Genius

More and more unfamiliar faces from out of town were arriving in the small town, and the business of its inns and taverns flourished accordingly.

At the same time, many young descendants of the grand households on Fulu Street and Taoye Lane began quietly leaving town. Most were bright, gifted youths who had shown promise early on, though there were also obscure sons of concubines from lesser branches, or fiercely loyal children born to household servants. Zhao Yao of an Aristocratic Clan was among them. As for Gu Can, a child from Mud Bottle Alley, he was an exception—River-Cutting True Lord Liu Zhimao had taken a liking to him at first glance.

Chen Ping'an went to Liu Xianyang's house to fetch the baskets and Fish Basket, then left town for the creek. When there were people around, he naturally would not practice the stance-walking from the Mountain Shaking Manual. Only after leaving town, with no one nearby, did he begin silently reciting the mnemonic verse, recalling Miss Ning's footwork, posture, and bearing as she walked the stance. He refused to miss a single detail, walking those six steps again and again.

When Chen Ping'an had first imitated Ning Yao in his house on Mud Bottle Alley, he had been so clumsy and ridiculous that he was worse than an ordinary person. In truth, an uncanny misunderstanding had arisen in the perceptions of the boy and girl. Chen Ping'an had always known he had a flaw. Ever since his days as a Potter, he had discovered that his eyes were quick but his hands slow. More precisely, his gaze and eyesight were simply too outstanding, leaving his limbs utterly unable to keep up. This meant that if someone else had imitated Ning Yao's stance-walking, they might have achieved three or four parts resemblance on their first try—rough and awkward, perhaps, but still not as pitiful as Chen Ping'an's mere one or two parts. Yet that was precisely because Chen Ping'an saw too clearly and too truly, demanding too much of every stage. Excess was as bad as deficiency. Once his hands and feet failed to keep pace, he looked especially laughable. And beneath those nine parts that resembled nothing lay one part of exceedingly rare spiritual likeness.

Ning Yao knew none of this. When imitating the stance-walking of a heavenly Sword Immortal Embryo like her, even nine parts outward resemblance could not compare to one part spiritual resemblance.

Of course, putting that aside, even if someone possessed not merely one part of Ning Yao's spiritual resemblance but seven or eight, she would not consider them particularly astonishing.

What Ning Yao saw, what lay before her gaze, was only the distant reaches of Martial Dao where human traces were scarce, and the pinnacles of sword Dao where those who could stand shoulder to shoulder with her could be counted on one hand.

Chen Ping'an sat resting on the steps beneath the Covered Bridge's plaque. The boy roughly calculated that there were twelve two-hour periods in a day. Even if he persisted for five or six of them every day, repeating the stance-walking, he could manage at most around three hundred repetitions. That made one hundred thousand in a year; it would take ten years to complete the task of one million. The straw-sandaled youth turned his head toward the crystal-clear creek and murmured, "If I keep at it for ten years, I should be able to do it, right?"

Although Chen Ping'an had not revealed any unusual emotions during this period, Daoist Master Lu's revelation of heavenly secrets before departing—laying bare, one by one, Cai Jinjian of Cloud Mist Mountain's venomous methods—still weighed heavily on the boy's heart. There was one matter Chen Ping'an had never mentioned to either Daoist Master Lu or Miss Ning. After Cai Jinjian poked his brow and struck his chest, he had already vaguely sensed that something was wrong with his body back in Mud Bottle Alley. That was why he had lingered so long outside his own courtyard gate: he had been making up his mind that, at worst, he would smash the jar and let the pieces fly, fighting Cai Jinjian to the death.

After all, according to what the young Daoist priest Lu Chen had said, Chen Ping'an at the time had been far too steeped in Death Qi. He did not resemble a youth who ought to have brimmed with vigor at all. When it came to life and death, Chen Ping'an had taken them more lightly than the vast majority of people.

