Chapter 197: Chen Ping'an Drinks Wine
(There is recently a "Sword Come" million-word event that you can follow. I hope everyone will enthusiastically participate.)
Chen Ping'an's breath immediately caught in his throat.
This was instinct, like when the azure-clad child and the pink-skirted girl encountered Zhi Gui. It had little to do with realm levels; it was purely a powerful suppression of momentum.
A pure martial artist—perhaps to some extent, the essence of the word "pure" lies here.
The feudal prince Song Changjing had once done nothing at all within the small town government office, yet he could make the sword cultivator Liu Baqiao, who was of no mean realm, feel as if his entire skin were being pricked by needles.
A deafening boom.
Just as Chen Ping'an was about to react to guard against trouble, he was already sent flying backward, crashing violently against the bamboo building's wall. He collapsed limply to the ground, struggled twice, and could only lean against the wall's base, unable to rise, with blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.
The old man who had kicked Chen Ping'an in the abdomen stood with arms crossed, looking down from on high at the wretched straw-sandal youth. He sneered, "Confronting an opponent and still daring to be distracted! You're truly asking for death!"
Chen Ping'an wiped his mouth with his hand and exhaled a turbid breath. He stood by the wall, bracing himself as if facing a great enemy.
The old man said calmly, "The world only speaks of martial arts having nine realms, unaware that there are grand vistas beyond the ninth. For now, you've only just touched the threshold of the third realm; in fact, even the foundation of the second realm is merely passable. If I hadn't appeared, you would have been chasing after breakthrough speed. Once you reached the third realm, you'd likely ruin the very root of your future ninth-realm achievements. The path of martial arts absolutely allows no pretense or exaggeration. What you've done before is passable, but far from enough! Because even in the first realm's scattering of qi, you did it poorly!"
Chen Ping'an's breathing gradually steadied. After all, he was a youth who had never slackened in tempering his physique, and his foundation was well laid. One had to understand that what the old man called "passable" and "not bad" were extremely high praise. A mundane martial artist like Zhu He, if he received such an evaluation, would probably be so moved on the spot that tears would stream down his face.
Chen Ping'an did not yet understand these intricacies. He only said tremblingly, "I have received your instruction."
The old man took a step forward, and the entire bamboo building swayed slightly. The invisible characters Li Xisheng had drawn on the green bamboo faintly manifested, flowing with a barely perceptible, pristine radiance. It was as touching as the scene where the moonlight flask had once poured its contents onto the surface of a mountain stream.
The old man's mind stirred, but he paid no attention to these external matters. He fixed his gaze on Chen Ping'an and revealed a heavenly secret: "The mud embryo realm lies in finding that single breath of innate qi, in building the framework of a martial hut. Qi is the ridgepole, qi is the high wall! But before completing it in one go, you must scatter your qi thoroughly, expelling all the accumulated acquired filthy qi, and even the spiritual qi of heaven and earth! A pure martial artist—what does 'pure' mean? It means to be purely and simply pure, to wrestle with this heaven and earth! Do not imitate those mountain qi refiners, skulking and sneaking, only to end up as watchdogs relying on others' charity!"
Chen Ping'an understood only half of this, and deep down, he did not fully agree with the old man's words.
The old man curled his lip and sneered, "The second realm is commonly called the wooden embryo realm, but I think 'mountain-opening realm' is a better name. Mountain gods, mountain gods—a martial artist’s fist should split open that mountain! This realm tempers the sinews and bones. If the foundation is laid well, future achievements will not lose to the Buddha's adamantine indestructible body or the Daoist's crystalline immaculate form. We martial artists can likewise temper our physiques to ultimate stability. As for the military strategists—hah, neither fish nor fowl. The methods they take are like those of thieves, taking shortcuts. Ridiculous!"
There is indeed a shortcut for the military strategists: besides being able to invite gods down from the mountains and have spirits possess their bodies, they can also nurture a battlefield spirit in their qi palaces. A battlefield spirit is a type of yin spirit that is innately powerful and does not dissipate after death. If it successfully merges with a cultivator's soul and spirit, the cultivator's own physique becomes like a Daoist alchemical furnace, where water and fire blend. It is another path and a very powerful method. But in the mouth of this slovenly old man, the military strategists' methods were not even worth mentioning. His arrogance was truly startling.
