Breathing Technique Progress

Jiajing 22nd Year, First Day of the First Month

In between cultivation, Lin Zhao often went to the training ground to watch Zhao Tieying drill the estate guards.

These farmers, who once could not even hold ring-pommel swords steady, could now form the rudiments of a Mandarin Duck Formation—three men in the front row used iron-rimmed rattan shields to block, while two men behind thrust forward with Pear Blossom Spears. Their movements were still somewhat raw, but they had begun to resemble soldiers.

With a Veteran General like Zhao Tieying, who had once slaughtered Tatars on the northern frontier, personally instructing them, their progress was plain to see. Given time, these men would become the backbone protecting Lin Family Fortress and the people around Wulong Pond.

Speaking of which, Lin Zhao truly had few people under his command. Including the fort guards, there were only a little over two hundred tenant farmers. The twenty mu of poor fields along Wulong Pond yielded little, and there was not even a proper Blacksmith Shop beyond Zhang Tiechui's family. Among the surrounding forts, they were firmly at the bottom.

After all, when he had retreated to Lin Family Fortress, he had practically left with nothing but the Kaiyuan Great Bow his father had left behind and a few pieces of Old Armor.

With foundations this shallow, maintaining the current state of affairs was already the best he could manage.

Cultivation knew no passage of time. While Lin Zhao devoted himself to honing his martial arts and peace reigned within the fort, the bitterest Lunar December north of the river finally passed, and the new year arrived upon lingering snow.

This day was both the birthday of Xuantian Shangdi and the New Year of the Ming Dynasty. It also happened to be Lin Zhao's thirteenth birthday.

Outside the fort, the cold wind still swept up fragments of snow, while the ice covering Wulong Pond had frozen solid.

On the terrace of the fort's second floor, Lin Zhao had just completed a set of Breathing and Guiding Technique movements known as Dragon Coiling Pillar. Stretching his upright body, nearly six chi tall, he stood facing the wind in the stance of Mystic Dragon Exploring the Sea—broad shoulders and a narrow waist, his back as straight as a military spear. His bearing carried the free-spirited air of a wandering hero, yet concealed the steadiness of a general's son.

His deep gaze swept over the busy tenant farmers inside the fort. His entire bearing was utterly different from a month ago: much of the youthfulness had faded from his handsome face, and between his brows lay the sharpness and restraint of a dragon; his muscles were solid, their lines hard as cast iron. Even beneath his Mystic Fox Fur, their taut outlines could be seen. He resembled a Dharma Protector Vajra in a temple, containing explosive force ready to erupt at the slightest touch.

Anyone who saw him would secretly be startled. How could this be a thirteen-year-old boy? Children from ordinary farming families were still gathering firewood in the fields at thirteen. How could they possess such a towering physique?

Watching the snow whirl through the sky, Lin Zhao was in high spirits.

New year, new sights. The fort was decorated with lanterns and colored ornaments—though they had merely refurbished last year's Red Lanterns, they still added a touch of festivity.

Several young maids with freckled faces busied themselves preparing the Evening Banquet. Their little faces were red from the cold, yet they still giggled as they set out bowls and chopsticks and carried dishes. It was both a New Year family feast and the fort lord's birthday feast, so they did not dare be the slightest bit negligent.

The estate guards had rarely been allotted half a jin of distilled liquor. They sat around stone tables at the training ground, drinking and chatting with Zhao Tieying.

After three rounds of wine, everyone raised their cups toward the second floor of the fort and shouted in rough voices, "May the fort lord enjoy health and peace in the new year!" and "May the fort lord find joy on his birthday!" Their voices rode the wind and snow into the distance, full of simple gratitude.

The tenant farmers had not come empty-handed either—some carried homemade rice wine, some brought smoked wild rabbit, and others wrapped dried red dates and dried persimmons in cloth bundles as gifts.

