Chapter 202: Just the Best Time in the World
Over the past couple of days of boxing practice, the barefoot old man's strikes had grown increasingly fierce. Although he no longer made Chen Ping'an engage in the cruel act of skinning and tendon-pulling, he used the Divine Being Beats Drum style to punch Chen Ping'an's body or soul one fist after another, layering damage upon damage, truly making Chen Ping'an experience both ecstasy and agony.
Outside the bamboo building, the pink-skirted girl was cracking melon seeds absentmindedly, even biting her lip until it bled without realizing it. As for the green-robed boy cultivating by the cliff, his expression remained solemn. He had to use his naturally born formidable physique to frantically digest the high-grade snake gallstone in his belly, while also concentrating his spirit, trying as much as possible not to be disturbed by the spine-chilling commotion from the bamboo building. Even this Yujiang water snake himself didn't realize that this was essentially a great opportunity for cultivating both mind and energy—nourishing qi and refining qi alike. The scene of qi within his body was like a flood crashing against a river pillar, a rare and fortuitous occurrence.
Occasionally, the pink-skirted girl, unable to sit still, would reach out and stroke the bamboo building. The words written by the Confucian scholar Li Xisheng, though not visible on the walls, she had memorized completely—every phrase, even the strokes of each character, crystal clear. Whenever she couldn't bear the sounds of her own master crying out or banging against the walls upstairs, she would force herself to silently recite the poems and essays on the walls.
This, too, was cultivation.
Regarding the snake gallstones, more was naturally better—they were treasures coveted by all dragon-blooded creatures under heaven. But they also adhered to a hidden rule of "one, ten, one hundred, one thousand, ten thousand."
Wei Bo had once revealed this heavenly secret, explaining the reason to the two little ones: the first high-grade snake gallstone, which helps break through a realm, could be digested by a mixed-blood dragon descendant in about a year. The fire-python girl, with a weaker constitution, would take a bit longer, perhaps thirteen or fourteen months. In contrast, the green-robed boy only needed over half a year. But the second gallstone wouldn't be so easy; it would require ten years of painstaking effort to consume. The third needed a century of water-polishing work. The fourth took a long thousand years. The fifth required ten thousand years! In truth, whether there was a fifth gallstone of excellent quality had little meaning—it wouldn't even count as icing on the cake. At most, it was just a rare collectible in a treasure vault.
So earlier, when the green-robed boy had three top-quality snake gallstones in hand, he had turned his attention to coveting ordinary ones. They couldn't guarantee breaking through a realm, but they could accumulate cultivation base in ten-year increments, constantly thickening the foundation of his current realm. Eating things to increase cultivation, crunching away—wouldn't that be wonderful? Back then, the green-robed boy had been single-mindedly thinking about lying back and enjoying himself, sunbathing, watching the wind and snow, and letting his realm rise effortlessly—how cozy!
Only after Chen Ping'an started boxing in the bamboo building did the green-robed boy change his mind, burying himself in hard cultivation. For the Yujiang water snake, who had a simple, straightforward mind, his thoughts weren't complicated: he didn't want to be punched to death by anyone, and he certainly didn't want to be surpassed in realm by this mud-legged master Chen Ping'an—that would be too embarrassing!
Heaven and earth, among us wandering heroes, face is the most important thing!
Inside the bamboo building, the barefoot old man crossed his arms, looking down at the youth curled up on the ground. Pain caused every muscle in his body to crackle like soybeans popping. The old man had earlier used the Divine Being Beats Drum style for twenty-eight punches, striking the gates of Chen Ping'an's twenty-eight qi mansions, leaving him in this pitiful, barely-breathing state.
The old man sneered, "Just twenty-eight punches, and you're already like a dead man. Truly unsightly! If you can't take thirty punches, then this three-realm isn't the strongest three-realm under heaven!"
Chen Ping'an, reeking of blood, couldn't even bother to retort. He relied on the breathing techniques taught by Old Man Yang, the true qi that he had found within himself like a fire dragon, and the Eighteen Stops qi circulation method that A Liang had claimed was "discovered by countless sword immortals." With all three combined, he barely managed to grit his teeth and endure the old man's twenty-eight punches.