The old man crooked his finger at Chen Ping'an. "Come, come. I'll suppress my realm to the third realm. You use all your strength, hit me with everything you've got. If you can make me move half a step, you win!"
Chen Ping'an hesitated.
He had no idea what was going on. From the old man's inexplicable appearance, claiming to be Cui Chan's grandfather, to this inexplicable demand for a fight, Chen Ping'an was completely baffled. With Cui Chan's current status and position, would he need a half-baked, nominal teacher like Chen Ping'an to protect him? Besides, the old man himself said there were no shortcuts on the path of martial arts. Chen Ping'an's own talent was poor. He dared not even hope to reach half of Cui Chan's height in his lifetime. Weren't the old man's words self-contradictory?
The old man said with displeasure, "With a temperament like yours, you're utterly boring. If I tell you to fight, you fight. What, do you want this old man to kneel down and beg you to throw a punch?"
Chen Ping'an's stubborn, obstinate side finally emerged. He remained in a defensive posture, unmoving.
A faintly obscure light flickered deep in the old man's eyes. "I'll only ask you one thing: do you want to enter the third realm, and be one of the top-notch third realms under heaven?"
Chen Ping'an nodded without hesitation. "Yes!"
The old man tilted his head slightly, pointed a finger at his own temple, and said arrogantly, "Then hit me right here! Your disposition and temperament don't suit my tastes at all, but for Cui Chan's sake, I'll give you one more chance. If you can muster some momentum, I'll give you a hand and let you personally experience what a true third realm is like."
Chen Ping'an said slowly, "Then I really will hit you. I won't hold back in my punches!"
The old man laughed heartily. "Less chatter, you girl! How did your family produce someone so spineless? Do you even have balls between your legs? Your parents must be cowards, right?"
A surge of anger welled up in Chen Ping'an.
Those who seem kind and soft-hearted must have a core of steel-hard resolve within their minds, silently supporting that seemingly foolish goodwill through the hardships of life.
That was the case for the youth from Mud Vase Alley.
He had traveled thousands of miles and never stopped practicing his fists day or night.
Chen Ping'an stepped forward, instantly exploding with astonishing speed. He arrived before the old man and struck his right fist straight into the old man's forehead.
It appeared to be a single punch, but ultimately, two thuds sounded.
A moment later, Chen Ping'an staggered back several steps. His arms hung limply, and he retreated again and again.
It turned out that after the first punch hit the old man's forehead, the immense rebounding force caused sharp pain in Chen Ping'an's left arm. But his ferocity erupted at the same time. His left fist, which had more strength, followed immediately, smashing into the old man's head again.
Unfortunately, after these two punches, the old man remained unmoving. He yawned, looking utterly bored. Watching the youth's awkwardness from not far away, he scoffed, "Is your full-power punch just scratching an itch? Am I your wife, or are you my wife? Earlier I said you were a spineless little girl, and I wasn't wrong. If I were your parents, I'd be furious enough to die."
Chen Ping'an's face darkened.
"What, are your parents already dead?"
The old man let out an "oh," feigning sudden realization. "Then it's even better—they'll surely be so angry that they'll come back to life."
After the intense pain, Chen Ping'an's arms were completely numb and senseless. Yet he still strode forward quickly. This time, he leaped high, twisted his waist, and delivered a whip kick to the left side of the old man's head. Aside from a dull thud, the old man remained completely unaffected. Chen Ping'an used the momentum to turn in midair and delivered a second whip kick to the right side of the old man's head.
This time, after landing, Chen Ping'an's legs were weak. One shoulder was higher than the other, and he only steadied himself after several attempts.
The old man stared at the limping youth with a look as if looking at an idiot. He asked, "Since your left leg has already suffered enough, why did you put even more force into the right leg the second time? Don't you know pain?"
Chen Ping'an did not speak. His face was pale, his shoulders heaving. His legs were undoubtedly badly injured.
The old man nodded. "It seems this is your bottleneck. Truly disappointing."
