeting. "I am willing to lend Senior a helping hand."
Yan Changqing let out a hearty laugh at once:
"The wise adapt to the times. Young friend, you will surely achieve great things in the future."
He paused, then added:
"Then this old man shall first impart that secret method to you, as a token of good faith."
Uh, does this require taking him as a master? Ding Songyan wouldn't mind "slaying the master" in the future, but it was still somewhat unsettling; if he could avoid bowing as a disciple, so much the better.
Perceiving his hesitation, Yan Changqing smiled faintly:
"There is no need for a formal discipleship for now. Forcing you to call this old man Master at present would only leave you unwilling and reluctant. Once this old man breaks free and bestows that great fortune upon you, it will not be too late for you to become my disciple."
"My thanks to Senior." Ding Songyan cupped his hands again, this time with a bit of genuine sincerity.
Yan Changqing paced two steps with his hands behind his back, his voice deep and solemn:
"The techniques of this world either originate from heavenly sovereigns and deities, or stem from spirits, monsters, and mythical beasts. All of them place great emphasis on inhuman apertures, on the silkworm metamorphosis of mankind.
"This is conventional wisdom, and not inherently flawed, yet it leans toward one extreme and forgets what is fundamental.
"The secret method this old man is about to teach you stems from a divine art. And the very opening line of that divine art is—
"'Humans are of paramount value!'"
Chapter 32