Compared to those powerful fort lords who regarded tenant farmers as grass and mustard, beating and cursing them at every turn, Lin Zhao, who came from the modern age, treated these "parents who clothed and fed him" with far greater gentleness and respect. He never imposed extra levies on their rent, reduced it in years of disaster, and paid daily wages whenever the fort needed labor.

Thus, though the tenant farmers of Lin Family Fortress were poor, they lived with peace of mind. Here, they could stand tall as people. Protected by the fort lord, they did not have to fear bandits stealing their grain or worry about freezing and starving in winter.

Yet Lin Zhao's delight was not merely due to the New Year's celebrations. More importantly, after two months of grueling cultivation, his Mystic Dragon Breathing Technique had finally broken through to the second rank!

Lin Zhao

-Mystic Dragon Breathing Technique: Rank Two (2/5000)

From this day onward, Lin Zhao had officially entered the second stage of Martial Trainee—the Sword-Wielding Martial Trainee!

He was another step closer to becoming a Martial Master capable of condensing a Qi Seed and standing on his own.

The next step was to train the Breathing Technique to the Third Rank and become a Quasi-Martial Master.

However, the Third Rank required five thousand proficiency points. Lin Zhao estimated that, at a rate of thirty points per day, he would need at least another half year.

After cultivating bitterly for so long, it was time to rest a little. Cultivation required a proper balance between tension and relaxation; training with nothing but unyielding strain could instead cause one's qi and blood to stagnate, increasing the risk of deviation.

Now that he was a Sword-Wielding Martial Trainee, his strength could no longer be underestimated. His physique was already twice that of an ordinary man. Barehanded, he could easily lift a three-hundred-jin stone mill; with one punch, he could shatter a bluestone slab half a chi thick. Knocking down five strong adult men was even less of a challenge.

Such ability was terrifying in a thirteen-year-old boy. Zhao Tieying had privately tested his strength and frankly admitted, "Before I entered the Martial Master Realm, even without using inner force, my physique was only three times that of an ordinary man. Young Master's progress is even half a step faster than the Late General's was!" This showed that the Mystic Dragon Breathing Technique truly was an extraordinary Upper Grade secret art.

But Lin Zhao also understood his own shortcomings: he lacked experience in real combat and killing, and possessed no profound skill with weapons.

The heart of a Sword-Wielding Martial Trainee lay in practical swordsmanship or the real combat use of other weapons. Martial Masters rarely fought barehanded. Even if one's fists could crack stone slabs, "every inch longer is every inch stronger." Abandoning sharp weapons for fists and feet was truly unwise.

No matter how strong flesh and blood became, it was difficult to withstand the edge of a fine steel sword forged a hundred times.

If he wished to learn swordsmanship, he naturally had to seek Zhao Tieying's instruction.

Even Lin Zhao's legendary father, Lin Yuanshan, had often said, "Tieying's talent in the way of the sword surpasses mine by a measure." This could be seen from Zhao Tieying's early martial world title, Shadowless Sword. When he served in the Imperial Guard, he had used a single blue steel sword to cut down seven men in a night raid on a Tatar camp without so much as damaging his sleeves. For a time, the name Shadowless Sword spread throughout the border army of the northern frontier, carrying a fierce, dashing heroism.

Still, learning the sword was not urgent.

Today was both the New Year and his birthday. Lin Zhao intended to give himself a day off and properly enjoy this rare carefree time as fort lord.

The feast was held in the fort's main hall. Lin Zhao sat in the seat of honor, while Zhao Tieying sat beside him in the foremost seat to the left.

Other than the fort's servants and estate guard leaders, no other fort lords had come to offer congratulations. For one thing, the weather was freezing and the snow blocked the roads; Lin Family Fortress stood beside Wulong Pond, already a remote place. For another, though Qingshi Fort, Hanfeng Fort, and Mingyue Fort lay nearby, each was more than fifty li away. They seldom interacted, only exchanging grain and game during the idle summer season.

