Curiously enough, in a place breeding such foul stench, the silk cloth gave off a faint, delicate fragrance. Its surface appeared to be coated in a specialized protective oil.
The crazy old man said, "This is an heirloom of my family, recording a martial art. My ancestors bade me protect it with my very life. All these years, I have kept it safe and sound... Unfortunately, I possessed no talent for the martial path and could never practice the art inscribed upon it. I am dying now, so I leave it in your care for the time being. If you can learn it, consider it your compensation for this journey."
Li Xiuwen took the extraordinary-looking artifact, surprised inwardly.
This crazy old man really did possess an ancestral art from Sheng.
Stephen Chow truly hadn't lied to him.
Yet he also knew the old man wasn't truly mad. Before, even if he had handed over fifty dollars, the fellow would have simply welched on him; the old rogue had relied on this routine to swindle food and drink. Only now, facing death and fearing the heirloom would be lost forever, had he finally passed it on.
"Very well. If the opportunity arises, I will make a trip to Mount Qianfo. Rest in peace," Li Xiuwen said.
In Li Xiuwen's memory, the Lu Region was one of northern Sheng's major martial arts hubs, the birthplace of numerous schools. Mount Qianfo sounded distinctly like a Buddhist and Daoist holy ground, and a significant portion of this world's martial arts lineages traced their roots to Buddhism and Daoism.
"Young man, I didn't lie to you... The very first time I laid eyes on you, I knew you were no ordinary person..." the crazy old man muttered with a goofy grin.
"Then you have sharp eyes." Before Li Xiuwen could even finish his sentence, the old man drew his last breath. His head slumped to one side, utterly lifeless.
"Forget it. I can afford a coffin, but there's nowhere to bury you... I'll find a place to cremate you instead of feeding you to the crocodiles."
Fires spread easily in the Walled City, so the crematorium was situated far off in a remote corner. Li Xiuwen spent half the day seeing the crazy old man cremated, which cost him sixty dollars.
"Crazy old man, you asked for fifty, and I spent sixty on you. That's more than fair."
Cradling the handful of ashes that remained, Li Xiuwen went up to the rooftop. He waited quietly until a powerful gust of wind swept across.
Tossing the ashes high into the air, he said, "Go on. The wind will carry you back to Mount Qianfo."
By the time he finished, it was already afternoon, so he didn't head back to the martial arts hall. Finding a secluded spot at home, he retrieved the golden silk cloth. Upon it were inscribed over a thousand tiny characters, neat as flies' heads.
Reading through it completely, Li Xiuwen found it profoundly obscure, leaving him utterly bewildered. It was several times more difficult than the Armor-Binding Art, the hardest technique he had encountered so far.
According to the text, gaining entry to this art generally required one of three conditions:
First, a mind and spirit born extraordinary compared to ordinary people.
Second, profound martial foundations and heritage.
Third, an advanced cultivation realm.
As far as Li Xiuwen was concerned, he met none of them.
After studying it for who knew how long, writing surfaced upon the incense burner:
[Three Castings of the Heart Furnace (Incomplete): Level 1 (1%)]
A look of astonishment crossed Li Xiuwen's face.
"Even though I didn't meet the requirements, the incense burner is still just too absurd."
Indeed, he had forcefully achieved entry...
"Three Castings of the Heart Furnace... To think such a profound, wondrous martial art existed in this world?"
This method did not temper the physical body, tendons, or bones; it focused exclusively on the spirit, mind, and willpower. It treated the human mind as a piece of stubborn iron, subjecting it to three temperings in furnace fire to cast a formidable martial will.
Having practiced martial arts for four months, Li Xiuwen was fairly knowledgeable by now. Yet he had never heard of a method capable of tempering the mind and spirit. He had always believed that martial will was either innate or forged through hardship and combat.
"Three Castings of the Heart Furnace belongs to Mount Qianfo's Heart Furnace style, a branch of the Buddhist and Daoist lineages. To create such an extraordinary method, it must surely come from a renowned and orthodox school."
Calming his thoughts, Li Xiuwen began cultivating Three Castings of the Heart Furnace. Yet after an entire afternoon of effort, his proficiency did not increase at all. Only late into the night did it reluctantly tick up by a single percent.
The efficiency was abysmal—far inferior to the Sea Sand Stake and the Flipping Sand Palm.
He felt this was not due to a lack of comprehension on his part, but simply because the tier of this martial art was too high; it was never meant to be studied at the Skin and Membranes stage. His current foundational martial theories and attainments were incapable of supporting this art's framework. It was like attempting calculus before even mastering basic addition and subtraction.
Another reason was likely that the manual was incomplete, preventing normal cultivation until he could find a way to make it whole.