The old man kicked out, striking Chen Ping'an's back. The whole person slammed into the wall, crashing heavily to the ground. The qi sea that had finally begun to stabilize was completely undone, stirring up waves again. Chen Ping'an lay on the ground like he was having a seizure.
The old man laughed loudly, "A pure martial artist wants to stand at the summit of the mountains? By what? By one breath, wearing down those qi refiners who can recklessly borrow heaven and earth's spiritual energy! If you lose the ability to throw a punch after suffering a little hardship, and think about retreating to heal and catch your breath, will the opponent give you that chance? So the breath you've accumulated, Chen Ping'an, is still far from enough!"
A little hardship.
Chen Ping'an, his face covered in bloodstains, couldn't say a single word in rebuttal.
Although the old man's words were venomous and dripping with sarcasm, any grandmaster of martial arts who had fought a life-or-death battle with him, or any mountain immortal who had been severely wounded or killed by his hands, would find this utterly unbelievable. Aside from his peerless boxing techniques, the old man was also famously arrogant.
At his peak, as the only ten-realm martial artist on East Treasured Vase Continent, relying solely on his physical body and a pair of fists, he had roamed three continents! Before throwing a punch, the old man would not announce his name; after throwing a punch, he would not reveal his identity. He came and went in a hurry. After a fight, he would leave. If he accidentally killed someone, their disciples and descendants, if they had the guts and ability, could come seek revenge. Whether ten of them surrounded him for a hundred years, or used countless treasures and schemes, he would take them all on with just his fists!
Back then, the three continents only knew of this nameless divine being with a strange temperament. He rarely showed respect to defeated opponents. Even if the opponent was a match for him, the old man still wouldn't take them seriously, and he had never once had the thought of taking on a disciple.
This bamboo building on Fallen Mountain held great mystery. The old man surnamed Cui could stay awake for one hour each day. Now, as he gradually returned to his peak, he remained clear-headed for half of that time. The grandfather of Great Li's national teacher, Cui Chan, had long since lost all goodwill toward his family after falling from his peak. Back then, because of his grandson's matter, the family's sycophantic bastards had broken his heart, leaving no trace of familial affection. Now, on Fallen Mountain, spending each day in the bamboo building, occasionally standing on the second floor to gaze at the mountains and waters, the old man had begun to like this peaceful place—not just because the bamboo building was his blessed land.
Wei Bo approached the bamboo building just in time to hear the old man's roar, "Chen Ping'an! What's the meaning of lying down?! If you can't stand up, crawl if you have to!"
"Do you know, in all my travels in this life, killing and wounding countless people, the only one I ever respected, who was it?!"
"It was an eight-realm martial artist whose name I've forgotten. At the brink of death, when I stepped on his face, he, before dying, mustered the strength to raise his fist and deliver his final punch. Even though that punch was weaker than a child or a woman, that punch was one that all ten-realm martial artists, even the legendary eleven-realm martial gods, would have to respect and admire!"
"That punch was the true essence of our martial path!"
Boom, boom, boom—a series of violent impacts. Clearly, Chen Ping'an, after barely getting up, was once again slammed into the wall.
"Chen Ping'an, again! This pain is nothing! If you've got balls, stand up and take another punch..."
The old man fell silent for a moment, then suddenly flew into a rage, cursing and swearing. Many of his curses were actually learned from the Mud Vase Alley youth.
It turned out that Chen Ping'an's heartstring had nearly snapped.
Too much is as bad as too little.
Chen Ping'an refused to admit defeat. Not only did he rely on that breath to hold on, but he also inadvertently used a vague and elusive "heart energy." After being sent flying by the old man's punch, his heart energy plummeted as well, bringing him to the very brink of life and death—the first accident since the old man had started teaching him boxing.
The old man, still muttering curses, had already crouched down. He quickly pressed a hand over the youth's heart. Looking down, he saw Chen Ping'an's dark, twisted face contorted in pain, and an arm lying across his chest with fist clenched—a purely instinctive, unconscious action.