Chen Ping'an charged forward a third time, using the Mountain-Toppling Fist's six-step walking stance. Though his speed was slower than the previous two times, his momentum was undiminished. The old man was slightly startled, then stood on the spot, calmly waiting.
Countless repetitions of the walking stance had long since fused the spirit of the Mountain-Toppling Fist into Chen Ping'an's soul. Even with his hands and feet injured, when he began the stance, his momentum was still like a rainbow.
The youth, pale-faced but resolute, completed the fist stance adeptly. Then, with a tip of his toes, he leaped high, threw his head back, and slammed it down heavily onto the old man's forehead.
The youth fell backward, crashing to the ground. He breathed heavily, his eyes filled with helplessness.
"A clever person knows when to retreat. You're far from that. But! Not being clever—that's exactly right. To be a pure martial artist, you don't need to be too clever. Cleverness can be the ruin of wisdom. For that, this old man..."
Only then did a glimmer of approval flash across the old man's face. He stepped forward, a full smile on his face, and said, "I'll reward you with a kick!"
He kicked out like lightning, with minimal range—just enough to strike the temple on the side of Chen Ping'an's head where he lay on the ground.
Chen Ping'an raised his arm with all his might, blocking that vicious, dangerous kick.
In the end, his arm pressed against his head, and the whole person was kicked into the corner of the wall. He curled up there, every inch of his body in agony.
The old man stood in place, looking down at the pitiful youth from on high. "I've thoroughly figured out your martial arts foundation. That was just an appetizer. The real hardship comes next. First, go outside and tell them to prepare a large water vat soon—the best warming medicinal herbs, the best wound-healing ointment. And of course, it's best to prepare a coffin too. Hahaha, I'm afraid you might not be able to take it and hang yourself. That's fine too—your whole family can reunite underground."
It took Chen Ping'an a full incense stick's worth of time to barely manage to get up and limp out of the room. In the corridor outside, he saw the bewildered azure-clad child and pink-skirted girl, as well as the white-robed immortal, who looked somewhat gloating. After seeing Chen Ping'an in such a miserable state, Wei Bo suppressed a smile and said, "I'll go prepare a top-grade medicinal vat right away. Don't worry about medicinal herbs, plasters, spirit pills, and the like. Burden Pavilion at Oxhorn Mountain has everything. As for money, I'll advance it for you. Pay me back when you have it; no rush. But friends are friends, business is business—I'll still charge a little interest."
Chen Ping'an forced a smile that was uglier than crying, nodded, and after Wei Bo disappeared, he sat down heavily on the corridor, his back against the wall.
The azure-clad child asked softly, "Master, is training in fist techniques painful?"
Chen Ping'an collapsed on the ground, his body trembling involuntarily. He said bitterly, "It hurts to death."
The azure-clad child had seen all of Chen Ping'an's walking and standing stances in the wind and snow. He thought to himself that given Chen Ping'an's second-realm martial artist physique, enduring that torment was something he himself could never do. It was too agonizing. Not like someone hacking off an arm with a crash—bloody and wailing. It was more like cutting flesh with a dull knife, where every breath felt like drinking the sharp wind or swallowing knives.
But if even Chen Ping'an found it hard, the azure-clad child could not imagine the torment.
The pink-skirted girl turned her head and sobbed silently.
About half an hour later, the old man, who had been sitting cross-legged in the room, stood up and said in a deep voice, "Chen Ping'an, start training!"
Chen Ping'an sighed and pushed open the door. The azure-clad child swallowed and gently closed the door for him, not daring to even glance at that wretched old man.
After closing the door, the azure-clad child jumped onto the railing and sat there, feeling very melancholy.
I dominated the martial world at Imperial River for centuries, a renowned hero throughout the entire Yellow Court Kingdom, commanding winds and rains, surrounded by distinguished friends. Why is it that when I come to this tiny place called Dragon Spring County, I hit obstacles everywhere? My luck has been terrible lately. Will I even accidentally splash some deity when I go out to take a piss in the future, and then get punched to death?
This doesn't match my expectation that I should be slaughtering everyone in the jianghu!
The azure-clad child made a wry face, slapping the railing vigorously with both hands, furious.
