Subduing the Mind Tiger

Canglong Temple. In the backyard, Zhou Wuji was tinkering with a bronze cauldron—a contraption he had picked up from the Yin-Yang Dao demonic cultivator. As an alchemy furnace, the crude thing was serviceable enough. Ever since he killed that gu master from the Five Dragons Gang, more than twenty days had passed in calm and quiet. Zhou Wuji rarely stepped out, spending day after day in the backyard engrossed in alchemy. Now, he no longer needed Wuzheng's guidance. On his own, he could concoct low-rank pills like inedia pills, Purple Qi Pills, Golden Splendor Pills, and Heavenly Origin Pills. Alchemy consumed vast amounts of medicinal herbs. It also required watching the bronze cauldron all day to monitor the flame, and when the pills took form, true qi had to be channeled to condense them into returned elixirs. It was enormously expensive and intensely draining. Fortunately, Zhou Wuji had obtained Wu Di's wealth. With money to spare, he did not even blink when purchasing herbs. Precisely because he could afford such continuous expenditure, his alchemy skills advanced by leaps and bounds during this period. Even Wuzheng marveled at his progress, conceding that Zhou Wuji's craft had far outstripped his own. Though Wuzheng held Zhou Wuji in high esteem, watching him progress so rapidly in alchemy still left a bit of an uncomfortable ache in his chest. Whenever Zhou Wuji began concocting pills, Wuzheng rarely stood by to watch. Zhou Wuji understood completely. No matter how close two men were, a competitive streak was inevitable. Wuzheng originally possessed considerable attainments in alchemy and took no small pride in them. Being so easily surpassed naturally rubbed him the wrong way. Zhou Wuji even felt a little embarrassed; after all, his rapid mastery was solely thanks to the enhancement of the Northern Emperor's Book of Heavenly Punishment and the aid of his defeated foes. But that was something he could hardly explain out loud. Just as the Purple Qi Pills were about to emerge from the cauldron, the little Daoist boy Shangxin came rushing in. Seeing Zhou Wuji at work, Shangxin did not dare interrupt, pacing anxiously in circles nearby. Zhou Wuji found it amusing. Shangxin was a bit simple and straightforward, lacking clever adaptability. Yet precisely for that reason, he was steadfast and reliable. Zhou Wuji thought well of the boy and often shared some of his finished pills with him. Having received so many pills for nothing, Shangxin admired Zhou Wuji all the more. In his heart, Martial Uncle Wuji was far more capable than his own master. Lately, Shangxin had become Zhou Wuji's personal attendant, attending to his daily needs and meals. Shangxin was more than willing; following Martial Uncle Wuji allowed him to learn many things every day, and Martial Uncle Wuji had a gentle temperament, unlike his master, who would resort to scolding and beatings at the drop of a hat. Knowing Shangxin's nature, Zhou Wuji knew the boy would keep pacing in circles if he did not speak up. He called out, "Shangxin, come here. What is it?" Shangxin stepped forward a few paces and cast a cautious glance at the bronze cauldron. Unable to make sense of what he saw, he only felt that his martial uncle's alchemy was wondrous and profound, not daring to speak loudly. "Martial Uncle, School Head Yang of the Flying Eagle Martial Arts School sent someone to see you," Shangxin whispered. "Send him in." Zhou Wuji's alchemy had reached a state of thorough mastery; even with the pills on the verge of completion, conversing with someone would not disrupt him. Besides, while he might turn others away, he did owe Yang Shuling a favor. Since the man had sent someone over, there was likely a reason. Before long, Shangxin led in a middle-aged man dressed in blue robes. From a distance, the middle-aged man bowed deeply with cupped fists. "Yang Ping pays his respects to Daoist Zhou." Zhou Wuji gave a slight nod. He had seen this Yang Ping before at Yang Shuling's side; he was likely Yang Shuling's trusted steward. Seeing that Zhou Wuji was concocting pills, Yang Ping did not dare step too close. He produced an exquisite invitation from his robes and offered it to Shangxin with both hands. "Daoist Zhou, tomorrow is Young Master Tieying's eighteenth birthday. The old master invites you to a banquet at Guanjiang Tower..." Zhou Wuji took the invitation from Shangxin and casually opened it. The contents were brief, merely an invitation to Yang Tieying's birthday banquet. *What is there to celebrate about an eighteenth birthday?