The old man reached out with his other hand, gently holding the youth's fist, the skin cracked and bones exposed, breaking a rare expression of kindness. He chuckled softly, "Kid, not bad. The technique lies in the low and real, the intent lies in the empty and high, the method lies deep in the heart. You've already stepped onto the true martial path."
But at that moment, whether in a dream or daze, Chen Ping'an muttered curses under his breath.
The old man paused, then laughed instead of getting angry. "Little bastard."
——
The next day, Chen Ping'an took twenty-nine punches before passing out.
The first thing he did when he woke was to stagger to the second floor and ask one question: "Next time, thirty punches—will you beat me to death?"
The old man opened his eyes from inside the room. "No."
Then Chen Ping'an stood under the eaves of the second floor and started cursing loudly. Gu Can's mother was once hailed as the number one street-ranter in town, cursing so fiercely that even Granny Ma of Apricot Flower Lane had to go home to summarize her lessons, learning from defeats only to lose again and again. As someone who often eavesdropped on those cursing battles, Chen Ping'an had soaked it all in. If he really opened up and cursed, his skill was naturally not bad.
Once boxing practice started tomorrow, he definitely wouldn't have the chance to curse.
So curse today first.
After all, he had taken enough suffering—the deserved and undeserved alike. The old man couldn't kill him anyway, so what was Chen Ping'an afraid of?
If he didn't curse, Chen Ping'an feared he would suffocate himself. Ending up not making great progress in boxing but dying of suppressed anger—that wouldn't do!
The old man paid it no mind.
In fact, this was a good thing.
Because this was precisely one of the important meanings behind boxing practice.
The Mud Vase Alley youth had accumulated too many emotional impurities. They were like garbage that Chen Ping'an had swept bit by bit into a corner—neither much nor little, not obstructing his state of mind, because "out of sight, out of mind." But once he climbed higher on the martial path, these small flaws would keep magnifying. At the second and third realms, with the old man refining him with various boxing methods and divine abilities, they could be relatively easily removed. But if he reached the great threshold between the sixth and seventh realms, or the chasm between the ninth and tenth, trying to go back and uproot them would be as difficult as ascending to heaven.
But the old man was no clay bodhisattva. How could he tolerate endless cursing? He bellowed, "Get lost! Say one more word of nonsense, and I'll kill you right now."
Chen Ping'an walked away with a grin, thoroughly satisfied.
The old man muttered a curse from inside the room, "Just like Chanchan when he was little."
Speaking of this, the old man's expression grew a bit dazed.
When Chanchan was little, had he, as a grandfather, been too strict and heartless, too eager to force growth?
The third Confucian Sage had once uttered a famous saying that spread through the world: "At birth, human nature is good; natures are close, but habits diverge."
The old man sighed.
That earth-shaking debate between the Third and Fourth Sages—he had personally witnessed it. The result was what he was now. And this was only because he hadn't delved too deeply into it.
Once before, while traveling through a nameless mountain, he had encountered an old man in a Confucian scholar's robe. As the morning sun rose, the old man paced around on the mountaintop, slowly stretching his limbs, like drawing circles. But from the perspective of a ten-realm martial artist, the old reading man appeared to be spinning in place, yet each time he drew a circle, it would slightly expand outward.
Curious, he asked, "Old sir, why not step out in one go?"
The old man in Confucian robes smiled and replied, "Breaking the rules wouldn't do."
They chatted about all sorts of things, and after that, he never saw the aged scholar again.
——
On the third day, before practice, the old man said to Chen Ping'an, "Since you've already stabilized in the third realm, let's continue. I'll lay a solid foundation for your fourth-realm martial path. The journey south won't be delayed by these few days."
Chen Ping'an shook his head, saying no. The journey had to start immediately once Master Ruan finished forging the sword.
The old man continued tempting him, "Why do you think I killed Sun Shujian, a peak sixth-realm martial artist, with a single full-force punch at my fifth-realm cultivation? It's because even at the same realm, there's a difference like cloud and mud. Thus, even on the martial path—where it's hardest to kill across realms—I could easily kill Sun Shujian, one realm higher, because his foundation was too loose."