The pink-skirted girl was downstairs, helping the mountain god Wei Bo light a fire and boil a large vat of medicinal broth. The aroma was pungent.
The medicinal herbs in this big vat weren't cheap. Converted into silver, it cost Wei Bo eighty thousand taels of Great Li's official silver.
The poor study letters, the rich practice martial arts—the ancients did not deceive me.
Of course, the vast majority of martial artists in the world would certainly not throw money around like Wei Bo. Otherwise, no matter how substantial one's wealth, it would be emptied.
Inside the second floor of the bamboo building, the old man glanced at the youth, who still had some spirit. "I'll not only help you thoroughly scatter your qi, but also temper your physical body and soul at the same time. As long as you persist to the end, breaking through from the second realm to the third will come naturally. With luck, reaching the fourth realm isn't impossible."
With luck.
Hearing this, Chen Ping'an felt that it was as good as hopeless.
The old man smiled. "For the rest of today, I'll be careful with the force of each strike. I won't let it be unbearable for you from the start. But the flavor at the end—hah, you'll experience it for yourself."
Chen Ping'an had a premonition of disaster.
The old man's smile faded, and his mind became as calm as an ancient well. He slowly assumed an archaic, weathered fist stance. "When I was young, I loved to roam the four directions. I never carried divine weapons or sharp tools, only relying on a pair of fists to fight my way through the mountains and beyond. I once watched a celestial master beat the spring-announcing drum! Legend says that in ancient times, the thunder god drove a chariot and beat the drum, terrifying all evil under heaven, cleansing the foul and promoting the pure."
The old man's face was calm. "After witnessing it once, I had an epiphany and realized this stance. I named it 'Divine Being Drums the Thunder Strike'!"
Chen Ping'an listened attentively, not daring to miss a single word.
The reason was simple: suffering cannot be in vain!
The old man said sternly, "Kid, stand steady. First, take ten punches!"
Inside the bamboo building's room, a series of crisp sounds rang out like cracking firecrackers.
In unbroken succession, ten punches landed on ten different places on Chen Ping'an's body. The force penetrated his qi palaces, stirring his qi and blood into turmoil, like a broom sweeping through, stirring up dust.
After retracting his fist, the old man's expression was strange.
Having braced for the worst, Chen Ping'an was initially somewhat surprised. He felt the old man's punches were not heavy and could be endured.
Then, in an instant, blood suddenly flowed from Chen Ping'an's seven orifices. He collapsed to the ground and began to roll.
Chen Ping'an bit his lips hard, forcing himself not to cry out in pain.
When training in fist techniques, besides hearing Zhu He say that one should not drink alcohol and harm the body in the early stages of martial arts, he had also heard many times that one must not let the breath fall. Chen Ping'an had painstakingly learned a bit of fist theory and treasured it greatly. Even today, he remained unyielding. Even when he later learned from Lin Shouyi about the great fortune of A Liang's wine flask, Chen Ping'an never regretted anything.
The old man watched the youth rolling around and sneered, "How is it? Not a bad flavor, is it? The essence of this punch technique is that the fist momentum can be doubled and accumulated with each strike. Even a great golden immortal hailed as indestructible, if you punch fast enough and enough times, can be shattered to pieces!"
After saying this, the old man seemed somewhat dazed.
Back in his days at the peak of martial arts, he had always wanted to know one thing.
If the Dao Ancestor and the Buddha were willing not to fight back, how many punches of his own accumulated style could they endure? And how many punches could he himself deliver?
The old man soon snapped out of it and explained, "Don't worry. I used a clever force with those ten punches. They don't harm your physical body, only strike at your soul. Grit your teeth—you'll probably make it through."
Chen Ping'an rolled on the ground for a full half-incense stick of time. Then, sitting on the ground, he relied on the breathing techniques taught by Old Man Yang and the qi-manipulation methods taught by A Liang to slowly rise after one incense stick's time. He was drenched in sweat, like a drowned rat just crawled ashore.
The old man nodded and smiled. "It seems ten punches are passable. Then let's talk about taking fifteen punches."
Moments later, Chen Ping'an was rolling on the ground again. This time, he crashed into the corner of the wall and banged his head against it without even realizing it.