Cai Jinjian had used Martial Dao methods to "guide" the straw-sandaled youth, forcibly opening his apertures. This made Chen Ping'an's body like a house with neither courtyard gate nor door. It could indeed take in and store more things, but whenever wind, snow, or rain came, the house would collapse with particular severity and speed. That was why Lu Chen had concluded that, barring unforeseen circumstances and absent any major illness or disaster, Chen Ping'an could only live to his thirties or forties.

Afterward, her strike upon Chen Ping'an's heart had damaged the foundation of his cultivation. The heart was a vital fortress and strategic pass for cultivators. Once the city gate collapsed, Cai Jinjian had effectively all but sealed off the normal operation of that pass. This not only cut off Chen Ping'an's great road of cultivation, but further accelerated the decay of his body.

The truly terrifying part of Cai Jinjian's two successive moves lay in this: after the gates had been flung wide open, Chen Ping'an could no longer cultivate methods of immortality, meaning he could not use Magical Power to mend those gates or nourish his foundation and consolidate his vital essence. On the other hand, even if the boy was fortunate enough to enter the halls of martial arts and could indeed strengthen his body through tempering his physique, immense danger would forever accompany that opportunity. One careless misstep, and he would fall into the vicious cycle of "practicing External Fist easily draws evil"—failing to prolong his years, only to die young instead.

What Chen Ping'an urgently needed was a martial art that could flow in a thin, steady stream and nourish his vital energy over time. Whether it possessed fierce moves or tyrannical might, whether it could send someone's Martial Dao realm soaring by a thousand miles in a day, was not important.

All of Chen Ping'an's hopes rested on the Mountain Shaking Manual, which Ning Yao had disdained. As she had said, after the walking stance came the standing stance, "Sword Furnace," and the sleeping stance, "Thousand Autumns."

But Chen Ping'an did not dare practice recklessly. He had merely glanced at them back then, then forced himself not to continue reading. He felt it was better to wait until Miss Ning had examined them and confirmed there was no problem before he began cultivating them.

As long as you walked the right road, no matter how poor your comprehension, so long as you were diligent and resilient enough, you would ultimately improve every day. But if you walked in the wrong direction, the smarter and harder-working you were, the more mistakes you would make.

Liu Xianyang had said those words. Naturally, his emphasis had been on the last line: "You, Chen Ping'an, are the first kind of person. That clever little devil, Little Master Song, is the second. Only I, Liu Xianyang, am a true genius—smart and on the right path."

When Liu Xianyang had been boasting about himself, Old Man Yao happened to overhear him while passing by. The old man had always favored Liu Xianyang and regarded him as a prized disciple, but some remark of the boy's had apparently struck an old wound. For the first time ever, Old Man Yao flew into a towering rage and chased Liu Xianyang down for a brutal beating. At any rate, after that, Liu Xianyang never uttered the word "genius" again.

Chen Ping'an let out a heavy breath, rose to his feet, and climbed the high steps. Only after entering the Covered Bridge's corridor did he notice a group gathered in the distance—four or five people, standing or sitting, seemingly guarding a woman among them. Chen Ping'an saw only her profile. She sat on the railing of the Covered Bridge, her feet hanging naturally over the surface of the creek, eyes closed in meditation. The posture of her hands and fingers was strange, her fingers entwined or bent.

Chen Ping'an felt that although her eyes were clearly shut, she seemed to be intently watching something.

Chen Ping'an hesitated, then did not continue forward. He turned and walked down the steps, intending to wade across the creek before going to find Liu Xianyang. Today, he carried two nested baskets, one large and one small. He had to return the smaller one to Master Ruan's smithy, since Liu Xianyang had borrowed it from someone.

In the distance on the Covered Bridge, after seeing the poorly dressed straw-sandaled youth tactfully turn away, the group exchanged smiles without speaking. They feared disturbing that woman's profound state of Water Contemplation.