Regardless, Li Xiuwen could only rein in his excitement and stop wasting time on this mysterious technique for now.
"There's no need to practice it right now. I'll revisit it later. Once my general martial knowledge or basic realm improves, I'll probably be able to cultivate it properly."
From the difficulty alone, one could see this art resided at a tier far beyond his current imagination. Neither the Flipping Sand Palm, the Sea Sand Stake, nor the Thousand Waves Drifting Light could hold a candle to it. The only technique that might even be worthy of carrying its shoes was the Armor-Binding Art.
Of course, that did not mean the Sea Sand style was weak. It was merely that what Old Huang taught them, the disciples on the first floor, was bound to be the most basic and elementary of martial arts.
***
That night, Li Xiuwen resumed training in the Armor-Binding Art.
A hidden enemy left him feeling unsafe, and the martial art that granted the greatest sense of security was unquestionably hard qigong.
"Uncle, hit harder!" Li Xiuwen called out.
"Right! Tell me if it hurts." Holding a small hammer, his uncle increased his force.
With the Armor-Binding Art approaching minor success, Li Xiuwen rarely asked his aunt to help with the strike conditioning anymore. Women possessed less strength, hesitated to use force, and lacked stamina; she could pound away for half the day without causing him any pain. If he switched to a medium hammer, he feared her wrists would ache, so for future training, he would likely have to rely on his uncle.
Fortunately, the ten thousand dollars he provided had served as emergency relief. The noodle factory had hired several workers, allowing his uncle to essentially step back as a hands-off manager handling only sales.
***
In the blink of an eye, three more days passed.
Only one week remained until the tournament for the second floor.
During this time, Li Xiuwen visited numerous dental clinics, quietly investigating the assailant's identity. He had to figure out who wanted to harm him, but unfortunately, he had turned up nothing so far.
After Xiao Laba left, Hesheng Tu never approached Li Xiuwen again. He didn't care either way; with his current cultivation, there were plenty of jobs he could take if he ever ran short of money. Moreover, as long as he reached the second floor and eliminated the monthly fee, a major expense would vanish immediately.
And so, he maintained a low profile while practicing at the hall, his martial progress advancing steadily according to plan.
Naturally, the nightly ritual of fighting Liu Chun at the summit of the Illusionary Realm was indispensable.
From holding out for thirty exchanges in the beginning, he had progressed to taking on a hundred moves. By now, his win rate against Liu Chun in the Illusionary Realm was sixty to forty. After all, his Black Membrane progress had reached thirty-six percent, drawing him closer and closer to Liu Chun. Without an overwhelming advantage in physical attributes, Liu Chun was much easier to fight.
***
Meanwhile.
Inside a brothel on Guangwang Street, three fair-skinned streetwalkers lay across the bed.
Za Jiu sat naked by the edge of the bed, puffing on a cigar as he caught his breath to reset his stamina. This brothel was an asset of Leigong Shed; Za Jiu occasionally helped watch over the place, which let him indulge for free.
*Thud, thud, thud.* A knock sounded at the door. An underling entered, bowing low as he reported, "Ninth Master, Queya Zai hasn't come back for several days."
Za Jiu frowned slightly. "Have you asked his family?"
The underling replied, "I went to his place, and I also checked with his woman on Temple Street. Both said they haven't seen him in days. I'm afraid he's dead."
Za Jiu took a long drag from his cigar, inhaling deeply into his lungs, and asked, "Was the body found?"
The underling shook his head. "No."
Once the underling left, Za Jiu mused to himself, *Strange. Queya Zai was just looking into something—how did he suddenly vanish?*
Could he have crossed someone else in the underworld while investigating that kid from Longjin Road and gotten himself killed? Li Xiuwen might have had the ability to kill Lanming Ji, but Za Jiu found it hard to believe he could have slain Queya Zai.
He now suspected that the person who killed Lanming Ji was never that kid from Longjin Road at all, but someone else entirely!
Finishing his cigar and still unable to make sense of it, Za Jiu temporarily set the matter aside.
"Never mind. One of these days I'll take a covert trip myself and look into it."
He returned to the bed to attend to the pressing matter at hand; an hour of spring night was worth a thousand gold pieces.
***
The day after tomorrow would mark the contest for the second floor.
On the rooftop, his uncle wiped away his sweat and slumped onto the ground, gasping, "Ah Wen, is what you're practicing really the legendary Iron Cloth Shirt? I've seen gangs brawl before, but none of those trained fighters seemed anywhere near as tough as you. When I was young in Sheng, I saw a formidable wandering performer who had mastered the Iron Cloth Shirt. When wooden staves struck him, they snapped right in two."
Chapter 48