He lay on the ground for a full two incense sticks' time, unable even to sit up, let alone stand and say anything harsh to the old man.
The old man quietly observed the subtle changes in Chen Ping'an's internal qi and continued, "Martial arts, martial arts—it is also the Great Way! Qi refiners always look down on pure martial artists, only speaking of martial techniques and not martial arts. They think martial techniques can never reach the height of 'the Way.' I've never believed that nonsense!"
"So I went and read through hundreds of schools of classics. One day, I came across a passage. The page also depicted a graceful woman of unparalleled beauty. The text said that this woman, the Rain Master, cared for the common people and, at great risk, violated heavenly laws by bringing down sweet rain without permission. Her golden body was then imprisoned on a divine punishment platform, where day and night she endured... In the heavenly emperor's edict of reprimand, there were the words 'you reap what you sow.' I immediately slammed the table and cursed loudly, 'Nonsense!' Unable to calm my anger, I went outside. It was pouring rain. I threw one punch, and the curtain of rain was driven back more than ten zhang!"
"So this punch of mine is called 'Vapors Rise Over the Great Swamp Strike'!"
The old man silently appeared beside the youth. He stepped on Chen Ping'an's abdomen and sneered, "Can't get up? Then just lie there! I can make you understand the wonders of this punch all the same!"
In Chen Ping'an's sea of qi, there was a thunderous roar, as if a world-shaking upheaval had occurred.
When he had followed Cui Dongshan from Great Sui back to Yellow Court Kingdom, they had passed by a great body of water where mist rose, a magnificent sight. From Cui Dongshan's refined speech, he learned that this was called the grand spectacle of vapors rising over a great swamp. Beautiful scenery, but when he endured the old man's swift stomp, experiencing the turmoil of that picture scroll within his own body, it was truly a case of "wishing to die and be reborn." The old man's single stomp caused the sea of qi in Chen Ping'an's lower dantian to swell and rise. Chen Ping'an felt as if his intestines were cut to pieces; in the next moment, he would vomit out all his internal organs.
Every time the mist of his internal sea of qi rose, Chen Ping'an felt as if he were being yanked upward. His body bounced off the ground and then fell back, repeating over and over.
In the end, the old man seemed to find the bouncing youth an eyesore. He stomped again. "Stay down!"
That stomp pinned Chen Ping'an firmly to the ground. The youth's limbs twitched, his face contorted, and his eyes were cloudy.
Countless tiny blood beads slowly seeped from the pores of Chen Ping'an's entire body, eventually coalescing into patches.
The old man roared, "Chen Ping'an! Listen carefully! That initial breath of martial arts—you've already found it! Are you just keeping it as a showpiece?! Even if you can't move, so what?! Only that breath must never stop or fall!"
Amidst the haze and confusion, Chen Ping'an vaguely heard the old man's roar. Almost instinctively, he silently spoke in his heart lake, giving an order to that marvelous fiery-dragon-like qi to circulate on its own, to go wherever it wanted. He could no longer control his body or limbs; he couldn't even move a single finger.
The old man lowered his head and gazed intently. In his line of sight, a qi thread as thin as silk, like a fire dragon, began to crazily dart through the meridians within Chen Ping'an's chest cavity. He laughed, "Good!"
The old man withdrew his foot. With one hand behind his back, he flicked his fingers lightly at Chen Ping'an. "I once watched two armies clash on a mountain peak—truly spectacular. It was like a contest of dragons and elephants: the dragon the most powerful in water, the elephant the most powerful on land. That battle was the swan song of a century on the battlefield! For that, I realized a punch called 'Iron Cavalry Breaks the Formation Strike'!"
With every casual flick of the old man's finger, Chen Ping'an would have a rib forcibly broken.
This was the first time Chen Ping'an screamed in agony.
Because the true pain was not just in the physical body, but deep within the soul.
The azure-clad child sitting on the railing outside the corridor was terrified and nearly fell off. The pink-skirted girl downstairs was devastated. She suddenly crouched on the ground, holding her head, unable to listen anymore.
