Carrying the bundle of medicinal ingredients, Xiang Yang hurried all the way and barely reached the residential quarter where his home lay before nightfall. At the alley entrance, he chopped off two jin of pork belly from the butcher's stall, then filled the wine gourd hanging at his waist at a nearby liquor stand before finally returning to his small courtyard.
Entering the kitchen, Xiang Yang set down what he was carrying, picked up the fire striker by the wall and blew it alight, then lit the oil lamp before the stove. By its dim yellow glow, he examined the surroundings before him.
It was just as he remembered: a stove built against the western wall, with a large iron pot atop it. Behind it was the heated brick bed in his room. In the depths of winter, a few thick burning logs added to the stove would keep him warm all day.
A square cupboard stood against the northern side, crudely made from rough wood. Its original red paint had already faded pale, and the bottom had grown somewhat damp. Xiang Yang opened it. The first shelf held more than a dozen bowls and pairs of chopsticks; the second held a small iron pot, with a chain for hanging things beside it.
At the very bottom sat a ceramic earthen jar. Having gone unused for a long time, it was coated in dust. It was used by Xiang Yang's family for brewing medicine, and at this moment, it was also the treasure Xiang Yang needed most.
"The Iron Crotch Technique sounds simple enough. Its external practice is nothing special; anyone can cultivate it. But the most important and essential part lies in drinking the medicinal decoction. Only by borrowing the medicine's power and supplementing it with external practice can one strengthen yang and secure essence, thereby achieving success."
Generally speaking, medicinal decoctions used for martial arts training were prepared by the master teaching the martial art, or by experienced specialists. That way, the medicinal power in the brew could be locked in to the greatest extent possible instead of being allowed to dissipate, making cultivation twice as effective with half the effort.
But Xiang Yang had neither a master nor any acquaintance skilled in brewing and refining medicine, so he could only do it himself. Even so, the effect would not be greatly affected. When the Wordless Book had passed the Iron Crotch Technique to Xiang Yang, it had also provided detailed explanations and instructions. Even as a novice, Xiang Yang was seventy percent confident.
He took out the earthen jar and washed it clean with fresh water in the courtyard. Then he carried out a pile of firewood from the kitchen's eastern wall. Once he felt it was enough, he ladled in water until the jar was eight-tenths full, then lit a fire in the yard. The blazing wood illuminated the pitch-black little courtyard.
Xiang Yang hung the medicine-brewing jar from a rack over the burning pile of firewood. Only then did he take out the measured medicinal ingredients from the kitchen and spread them out one by one, distinguishing them according to the Iron Crotch Technique's descriptions in his memory.
"Not bad. That young clerk was fairly honest, especially with these seven qian of He Shou Wu. They look truly excellent."
The flames reflected in Xiang Yang's eyes, and he was greatly satisfied. The other medicinal ingredients were ordinary things for replenishing qi and strengthening yang, herbs even barefoot village doctors could gather in the mountains. But He Shou Wu was different. It was a rare medicinal herb, the finishing touch that made this prescription come alive like a dragon.
He Shou Wu was also known as multiflower knotweed, purple black vine, night-entwining vine, and other names. Its tuberous root could calm the mind, nourish the blood, unblock the channels, and remove toxins. Prepared He Shou Wu could replenish essence and blood, darken the hair, and strengthen the tendons and bones.
Those seven qian of He Shou Wu were not to be underestimated. They were enough for Xiang Yang to brew seven batches, sufficient for a month of cultivation. After a month of training, his strength would undoubtedly increase by no small amount.
Time gradually passed. Xiang Yang stayed beside the medicine jar, carefully watching the heat below. When the fire burned too fiercely, he tamped it down; when it grew too weak, he blew it stronger. Once the water boiled, he added the medicinal ingredients in the sequence recorded by the technique, not daring to relax for even a moment or be careless in the slightest.
After half an hour had passed, a large portion of every ingredient except the He Shou Wu remained on the yellow paper beside Xiang Yang for the next brewing. Meanwhile, a rich medicinal aroma had already begun spilling from the jar before him.
Xiang Yang took a look and felt it was about right. He covered the mouth of the jar with gauze he had prepared beforehand, then poured the brewed medicine into several large bowls. As for the dregs left behind, he threw them all away except for the He Shou Wu.