"Take the imperial examinations, for example. Among those who enter the palace examination, why are some the noblest top scorer or secondary top scorer, while others are just regular *jinshi*, and some are pitiful *tongsheng*? That Golden Throne Hall is a realm, but within the same realm, distinctions of first, second, and third class still exist."
"Chen Ping'an, you need to know that the gap between the third and fourth realms of martial arts is enormous. It's like the difference between the last realm of the lower five realms and the first realm of the middle five realms for qi refiners—a vast watershed. With or without me laying the foundation, after suffering all this, you should know best how much benefit you've gained. If you can push through and break into the fourth realm, once the bottleneck is shattered, the fourth-realm martial path will be smooth sailing. Wouldn't that be satisfying?"
Chen Ping'an didn't hesitate. He still shook his head.
Since Old Man Yang had said this place was not to be lingered in, once he got the sword, he had to leave the mountain and head south immediately. Chen Ping'an would not delay even for the time it takes to burn an incense stick.
Deep down, though, he felt a bit of fear toward boxing above the third realm. Not being afraid would be self-deception.
The old man nodded. "Enduring temptation is also a good thing. People like Sun Shujian—not lacking in talent—die in countless numbers, all from the word 'greed.' So today, I'll break the rules and reward you once. I'll change the thirty punches to thirty-one instead. Don't worry, it won't kill you. I'll help you properly solidify the third realm. You don't need to be grateful to the point of tears—after all, you're Chanchan's teacher..."
Though the old man spoke kindly on the surface, the murderous intent and bone-deep chill in his words were unmistakable to Chen Ping'an.
Yesterday's round of cursing had been thoroughly enjoyable, but today he would face the consequences?
After the thirty-first punch, Chen Ping'an slept in the big medicinal barrel for the first time all day, then slept on the bed until darkness fell for an entire night.
At dawn, Chen Ping'an walked out of the room. Wei Bo and the two little ones were sitting under the eaves.
Seeing Chen Ping'an, Wei Bo sat up on his bamboo chair, raised his hands in a fist-and-palm salute, and said cheerfully, "Congratulations, congratulations."
Chen Ping'an returned the salute with a wry smile. "It's a long story."
The pink-skirted girl gave her chair to her master. Wei Bo lowered his voice after Chen Ping'an approached. "Ruan Qiong will open the furnace in the next couple of days. Earlier, when I was chatting with the little snake, I heard you wanted to buy a Sword-nurturing Gourd. So I took the liberty of converting the original betrothal gift of one mountain peak from the Great Li court—discounting five magical treasures in exchange for just one gourd. Chen Ping'an, if you think you're losing out, you can change your mind and accept the Great Li's original five treasures instead."
The pink-skirted girl and the green-robed boy exchanged glances, urging Chen Ping'an not to be blinded by greed, to choose five over one.
Chen Ping'an laughed. "Of course I want the Sword-nurturing Gourd."
Wei Bo laughed heartily and flicked his sleeve. In an instant, a clever little vermillion gourd appeared in his palm.
It was slightly smaller than the silver gourd that A Liang hung at his waist, with a warm luster and an antique style that made one fall in love at first sight.
Chen Ping'an's face was full of joy. Carefully, he took the vermillion gourd with both hands, widened his eyes, and leaned in to inspect it closely.
Wei Bo explained with a smile, "This Sword-nurturing Gourd can only be considered mid-grade—not a true immortal object. But it's still quite rare. After all, on East Treasured Vase Continent, it can't compare to Julu Continent, where sword cultivators run rampant. Even so, this little gourd would make even middle-five-realm sword cultivators drool with envy."
Wei Bo pointed to the bottom of the gourd. "The inscription at the bottom reads 'Jiang Gourd,' which is a homophone for 'wandering the rivers and lakes.' Quite amusing. And it's likely the cherished relic of some sword cultivator surnamed Jiang, hence the engraving. Do you like it?"
Chen Ping'an's smile was radiant as he quickly replied, "Like it, like it! How could I not? A Sword-nurturing Gourd!"
The pink-skirted girl covered her mouth and giggled. The green-robed boy rolled his eyes and slapped his forehead.