Finally, looking at the youth who had completely passed out, the old man expressionlessly walked to the door. After opening it, he said to the trembling azure-clad child, "Carry him downstairs and throw him directly into the medicinal vat to soak. Don't take off his clothes or straw sandals. Don't underestimate such a small weight. For Chen Ping'an at this moment, if he wants to stabilize his realm, he cannot move them. Also, remember to tell that overly powdered mountain god not to gild the lily by adding any miraculous medicines. Otherwise, I don't care, but this boy's suffering today will have been in vain."
Upon seeing the old man and hearing his instructions, the azure-clad child was so frightened that he didn't dare use the stairs. He jumped down directly. He only dared to let the pink-skirted girl move Chen Ping'an; he himself dared not even brush past the old man.
But once downstairs, after redundantly reminding Wei Bo of the instructions, he hurried out without a second word. Seeing the pink-skirted girl heading toward him, the azure-clad child gritted his teeth, flicked his toes, leaped up, and then flicked again, floating onto the second floor. Beating her to it, he braced himself and entered the room, carrying the blood-soaked Chen Ping'an on his back.
He carefully placed Chen Ping'an into the medicinal vat.
The pink-skirted girl, her face streaked with tears, asked softly, "Mountain God Wei, is my master really okay?"
Wei Bo glanced at the unconscious Chen Ping'an. "If he can persevere to the end, he'll be fine. If he gives up halfway, not only will all his efforts be wasted, but he'll likely have many aftereffects—for instance, being stuck in the second or third realm of martial arts for life. Because the foundation will be too solid, trying to raise his overall realm later will be like a child trying to lift a stone weight—impossible."
The pink-skirted girl was stunned.
The azure-clad child walked out of the house alone and sat on a bamboo chair outside. He cupped his chin in his hands, staring blankly.
In the twilight, Chen Ping'an, who had been soaking in the medicinal vat, was like a poor soul trapped in a nightmare, unable to wake. Even in slumber, his breathing was extremely erratic. Now it finally began to stabilize. The pink-skirted girl stood on tiptoe, drenched in sweat, leaning over the vat. She was afraid her master would die of pain, afraid he would drown, afraid that if he fell asleep, he would never wake up. She stared wide-eyed, but in truth, there was nothing she could do.
Night fell. The pink-skirted girl, a little relieved, walked out of the first floor and sat on the bamboo chair beside the azure-clad child.
They were both silent for a long time. The azure-clad child suddenly said softly, "Silly girl, I've decided. I really, truly am going to cultivate seriously now."
The pink-skirted girl was not very interested. She said weakly, "Why? Didn't you say our cultivation only depends on talent? Didn't you say you could lie down and your realm would soar upwards?"
The azure-clad child, for the first time, drooped his head. "I don't want to go down the mountain and back up only to run into guys who can punch me dead with one fist."
The pink-skirted girl thought this was very difficult. But since her master had already suffered so much today, she didn't want to disappoint the guy beside her. Besides, it was still the New Year period.
He raised his head and clenched his fist. "I'll aim for those guys to need two fists to kill me!"
The pink-skirted girl felt a bit awkward. It seemed odd.
Lofty ambition? That didn't seem right. Shortsighted? That also didn't seem right.
The azure-clad child encouraged himself. "A hero of the jianghu who values brotherhood like I do—I don't want to always have to hide behind Chen Ping'an every time I meet those guys. That would too much disgrace my title 'The Gallant Young Lord of Imperial River.' I want Chen Ping'an to know that I truly am loyal, not just all talk!"
This time, the pink-skirted girl sincerely extended a small fist and waved it gently. "Go for it!"
Until this moment, the azure-clad child, who had always looked down on the fire serpent from the bottom of his heart, suddenly felt a little touched. This silly girl—stupid as she was—was actually quite adorable and likeable.
He instantly reverted to his mischievous demeanor. Grinning shamelessly, he asked, "Silly girl, have you thought about what I mentioned last time? Be my little wife? We can roll around in the blanket together for no reason. Even if I don't like you much right now, in the mundane world, marriages are arranged by matchmakers and parents, and love can be cultivated. As long as you like me, then sincerity will move mountains. One day, I'll like you as much as you like me. Imagine that—you'd be overjoyed, right?"
The pink-skirted girl looked as if she would cry. "You're shameless! I'm going to tell the master!"
