Half a Year

Only when Daoist Master Jixin mentioned it did Qin Sang learn that Old Wu was not yet forty.

Old Wu was from Jiaoming County in the north. He had once had two sons and a daughter, making his living from the land. Though poor, they had managed to get by.

Last year, disasters had struck one after another, and flames of war had risen across the northern counties. The rebel armies were no different from bandits, slaughtering innocents without restraint.

Old Wu's village had been looted by marauding soldiers. His wife and children had died miserably, and he had escaped with only his youngest daughter. Before long, she fell gravely ill as well. With no money for treatment, she died on the road.

A family of five had become Old Wu alone in the blink of an eye. Numb and muddleheaded, he followed fellow villagers in fleeing to Three Witches City, where he earned a living as a towman at the First Ferry, spending nights beneath household eaves or in doorways.

Seeing how pitiful he was, the old Daoist had taken him in and let him live on the mountain.

Who could have imagined that the situation in the north had rotted to such a state? No one knew when this vast kingdom would finally settle down.

Spring passed into autumn.

Every morning when he rose, he saw fallen leaves blown by the mountain wind all over the courtyard. Without realizing it, he had already come to this world exactly one year ago. Qin Sang wrapped his clothes tighter around himself and headed for Green Goat Hall to light the fire and brew medicine.

After lighting the fire, he encountered Old Wu while practicing his fists in the courtyard.

The two nodded to each other. Old Wu hunched his back and silently walked outside.

Watching Old Wu's stooped figure vanish beyond the Daoist temple, Qin Sang shook his head.

He truly had not expected Old Wu's frail-looking body to possess such strength. He had worked as a towman for over half a year without once saying he wanted to return to his hometown.

Over the past half year, Old Wu had left early and returned late, going out every day to pull towlines without resting for a single day. Sometimes, when Qin Sang rose late, he would not see him even once all day.

Seeing Old Wu like this, Qin Sang secretly felt ashamed, and worked even harder, rarely allowing himself to slack off.

Qin Sang had never seen Old Wu smile. On top of that, he was mute. When they met and Qin Sang greeted him, he would merely raise a hand in response, his face utterly expressionless.

Qin Sang did not know whether Old Wu had yet to recover from that terrible upheaval, whether his heart had already died and he had lost all interest in everything. He felt like nothing more than a walking corpse.

Though they lived under the same roof, Qin Sang did not find it particularly inconvenient, and gradually grew accustomed to it.

Over these six months, he had never stopped practicing fists, cultivating, or taking medicinal baths. After learning how effective the baths were, Qin Sang became extremely proactive. Every time the old Daoist went into the mountains to gather herbs, he followed along. He had traversed every one of the dozens of peaks around Huanghuang Mountain.

The mountains on both banks of the Wuling River were steep and treacherous, and wild beasts roamed in packs. Danger was inevitable whenever they ventured deep into the mountains to gather herbs.

The most perilous occasion had been when they encountered a pack of wild wolves.

It had been night. Qin Sang and the old Daoist were making a fire in a cave to cook when a pack of more than ten wild wolves was lured over by the firelight. By the time Qin Sang heard their howls and extinguished the bonfire, it was already too late. He had only an iron rod he had traded for from a stonemason.

The wolves surrounded the cave entrance tightly. The beast-repelling powder made from fierce-beast droppings that the old Daoist used could not frighten them away at all. If they wanted to live, they could only stake their lives on a fight.

Gripping the iron rod, Qin Sang guarded the cave entrance alone. One man held the pass against ten thousand, using the rod in place of his fists as he unleashed Tiger Subduing Long Fist.

He had expected a bitter battle, but Qin Sang fought with astonishing ease. Because the cave entrance was narrow, at most three wolves could squeeze in at once. Even facing three vicious wolves at a time, he handled them with effortless grace.

With a single iron rod, Qin Sang smashed the alpha wolf's head until its brains burst out. Then, swift as lightning, he killed several more in succession. The remaining wolves fled with their tails tucked between their legs.