The fort lords who gained a foothold in this bitterly cold land north of the river generally had thin family fortunes and lived hand to mouth. Qingshi Fort, for instance, had only thirty estate guards in the entire fort and not even one proper set of Mountain Pattern Armor.

That was precisely why Lin Zhao's father, Lin Yuanshan, had risen so legendarily. Starting from impoverished Wulong Pond, he relied on the hard skill of the Mystic Dragon Breathing Technique to repeatedly perform outstanding deeds in the war against the Japanese pirates. Even the generals of the Yingtian Garrison came to know the great name of the Mystic Dragon Commander. In the end, the imperial court promoted him to General of Cavalry. He took command of the two fertile military farming estates of Jiangnan Furong Manor and Zhedong Tiezhen Mountain, becoming an influential noble with real power throughout Jianghuai.

But Lin Zhao had never liked dealing with other fort lords. They were either short-sighted, thinking only of snatching a little grain and seizing a little land, or they fawned on the powerful and hid far away the moment the Lin family fell from favor.

He only hoped that each side would keep to its own borders and live in peace, conducting the occasional reliable transaction—such as trading Mystic Frost Fox Fur for medicinal herbs and ironware. Mutual benefit was enough.

Around the outer edge of the feast stood several bashful tenant farmers.

Today, they had received special permission to eat the same food as those seated in places of honor—smoked venison, millet cakes, and a bowl of rice porridge with red dates. Yet they did not dare gorge themselves. They merely savored each bite in small mouthfuls, looking nervous as they held their bowls in both hands, terrified that some word or action might offend the fort lord.

In their hearts, Lin Zhao was the "local emperor" of Lin Family Fortress. Life and death, reward and punishment, all rested upon a single thought of his.

At the same time, they secretly marveled. The fort lord was only thirteen, yet he was so towering and robust, his shoulders as broad as an adult man's, without the slightest trace of a youth's thinness.

After three rounds of wine, Lin Zhao leisurely enjoyed the fine dishes and the attentive service of the maids.

Several young maids took turns massaging his shoulders. His shoulders were exceptionally thick, his muscles as hard as quenched refined iron. Their knuckles ached from kneading them, and sweat beaded at their temples, but they did not dare slacken in the slightest.

These maids were all daughters of farming families around Wulong Pond. They were efficient workers and lively, clever girls in private, but whenever they came before Lin Zhao, they became especially restrained. They did not even dare raise their heads, only lowering their brows and eyes as they worked.

Suddenly, a short, sturdy youth strode quickly into the hall. With a thud, he dropped to his knees, holding a long cloth bundle high in both hands. His knees struck the blue bricks with a dull sound, startling everyone in the hall into setting down their chopsticks.

Lin Zhao recognized him. He was the only son of the fort's old blacksmith, Zhang Tiechui. His childhood name was Little Hammer, while his given name was Zhang Tiezhu.

The boy had learned blacksmithing from his father since childhood, and his arm strength far exceeded that of children his age. He often helped the fort guards repair their weapons.

"Tiezhu, what has made you so flustered?" Lin Zhao set down the silver wine cup in his hand and asked in a gentle voice that nonetheless carried a trace of authority.

Tiezhu's body trembled. Lowering his head, he unfolded the cloth bundle. Inside lay a long sword. Its blade gleamed with cold light, while its scabbard was made of ebony and wrapped in a layer of deerskin. It was clearly a fine piece, forged and polished with great care.

"R-Reporting to the fort lord, this is the best sword this humble one forged with my father last year. It was made from fine iron ore mined from Anvil Mountain and quenched three times... I-I offer it to the fort lord in congratulations of your birthday." Tiezhu stammered somewhat, but every word was sincere.

"Oh?" Lin Zhao signaled for the guard beside him to present the sword. He gripped the pommel and gave it a light pull. With a soft clang, half a chi of the blade slid from its sheath. The blade was smooth as a mirror, without the slightest impurity. Its edge was sharp enough to reflect a person's image, and the forging, polishing, and sharpening were all extremely meticulous.