"Our master is sleeping. He can't bother with you."
The azure-clad child chuckled happily. "A big pie falls from the sky right onto your head, and you don't even know how to catch it. Forget it, forget it. You're really a silly girl! Only someone like Chen Ping'an, who hasn't seen the world, treasures you like a gem. If it were me, I'd give you at most a top-grade snake bile stone."
The pink-skirted girl puffed her cheeks indignantly. "Please call him 'Master'!"
The azure-clad child fell silent for a moment. He clasped his hands behind his head and looked into the distance. He said softly, "Yeah, Chen Ping'an is our master."
—
Chen Ping'an woke up in the middle of the night. He could walk without hindrance, but the internal state of his body was tragically chaotic. Yet, somehow, the broken ribs had already been reconnected. They were not healed, of course, but it was enough to show that the eighty thousand taels Wei Bo spent were not wasted. In fact, if someone else had gone to Burden Pavilion to buy them, even a hundred and sixty thousand taels might not have been enough. Such was the price of a Northern Peak True God.
Chen Ping'an changed into a new set of clothes. He did not dare to step out of the bamboo building. The pink-skirted girl considerately brought him a small bamboo chair, and Chen Ping'an sat quietly near the threshold.
He said nothing. He sat until the sun rose. He practiced the Sword Furnace standing stance for a while, then got up and went to the small bed on the first floor to lie down and sleep.
That afternoon, the old man opened his eyes, stood up, and said in a low voice, "Start training. Today, we only temper your soul and purify it, letting you discard the dross and retain the essence."
Chen Ping'an opened his eyes in response, sighed, and silently walked up to the second floor.
Later, he was carried down from the second floor by the azure-clad child again. After waking up again in the middle of the night, he ate a meal. Even though he had no appetite, Chen Ping'an forced it down. Seeing her master's hand holding the chopsticks trembling continuously, dropping food back into the dish several times, the pink-skirted girl was instantly in tears.
The azure-clad child just buried his head in his rice.
This time, Chen Ping'an took a short rest. Sitting by the door, he practiced the Sword Furnace with trembling hands. Soon after, he went to sleep.
For an entire ten-day period: three days of tempering the soul, one day of hammering the physical body.
With each strike, the old man measured his force precisely, ensuring that Chen Ping'an suffered more than the previous day every single time. So there was never any chance of getting used to or adapting to the pain.
Chen Ping'an grew increasingly silent. Often, during his entire waking hours, he would not speak a single word.
Occasionally, when the pink-skirted girl asked something or tried to cheer him up, Chen Ping'an would first shake his head with a smile, then frown, and finally, once, he was filled with anger. Though it was clear that Chen Ping'an was suppressing himself, the azure-clad child and pink-skirted girl were both shocked beyond measure.
At that moment, Chen Ping'an seemed about to speak, his lips moving, but in the end, he said nothing. He went to bed and lay down, closing his eyes. Whether he was asleep or awake was unknown; it even felt as if one couldn't tell whether he was alive or dead.
The azure-clad child once tentatively asked Wei Bo how much pain Chen Ping'an suffered when he was beaten.
Wei Bo thought for a moment and said that the suffering Chen Ping'an endured on the first day was probably equivalent to an ordinary person having all ten fingers chopped off bit by bit—bones and flesh ground into a pulp—while having to stay as conscious as possible. And each day afterward, it got worse.
That was just the first day.
After that, the azure-clad child never asked such questions again.
He began to cultivate.
He became even more diligent than the pink-skirted girl.
On this day, Chen Ping'an sat on a bamboo chair in the night, slumped against the backrest. Wei Bo walked over slowly and stood beside him, watching the bright moon hanging in the night sky together with him.
Chen Ping'an asked hoarsely, "Wei Bo, could you trouble me to ask whether Master Ruan has succeeded in forging his sword?"
This time, Wei Bo could not muster a smile. He only sighed and nodded. "I'll go ask. But I have to tell you in advance: this opening of Ruan Qiong's furnace to forge a sword is his first undertaking since leaving the Wind and Snow Temple. He will be very focused, so Ruan Qiong will most likely not wish to be distracted. He may not reply to me."