Well, the key point was that he recognized the value—knew the Sword-nurturing Gourd was worth a fortune—that's why he was so delighted. His master's money-grubbing nature was truly incorrigible.
Chen Ping'an suddenly asked, "Can it hold wine?"
Wei Bo nodded with a smile. "Naturally. It can hold a dozen or so catties of wine without affecting the nurturing of flying swords. But remember: inside the Sword-nurturing Gourd, you cannot nurture flying swords that are at odds with your intent. And it's not about the more the better, or it will delay the process. The best is to nurture two or three swords simultaneously..."
At this point, Wei Bo self-deprecatingly added, "If you could nurture two flying swords at once, that's already quite astonishing. Let's not even talk about the fortune needed to obtain top-grade flying swords—just think of the financial resources required!"
Chen Ping'an silently took note.
Then, with two *whoosh* sounds, the sword named Little Fengdu (its true name) and the emerald-green Fifteen, which Old Man Yang had exchanged for Chen Ping'an, shot out from two of Chen Ping'an's qi mansions. They flashed away, darting into the vermillion Sword-nurturing Gourd. The two flying swords seemed overjoyed, darting about everywhere, constantly bumping into the inner walls of the gourd, causing the little gourd in Chen Ping'an's hand to shake slightly.
Wei Bo's eyes went wide. He felt utterly disgraced and shook his head helplessly. "Well, pretend I said nothing."
The green-robed boy felt a sense of shared pride and snorted, "Now do you see how deep my master's pockets are?"
Wei Bo didn't bother arguing with the little snake. He laughed cheerfully, "I see, I see."
Finally, Wei Bo added, "By the way, the gourd's already been filled with wine. With your drinking capacity, Chen Ping'an, feel free to drink your fill."
After Wei Bo left, Chen Ping'an took a bamboo chair and sat by the cliff's edge, sipping wine alone in small sips.
The pink-skirted girl wanted to follow, but the green-robed boy grabbed her arm and shook his head, signaling her not to intrude.
Chen Ping'an leaned back comfortably in the chair, stretched out his legs, and cupped the little gourd, temporarily serving as a wine flask, with both hands. After a few mouthfuls of wine, he felt his cheeks grow hot and his throat burning, and his whole body warmed up.
He gazed southward, full of longing.
It seemed that the mountains and waters over there were the very "rivers and lakes" that the homophone of his gourd suggested.
This was a life Chen Ping'an had never imagined.
To be able to live well—truly, that was wonderful.
——
The orphan of Mud Vase Alley—after his parents died, the hardest years were from age five to seven.
Sometimes, when his intestines felt like they were tied in knots from hunger, he could be so hungry that he'd want to dig up dirt and eat it. Whenever mealtime came, smoke rose from every stove near Mud Vase Alley. Even just walking through the alley, the child could smell those tantalizing aromas of rice and dishes. He wore the clothes his parents had left behind, cutting them down to fit himself, keeping every scrap, saving them bit by bit.
The first time the child ate a meal from someone else's house was after he had exhausted all his family's savings and sold everything that could be sold. At six years old, in the dead of winter, unable to go up the mountain to gather herbs for a few copper coins, he had run out of ways to survive. Unwilling to steal, cold and starving, he was like a little lost soul, wandering through the alley from one end to the other, until dusk fell and the cooking smoke rose. The child had no idea how to go on living anymore.
Earlier, kind-hearted people would say, "Little Peace, come eat at our house." The child would always smile and say, "No need, I still have rice at home." Then he'd quickly run off.
But that day, the child truly had nothing left. During the day, he had gone to Yang's Shop, wanting to ask the old man for credit, but the old man refused to see him.
Then, in that twilight, the child felt wronged, thinking, "Would someone see me, smile, and say, 'Little Peace, come in and eat'?"
But that day, no door opened. All doors were firmly shut. Inside, there was laughter and talk, and scolding.
In the end, the child returned to his own yard, hungry, and lay down on the thin, cold bed board, silently telling himself, "I'm not hungry, not hungry. If I sleep, I won't be hungry. If I think of Mom and Dad, I won't be hungry."