In this land north of the river, swords forged by ordinary blacksmiths either chipped easily or had unsteady balance. A sword of this quality was already upper-middle grade. In a weapon shop in Yingtian Prefecture, it would be worth no less than thirty taels of silver.

"It truly is a good sword. It feels right in the hand, and the edge is sharp enough." Lin Zhao praised it without reservation and accepted the sword openly.

In these troubled times, the property of people within his territory was originally his to allocate as fort lord. Moreover, he had to protect the safety of the region, so accepting such a gift sat easily with his conscience. Besides, now that he was a Sword-Wielding Martial Trainee, he lacked precisely a suitable sword. This one had arrived at just the right time.

"By the way, has your father been well lately? I saw him coughing a few days ago. Has he sought medicine to take?" Lin Zhao asked casually.

This was by no means empty politeness. Old Zhang was the most important blacksmith in the fort. The ring-pommel swords and Pear Blossom Spears used by the estate guards in training, as well as the hoes and plowshares used by the tenant farmers, all depended on his family to make. More importantly, Old Zhang could repair Mountain Pattern Armor and forge iron-rimmed rattan shields. He was the core of the fort's military equipment, a true pillar.

At those words, Tiezhu's entire body suddenly stiffened. He lowered his head even further, and his voice instantly took on a sobbing tone. Clutching the edge of the cloth bundle tightly in both hands, he pleaded, "Fort lord! Please save my father! Yesterday, I went with him to haul iron ore from the back mountain, and we ran into men from the Wild Jackal Gang halfway there... I ran fast and was lucky enough to escape back to the fort, but my father, my father was taken by them! I've asked everyone in the fort, but no one dares to rescue him. I can only beg the fort lord to decide this matter!"

The smile vanished from Lin Zhao's face in an instant. His eyes turned cold, and his expression darkened like still water. "The Wild Jackal Gang? The thing I feared most has finally come. I understand what happened to your father. I will handle it properly and ensure his safe return. Go home and wait first. There will be news by tomorrow morning."

His tone was calm, but the hand resting on his knee silently clenched. The Wild Jackal Gang was the most vicious bandit group within a hundred li. They specialized in abducting blacksmiths and robbing grain carts. He had heard before that they had raided merchant caravans near Qingshi Fort, but he had not expected them to dare lay hands on Lin Family Fortress.

This interruption completely ruined Lin Zhao's mood.

The Evening Banquet ended hastily. The tenant farmers and estate guards tactfully dispersed, and before long, only Lin Zhao and Zhao Tieying remained in the hall.

As soon as the banquet ended, Zhao Tieying immediately followed Lin Zhao to the study. The moment he entered, he said in a grave voice, "Fort lord, the Wild Jackal Gang's abduction of Blacksmith Zhang was certainly not a spur-of-the-moment act. They must have planned it for a long time! Those thieves have been expanding everywhere lately and have taken in many scattered border army soldiers. They urgently need weapons made. A skilled hand like Blacksmith Zhang, who knows workshop quenching and can make strong crossbows, naturally became their target."

He paused, a glint of killing intent flashing in his eyes, then continued, "That Wild Jackal Gang leader, Diao Kui, is nicknamed Jackal Dog. He was once a blacksmith too, and even Blacksmith Zhang's junior fellow apprentice. Later, who knew where he acquired a Lower Grade internal art, Stone Cracking Force, and by luck broke through to the Martial Master Realm, allowing him to gather this band together. But that paltry skill of his makes him no more than a bottom-tier Martial Master. He is absolutely no match for me! Tomorrow morning, I will personally lead twenty elite estate guards, bring three-dan strong crossbows to the Wild Jackal Gang's lair at Black Wind Cave, rescue Blacksmith Zhang, and wipe out those petty thieves while we are at it, eliminating all future trouble!"