After that battle, the old Daoist no longer needed Qin Sang to ask. Every time he went to gather herbs, he would drag Qin Sang along.

Only after that real fight did Qin Sang realize that his strength truly seemed far from weak.

Later, to confirm his feeling, he sparred with Yang Zhen's disciples at the Wuwei Escort Agency's mountain estate. Though he pretended to be outmatched every time, Qin Sang knew that he had actually used only half his strength.

Their fist techniques were far stronger than Tiger Subduing Long Fist. Their moves looked extraordinarily powerful, yet in Qin Sang's eyes, they appeared very slow. If he wished, he could easily find their openings and turn the tables on them.

With such martial skill, Qin Sang's thoughts inevitably became more active.

The rebellion in the north had now gone unresolved for so long that people in every county were raising banners in revolt, wave upon wave. Yet the county princes dealt with it halfheartedly, leaving the imperial army to race about until it was exhausted and sick of the whole affair.

In the middle of the year, the Sacred Emperor had issued an edict calling upon all benevolent and ambitious people under heaven to enlist in the north and suppress the rebellion. Should they render unparalleled merit, becoming kings and marquises would be within reach.

When the edict arrived, Three Witches City buzzed with excitement. Many men of aspiration headed north to answer the king's call, including three of Yang Zhen's disciples, who set out together hoping to win merit and build their careers.

Qin Sang was tempted as well, but glory and wealth were not what he valued.

Qin Sang had always kept Daoist Master Jixin's words in his heart. Even immortal masters could not cast aside the seven emotions and six desires; they too enjoyed glory and splendor. By getting close to kings, marquises, and nobles, perhaps he could come into contact with immortal masters.

However, Qin Sang had never experienced war, and fear stirred in his heart. The battlefield was merciless. If he were carelessly killed by a stray arrow, would that not be a terrible loss?

Moreover, there were countless capable people and extraordinary individuals in this world. Just how strong was his martial skill? How did it compare to martial arts masters possessing Inner Force? Could he truly rise above the crowd?

For that very reason, Qin Sang found it difficult to decide. In the end, he chose to remain at the Daoist temple and patiently cultivate the Netherworld Scripture, waiting until he broke through the first layer before making further plans.

Day after day, Qin Sang cultivated. The wisp of qi within him had grown from the thickness of a strand of hair into a small current flowing through his meridians. At last, he was on the verge of a breakthrough.

The medicine in today's vat had just been replaced. As Qin Sang neared his breakthrough, his need for medicinal power had increased. The previous vat had lasted only five days.

That night, Qin Sang patiently completed his evening lessons. When the night had grown still and silent, he shut the doors and windows tightly, sat cross-legged on his bed, and silently recited the Pure Serenity Scripture more than ten times before finally calming his heart. He sank into meditation and activated his cultivation method.

In the blink of an eye, five cycles had passed. As that current of qi circulated through his meridians, Qin Sang sensed in the depths of his being that after the next cycle, he would break through!

The Netherworld Scripture did not state whether there were other bottlenecks between the two layers of cultivation. Qin Sang nervously activated the technique. After one cycle, the qi returned to his dantian.

Qin Sang suddenly let out a muffled groan. The current of qi boiled within his dantian, and intense swelling pain spread from there through all the meridians in his body, followed immediately by tearing agony.

Fortunately, the pain came fiercely but departed quickly. After the excruciating agony came an overwhelming sense of comfort!

A great joy appeared on Qin Sang's face. Suddenly recalling the internal sight mentioned in the Netherworld Scripture, he instinctively "looked" toward his dantian. With a boom, enlightenment dawned on him, and he finally truly "saw" that current of qi.

Blue currents of qi coiled within his dantian, breathtakingly beautiful and intoxicating.

With a thought from Qin Sang, the qi moved according to his will. It entered his meridians and flowed like a rushing river, circulating through them. It was several times faster than before, and one cycle was quickly completed. The improvement was also far more obvious than it had been at the first layer.

He continued cultivating without pause. When he reached the tenth cycle, the pain he remembered did not appear. Qin Sang was overjoyed and temporarily stopped.