The foundation of this method undoubtedly originated in Buddhist teachings. Later, however, many cultivation sects had adopted it, selected from it, blended it, and refined it, until one great road had branched into countless smaller paths.

East Treasure Bottle Continent, however, had always been regarded as a land where Buddhism's Dharma Age was ending. After several anti-Buddhism catastrophes that had swept across half the continent, Buddhist teachings had gradually declined over the past thousand years, their influence far inferior to that of Confucianism and Daoism among the three teachings.

"One hears only of True Lords and Celestial Masters, never Guardians and great virtuous ones"—that was the true state of East Treasure Bottle Continent today.

Yet immortal family sects that had benefited from Buddhist teachings were indeed too numerous to count.

Chen Ping'an rolled up his trouser legs and waded across the water. After reaching the opposite bank, he suddenly heard cries of alarm and angry rebukes from the Covered Bridge. After thinking it over, he chose not to involve himself.

When he reached Master Ruan's smithy, it was still a scene of blazing industry. Chen Ping'an did not wander around carelessly. He stood beside a well and asked someone to notify Liu Xianyang.

He had expected to wait a long while, but Liu Xianyang came running over almost immediately. Grabbing him, he pulled him toward the creek bank and said in a lowered voice, "I've been waiting for you forever. Why are you only here now?"

Chen Ping'an asked in confusion, "Master Ruan's urging you to return the basket?"

The tall youth rolled his eyes. "What does a lousy basket matter? I've got something important to tell you. After you finish gathering stones and return to my courtyard, wait for that madam to come find you—the woman whose son wears all red. The mother and son we saw at the Mud Bottle Alley Entrance last time. When she comes, don't say anything. Just give her that big trunk. She'll give you a bag of money. Count it right in front of her: twenty-five copper coins. Not one coin less!"

Chen Ping'an was shocked. "Liu Xianyang, are you insane?! Why sell your family property to an outsider?!"

Liu Xianyang forcefully hooked an arm around the straw-sandaled youth's neck and glared as he lectured him. "What the hell do you know? A great future is laid out right before me. Why should I let it slip away for nothing?"

Chen Ping'an's face was full of suspicion. He did not believe this was what Liu Xianyang truly wanted.

Liu Xianyang sighed and whispered, "That madam wants to buy my family's ancestral Treasure Armor. That other master and servant pair want a Sword Scripture. Before my grandfather died, he told me that if things truly became impossible, the Treasure Armor could be sold—though never cheaply. But as for that Sword Scripture, even if I died, I could never admit it was in our Old Liu family. I agreed to sell the Treasure Armor to that madam. Besides settling on the price, I demanded that she agree to one condition: after she gets the armor, she has to persuade that burly old man not to cause trouble for me anytime soon. It's just a delaying tactic. Once I become Master Ruan's disciple, none of this will matter anymore."

Chen Ping'an asked bluntly, "Why don't you stall that madam instead? Could she come to the smithy and cause trouble for you? Besides, she can't just break in and steal your family's Treasure Armor."

Liu Xianyang released him, squatted by the creek, casually picked up a pebble, and tossed it into the water. Curling his lip, he said, "It's not as if the armor can't be sold. Since there's a fair price now, isn't that good enough? It'll make things more secure too. Maybe Miss Ning won't even need to take the risk of acting. So I think it's not bad."

Chen Ping'an crouched down as well and urgently tried to persuade him. "How do you know the price she's offering is fair? What if you regret it later?"

The tall youth turned his head and grinned. "Regret it? Think carefully. We've known each other for so many years—when have I, Liu Xianyang, ever done anything I regretted?"

Chen Ping'an scratched his head. Something still felt wrong, but the boy was clumsy with words and truly did not know how to persuade Liu Xianyang.

Liu Xianyang had always lived freely and easily. It seemed there had never been any hurdle he could not cross, any Heart Knot he could not untie, or anything he could not accomplish.

Liu Xianyang stood up and kicked the basket on the straw-sandaled youth's back. "Hurry up. I'll take it back to Master Ruan. When I formally become his disciple and offer tea, you can come broaden your horizons."