* Zhou Wuji found it peculiar. According to the customs of this world, a man only attained majority at twenty, when he earned the right to wear a hair cap—an occasion known as capping. Even out of doting affection for a grandson, an eighteenth birthday celebration would at most warrant inviting close relatives. Distributing invitations widely to outsiders went against common sense. Zhou Wuji asked, "Did School Head Yang give any other instructions?" Yang Ping bowed his head respectfully. "The master gave no other instructions." Pausing, he explained, "Though it is called a birthday celebration, the truth is that Young Master Tieying has mastered hidden force. The old master is overjoyed, which is why he invited his friends and relations." "I see." Zhou Wuji nodded. "I will attend on time." Having obtained Zhou Wuji's assent, Yang Ping was delighted. He bowed repeatedly with cupped fists and backed out of the yard. Watching Yang Ping depart, Zhou Wuji fell into deep thought. That day, Yang Shuling had stated clearly that while his grandson was approaching hidden force, the boy was still young and needed to keep a low profile to avoid inviting trouble. Now, Yang Shuling was openly hosting a birthday banquet to announce his grandson's breakthrough to everyone—a glaring contradiction to his previous stance. In Zhou Wuji's assessment, Yang Shuling was advanced in years, had spent decades navigating the Jianghu, possessed abundant worldly experience, and was shrewd and seasoned. He would not utter reckless words face-to-face. Furthermore, when Yang Shuling proposed having his grandson apprentice under him, his repeated entreaties had clearly been sincere, not empty courtesy. Yet the invitation made no mention of that, nor had Yang Ping been instructed to speak of it. There was a massive problem here. If Yang Shuling no longer wished for his grandson to apprentice under him, remaining silent would have been normal enough. But there was no need to host a grand birthday banquet and go out of his way to invite Zhou Wuji. Such conduct bordered on provocation. With Yang Shuling's seasoned tact, he would never make such an amateurish blunder. The more Zhou Wuji thought about it, the more suspicious it seemed. But his mind remained calm, and he stayed by the cauldron until dusk to finish refining the Purple Qi Pills. A single furnace produced only a dozen-odd pills, costing thirty taels of silver in ingredients, taking two days, and demanding an immense investment of energy. At market rate, a first-turn Purple Qi Pill sold for ten taels of silver, while a second-turn pill could fetch thirty. For cultivators who refined qi, such qi-replenishing pills were immensely beneficial. Even Daoist acolytes or martial artists who had not yet refined qi could benefit from them, sensing the changes in qi ahead of time. However, because their bodies had not yet formed acupoints and a sea of qi, the qi imparted by the pills would gradually dissipate. Overall, the market for Purple Qi Pills was strong. With his proficient alchemy skills, Zhou Wuji could reliably produce second-turn pills, vastly increasing their value. On the flip side, the more expensive a pill, the smaller its market. Zhou Wuji did not mind; if they could not be sold, he could consume them himself. In any case, with his current level of skill, he would never take a loss. He sealed the Purple Qi Pills in wax coatings and placed them all into a gourd. Leaving the chore of cleaning the bronze cauldron to Shangxin, Zhou Wuji skipped dinner, returned to his room, and swallowed an inedia pill. He now fasted every three to five days, regulating his body through inedia pills. Combined with the Purple Qi Pills, Heavenly Origin Pills, and Golden Splendor Pills—which corresponded to qi, spirit, and essence respectively—his cultivation had progressed steadily over this period. Most crucial of all was the centennial purple blood ginseng. Consuming it daily had caused his physical body to improve with each passing day. Zhou Wuji retrieved the final piece of the centennial purple blood ginseng. It was the thickest section of the root. He had originally intended to save it for gradual consumption, but there was no need to wait now. Chewing the thumb-length section of ginseng slowly and swallowing it, an intense surge of heat swiftly rose within him, making his blood feel as though it were boiling. Zhou Wuji assumed the Mind Tiger Stance, visualizing the Mind Tiger Divine Form in his heart and condensing the Mind Tiger fist intent. The medicinal potency of the centennial purple blood ginseng was ferocious, burning through his viscera, sinews, and bones via his vital energy and blood. Normally, Zhou Wuji would have to execute the Five Tigers Fist to guide and disperse the medicinal force to keep his body from being scorched from within. After more than twenty days of consuming purple blood ginseng, his physical resilience had greatly increased, and he had gained a deep understanding of its medicinal properties. Going through the forms right now would open all one hundred and eight thousand pores across his limbs and bones, inevitably wasting a portion of the ginseng's spiritual efficacy. To forcibly seal his pores and, while remaining stationary, rely on visualized fist intent to capture the medicinal force and distribute it evenly for absorption was exceedingly difficult. One misstep could