Chen Ping'an hummed in acknowledgment.
Chen Ping'an had long stopped worrying about money flowing like water. In the first few days, he would mentally keep a tally in his heart, but later, he completely lost that intention.
Recently, the pink-skirted girl and the azure-clad child had deliberately and unconsciously let Chen Ping-an be alone, not disturbing him.
When Chen Ping'an stood up, he said softly, "Tell them for me: I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. It's just that sometimes, I really can't help it."
Wei Bo asked, "Why don't you tell them yourself?"
Chen Ping'an was taken aback and smiled bitterly. "I don't know why, but just thinking about it seems to exhaust me. I'm afraid that if I say that, I won't be able to hold out in tomorrow's training."
Wei Bo nodded. "It's a bit mysterious, but I can barely understand. Don't worry. I'll tell them. They will be understanding."
In the entire world of martial arts, there were probably very few martial artists who had to endure this kind of suffering—intermittently, yes, that was normal—but every single day? That was certainly rare.
The old man quietly stood under the eaves on the second floor. After hearing their conversation, he just smiled and turned back into the room to sit down.
Wei Bo could not fully understand; that was natural. Because the old man's punches themselves were a form of constant cumulative "Divine Being Drums the Thunder Strike"—a hidden tempering of the heart at a deeper level.
Tempering the physical body, cleansing the meridians, marrow washing and bone regeneration—that was the first step. Enlarging his courage and strengthening his soul was the second step. But the true test was the piercing of the heart. The old man was like a sharp awl, repeatedly driving into the youth's heart. The flavor was imaginable.
The old man, in truth, was quite surprised. First, the youth had not yet gone mad; he was still gritting his teeth and enduring, refusing to say "I won't practice anymore." Second, the mysterious properties of this bamboo building were truly ineffable.
Chen Ping'an lay on his bed. He rolled up the quilt and curled up his entire body, facing the wall. With one hand, he covered his mouth tightly.
Between his fingers came a sobbing sound.
Another ten days.
During this ten-day period, the tribulations he endured became even more horrifying.
At one point, the old man even required Chen Ping'an to peel his own skin and pull his own sinews—to do it with his own hands!
One night, Chen Ping'an, bandaged up like a rice dumpling, sat on the bamboo chair. Suddenly, he stood up, swayed slightly, and walked toward the cliff outside.
He seemed to want to practice the walking stance, which he had not practiced for a long time. But after just one round, he had to give up.
Chen Ping'an turned his head blankly toward the direction of the small town. His lips trembled. He wanted to cry but could not.
He suddenly asked, "Wei Bo, I know you're nearby. Can you bring me a jug of wine?"
Wei Bo nodded. "I have some on me."
A wine jug, already unsealed, descended slowly from a height before Chen Ping'an's eyes. He reached out and caught it, then turned his head toward the bamboo building. "Can I drink it?"
From the second floor came a sneering voice: "What's the big deal about drinking some wine? If you have the guts, try arm-wrestling with the Dao Ancestor and the Buddha someday—that counts as real boldness!"
Chen Ping'an turned his head back. The moon was bright and the stars sparse. He looked toward the distant mountains and rivers of the south, then lowered his head and sniffed the wine.
He had once carried an old scholar on his back. The old man had slapped his shoulder vigorously, shouting, "A young man must drink wine!"
The youth, whose face had been desolate and still for a long time, suddenly broke into a radiant smile. He took a big gulp of the strong wine, coughed incessantly, raised the wine jug high, and shouted with all his might, "Drink if we're to drink! Train if we're to train!"
A moment later, the youth held out for a while but still couldn't help being choked by that big gulp of strong wine, tears streaming down his face. He muttered quietly, "Wine really tastes bad..."
But still, he forced himself to take another big gulp. While coughing, he said in a clear voice, "The books say: 'The beauty gave me a gold-wrought sword; how to repay it? With a bright jasper Yao.' Wine tastes bad, but these words are truly beautiful!"
Finally, the youth inexplicably blushed a little. Whether from the wine or from embarrassment, he softly called out, "Hey," into the distance.
It was like he was quietly asking a girl he liked, as if to say, "Hey, did you hear that?"