Chen Ping'an slowly rose, wanting to speak but stopping himself. Liu Xianyang laughed and cursed, "Chen Ping'an, you bastard, am I selling your family heirloom? Or your wife?"

As Chen Ping'an handed him the basket, he asked tentatively, "Won't you think about it some more?"

Liu Xianyang took the basket, backed away several steps, then leaped high into the air without warning and threw a flashy spinning kick.

After landing steadily, Liu Xianyang looked immensely pleased with himself and asked with a laugh, "Impressive, right? Scared?"

Chen Ping'an snapped irritably, "Screw you."

After leaving the Ruan Family smithy, the burdened Chen Ping'an entered the creek to gather stones. Perhaps because his mind was unsettled, perhaps because the water level had fallen, he gained little that day. By the time he approached the Covered Bridge, he had retrieved only a little over twenty Snake Gallstones, and not a single one made anyone's eyes light up or inspired love at first sight.

Chen Ping'an removed the baskets and Fish Basket, placing them in the grass by the creek. After taking a deep breath, he turned around in the water and began practicing his stance-walking.

After one trip back and forth, Chen Ping'an's heart tightened. At the spot where he had hidden his baskets and Fish Basket crouched a short boy, a lush green stalk of Foxtail Grass hanging from his mouth.

It was Granny Ma's grandson from Apricot Blossom Alley. Ever since childhood, he had been regarded as a fool. And Granny Ma had left an especially terrible impression on the youths of Chen Ping'an's generation—miserly and harsh. Her precious grandson had suffered by association, becoming everyone's punching bag. Whenever the boy went out, people chased him around and bullied him. Whenever he wore new clothes or boots, within less than half an hour it was practically set in stone that children his age or older boys would trample and torment him until he was covered in dust. Just imagine it: a pair of brand-new boots Granny Ma had just bought from a shop, worn outside by her grandson and immediately stomped on once apiece by more than a dozen people. By the time the child got home, how new could those boots still be?

This foolish boy, whose real name Ma Kuxuan had long been forgotten, had always been strange. When bullied, he never went to Granny Ma to complain, nor did he wail loudly or wag his tail and beg for pity. His expression remained calm, his eyes cold. That was why none of the children around Apricot Blossom Alley liked playing with the little fool. Ma Kuxuan had learned at an early age to amuse himself. He most enjoyed watching the clouds at the horizon from earthen slopes or rooftops.

Chen Ping'an had never bullied Ma Kuxuan, nor had he ever pitied this boy his own age. He had never considered that they were two fellow sufferers who ought to huddle together for warmth.

Because Chen Ping'an had always felt that Ma Kuxuan was not foolish at all. Deep down, he was very much like Song Jixin—perhaps even more so.

It was as though neither of them had spoken aloud, yet both had always been waiting, silently telling the world: Heaven owes me many things. Sooner or later, I will take them all back. If Heaven owed Song Jixin one copper coin, he might demand that Heaven obediently return one or two taels of silver. Ma Kuxuan might demand one or two taels of gold!

Chen Ping'an did not think there was anything wrong with that. He simply did not like it himself.

The boy no longer resembled the fool he once had been. His speech was clear as he asked with a smile, "You're Chen Ping'an from Mud Bottle Alley, right? You live next to Zhi Gui?"

Chen Ping'an nodded. "Do you need something?"

The boy smiled, pointed at Chen Ping'an's baskets, and reminded him, "Maybe you haven't noticed, but the creek has dropped a lot. The only places with good stones left are the deep pool beneath the Covered Bridge and the puddle at Green Ox's Back. Nowhere else will do. Like the ones in your basket—they can't hold onto that qi. Their stone quality will change quickly. The luckier ones might at most become excellent whetstones. Some can become scholars' inkstones. Of course, those are still good things and won't be hard to sell for a high price, but... never mind. Even if I explained it, you might not understand."