But this was only the beginning. A medicinal decoction was a medicinal decoction—what he had obtained now was merely medicine. Only after Xiang Yang cleaned the jar, poured the medicinal liquid back into it, added the sliced pork and the prepared white liquor, and slowly simmered it over low heat did it truly become a medicinal decoction.
Sitting on a small wooden stool, watching the stars fill the sky and smelling the fragrance gradually wafting from the medicine jar beside him, Xiang Yang felt utterly peaceful. His mind emptied, and he felt that although his current life had no games or anime, it was far more real.
It was not until the medicine jar beside him began to bubble and gurgle that Xiang Yang came back to himself. He poured himself a brimming large bowl of medicinal decoction, then poured all the rest into a large bamboo tube.
After tidying the courtyard, Xiang Yang returned to the yard and tasted the medicinal decoction. He smacked his lips afterward. There was no salt, no MSG, no thirteen-spice seasoning, no scallions or garlic. It tasted terrible. But this was for martial arts training. Even if it were a bowl of piss, he would have to hold his nose and drink it—so he really did hold his nose and drink it down.
The medicinal decoction slid down his throat like a stream of fire rushing through his body, entering his stomach through his gullet. Then warmth spread throughout his entire body, as though he were standing beneath the scorching sun and being baked alive.
"When my body feels like it is being roasted by fire and my mind turns restless as a monkey and wild as a horse, that will be the critical moment to pinch the hidden acupoints externally and stimulate the body. I can't stay in the yard. Back inside."
Feeling the changes within his body, Xiang Yang's face lit up with delight. It was not that he feared having no reaction—he feared the reaction would not be strong enough. His current state was wonderfully strange. A single bowl of medicinal decoction had produced such immediate results, leaving this shut-in from Earth thrilled beyond measure.
Returning to his room, he lit the oil lamp. Without even taking off his shoes, Xiang Yang leaped onto the heated brick bed, casually pulled open the neatly folded bedding at one side, and covered himself with it. Beneath it, however, Xiang Yang had stripped himself completely bare. This was probably the one embarrassing part of cultivating the Iron Crotch Technique.
When he thought of those who needed a master standing beside them to guide their Iron Crotch Technique training, Xiang Yang's teeth ached just imagining it. The limitations of the Iron Crotch Technique meant its practitioners could only be men. A full-grown man standing proud as a pillar before another Old Man with a face full of wrinkles, both of them wearing stern expressions as though facing a great enemy—tsk, tsk.
In truth, Xiang Yang was already beginning to feel restless and distracted. His originally fair skin had turned fiery red and scorching hot, as though he were being roasted over flames, leaving him deeply uncomfortable.
"It's time." Xiang Yang's expression turned solemn. All his chaotic thoughts vanished at once. He threw aside the quilt covering him, pinched with the index and middle fingers of his right hand, and began kneading and patting the spot beneath him. His left hand pressed one inch below his navel and rotated, while his entire body curled like a coiled dragon and bent like a dog, completely relaxing.
Within his mind, Xiang Yang followed the Iron Crotch Technique's visualization method and formed a blazing furnace in his heart. It sounded mysterious, but in truth, it was simply a method of shifting his attention.
The medicinal power of the decoction, combined with Xiang Yang's current movements, could drive any normal man out of his mind. He would be so crazed that he could pounce on even a sow. If he did not shift his attention, Xiang Yang figured that by tomorrow, he would go from constable to a lecherous thief everyone wanted to beat to death.
As time passed, Xiang Yang's body gradually returned from its initial fiery redness to normal. Beads of sweat dotted his skin, and in the night, faint wisps of heat even rose from him. Though he wore not a stitch, he did not feel cold in the least.
And Xiang Yang, who had been wholly focused on visualizing the furnace, unknowingly entered a wondrous state as well. In his perception, his entire body—his head and limbs alike—had disappeared. Only the spot three cun beneath his lower abdomen remained, standing like an iron pillar, with clusters of heat gathering there and surging outward ever more fiercely.
This was the sign of growing essence and qi, of abundant primordial yang. From this day onward, Xiang Yang had truly opened the gates of martial arts.
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