burn his internal organs. Yet Zhou Wuji relied on his robust physique. Furthermore, the Northern Emperor's Book of Heavenly Punishment held a gu insect capable of supplying Primordial Profound Essence, so even if an accident occurred, it would pose no fatal threat. By using the Five Tigers Fist daily to absorb the medicinal force of the centennial purple blood ginseng, not only had his body grown stronger, but his comprehension of the Five Tigers Fist had deepened as well. The Iron Tiger tempered the body, the Black Tiger tempered strength, and the Flying Tiger tempered speed. These three tigers remained on the material plane—the level of the seventh rank. The Mind Tiger tempered the spirit, already brushing against the realm of profound fist intent. Though Zhang Xinhu had possessed formidable martial arts, he had ultimately failed to subdue the ferocious tiger within his own heart. As a result, his mind had been unsettled and his force fractured by Zhou Wuji's sword intent, leading to his instant death upon their clash. By using his sword intent to examine the Mind Tiger fist intent in reverse, Zhou Wuji found that despite the great differences between the two martial paths, they shared underlying commonalities. Aided by the primordial profound spirit, his Five Tigers Fist had already reached the grand achievement stage, thoroughly fusing every technique and variation. Grasping the White Tiger fist intent was also only a natural progression. Relying on the White Tiger fist intent, Zhou Wuji could master his qi and blood, mobilize his internal organs, and control the flesh, sinews, and bones throughout his entire frame. Even without the enhancement of true qi, the fist intent allowed him to command his muscles, bones, qi, and blood with near-perfect precision, even exerting control over his viscera to a certain extent. With this fist intent, so long as he did not actively surge with vital force, outsiders would be unable to discern his level of martial attainment. Though he remained in the seventh rank, his martial realm had far surpassed Zhang Xinhu's. Precisely because the Mind Tiger fist intent was so formidable, Zhou Wuji dared to take the risk of using fist intent to direct his qi and blood, attempting to absorb the entire medicinal potency of the purple blood ginseng. Events proved him correct. His Mind Tiger fist intent was potent, and his body was equally robust. The medicinal potency and spiritual efficacy released by the centennial purple blood ginseng were completely locked within his body. Through his fist intent, he continuously mobilized his qi and blood, allowing his viscera, sinews, and bones to absorb the spiritual potency in an orderly fashion. The entire process lasted nearly half an hour. Finally, Zhou Wuji exhaled a breath of scorching, turbid air, having fully absorbed every shred of the medicinal force. After a brief period of adjustment, his hot, flushed skin swiftly returned to normal. Glancing at the Northern Emperor's Book of Heavenly Punishment, his physical attribute had reached five hundred. His lifespan had increased by seven years, reaching one hundred and two. Zhou Wuji was thoroughly pleased. His physical body alone was now a match for Zhang Xinhu's. One had to remember that Zhang Xinhu had cultivated since childhood and was exceptionally gifted, taking thirty years to forge such a formidable physique. Yet Zhou Wuji had attained this stage in merely a few months; what reason did he have to be dissatisfied? Moreover, his fist techniques were superior to Zhang Xinhu's. Were Zhang Xinhu still alive, Zhou Wuji could blast him to death bare-handed within ten exchanges. Feeling the pure, tremendous power surging through his flesh, Zhou Wuji estimated that his arms now wielded around two thousand four hundred jin of strength. This was not mere striking power, but the raw, intrinsic force inherent in his body, paired with the structural resilience required to govern it. Such was the way of martial artists: by tempering both inside and out, they could truly command mighty physical strength—fundamentally different from cultivators, whose spells were powerful while their bodies remained frail. The pinnacle martial strength of the seventh rank delivered ferocious power purely through physical exertion, paired with extraordinary stamina that outlasted the true qi of cultivators at the same rank. Forget cultivators of the same rank; even against a sixth-rank cultivator, he could put up a fight. So long as the opponent had not set up an altar in advance, he was confident he could shatter a sixth-rank cultivator in a hasty encounter. Back in Baizhu Village, he had already slain a sixth-rank demonic cultivator! Now, with his martial arts having advanced by leaps and bounds, and his true qi and mental spirit both substantially enhanced, he had reached a point where no matter what tricks Yang Shuling was playing, he could dismantle them all through his Daoist arts, swordsmanship, and fist techniques.