Chen Ping'an smiled and gave an acknowledging hum, saying nothing more.

The short boy suddenly asked, "Were you practicing fistwork in the creek just now?"

Chen Ping'an still did not speak.

Ma Kuxuan's eyes gleamed as he burst into laughter. "So you're not a fool either. Makes sense—we're about the same. We're the same kind of people."

Chen Ping'an walked around the boy and said, "I'll be going now," before carrying his baskets ashore.

The boy remained crouching in the distance. He spat out the chewed-up Foxtail Grass and shook his head, murmuring, "That Fist Stance is no good, and it has plenty of flaws. Practice it all you want, and you still won't make anything of it."

Without turning his head, Ma Kuxuan said, "Did you retrieve our Military Strategist token?"

A man behind him laughed. "Remember to call me Master first from now on."

The boy ignored him. After standing, he turned and asked, "Can I take a look at that little sword tomb?"

It was the Military Strategist Grandmaster with a sword on his back and a tiger tally hanging at his waist. He claimed to come from Zhenwu Mountain and had once declared that he would fight the Junior Uncle from the sect of the Golden Boy Jade Girl.

The man shook his head. "It's not time yet."

Then, somewhat annoyed, he said, "Why did you deliberately ruin that woman's state of Water Contemplation? Do you know that once you do something like that, you become life-and-death enemies for the rest of your lives?"

The boy looked utterly unconcerned. "The great Dao is arduous. If she cannot endure even this little hardship, how can she dare hope for that lofty, carefree immortality?"

The man was so angry he laughed. "You haven't even entered the gate, yet you dare spout such grand nonsense. Aren't you afraid of biting your tongue?!"

Finally, the boy grinned, revealing rows of white, chilling teeth. "If I encounter an opportunity to break through a realm on the path of cultivation in the future, I'll take the initiative to inform that woman. When the time comes, Master, you are not allowed to interfere. Let her do her utmost to ruin my good fortune."

The man said with feeling, "Do you know that opportunities in this world come in great and small, Good Fortune in thick and thin, innate bones in high and low? If you judge everyone by your own reasoning in all things, then someday you will meet someone with a bigger fist, deeper cultivation, and higher realm. When that person is in a bad mood, they may punch apart your Bridge of Longevity. What will you do then?"

The boy smiled. "Then I'll accept my fate!"

The man mocked himself. "From now on, I'll never reason with you again. It's like playing music to a cow."

The boy suddenly asked, "How did that fellow from Mud Bottle Alley know the wonders of the stones in the water? And why has he started practicing fistwork?"

The man's expression abruptly turned stern. "Ma Kuxuan! I do not care how arrogant and unruly your temperament is, but there is one point you must keep firmly in mind: we are orthodox Military Strategist sword cultivators! We cultivate one sword to break ten thousand methods, one sword to follow our true hearts, one sword to seek invincibility. But we must never slaughter innocents indiscriminately, never bully ordinary people, and never trip up Fellow Daoists on the sword path out of jealousy in the future!"

The boy stretched lazily. "Master, you're overthinking it. No matter how capable that fellow from Mud Bottle Alley becomes, as long as he doesn't provoke me, he has nothing to do with me. In the end, however great the achievements of these people in town may be, they will merely become stepping stones beneath my feet. Jealousy? I ought to thank them before it's too late."

The man said helplessly, "You really cannot be reasoned with. I suppose Zhenwu Mountain will not be peaceful in the future."

The boy asked curiously, "What rank are you in at Zhenwu Mountain?"

The man smiled. "Let's not discuss that. It hurts my pride."

The boy rolled his eyes. "Had I known, I would've waited longer before taking you as my master."

The man merely smiled it off.

There was something he had not made clear to his disciple: geniuses came in many kinds in this world, as did talent.

That straw-sandaled youth's seemingly plain Six-Step Stance had actually carried fist intent through his entire body.