Irritable Brother Li Qidao

After Wang Anfeng bid farewell to Jiang Shouyi, he felt as if 70% of his exhaustion had vanished, as if it were an illusion. Even the bruises on his fists didn't ache as much.

Upon returning home, he had just pushed open the main gate when he saw a massive bluestone placed in his courtyard. Sitting atop it was a familiar figure, burly and clad in worn-out clothes, holding a wine jar in his left hand, his white hair wild like a lion's mane. Wang Anfeng paused slightly and said:

"Uncle Li?"

Li Qidao looked up. When his gaze fell upon the chains on the young man's body, the anger he had been suppressing surged from his chest. After a moment, he finally spoke:

"Did your master put these chains on you?"

His voice was deep, with a hint of thunderous rage.

Wang Anfeng's mind and body were greatly depleted at the moment, and he didn't notice Uncle Li's anger. He merely smiled and said:

"Yeah, they're quite heavy."

As he spoke, he raised his hand and threw a punch. The chains clinked, and the bruises on his fist caught Li Qidao's eye. The old man's pupils grew deeper, like dark clouds pressing down on a city, layer upon layer. The force of thunder had yet to be unleashed, but it was already oppressive enough.

He knew this must be for Wang Anfeng's own good.

But seeing the child he had watched grow up so weary, with hidden injuries forced upon him, he knew how painful that was, having practiced martial arts himself. As people age, they become more affectionate towards the younger generation. He acknowledged diligent practice, but the current level couldn't even be described as diligent.

This was outright self-harm.

He himself had only adopted such a training method at sixteen, but the child before him was only thirteen.

At this moment, the pain and anger in his chest almost overwhelmed his reason. Looking at Wang Anfeng, he twitched the corner of his mouth, forcing a smile, and said:

"Where is your master... Uncle Li wants to have a word with him."

To have a good talk, in the way of martial artists.

Wang Anfeng blinked. He had asked Yuan Ci about this before, and the latter had replied that the Buddhist beads on his wrist could only allow him alone to enter Shaolin. His expression hesitated, and he said:

"Uncle Li, I can't... I can only go alone."

"If one more person comes, we can't go to Shaolin Temple."

The boy's words were somewhat nonsensical, but Li Qidao understood. The veins on the back of his hand bulged, but then he raised his head and laughed heartily:

"So he's a master capable of Sleeve Universe and World in Palm... Hahaha, good! Uncle Li is very happy!"

"Take this jar of wine and give it to him for Uncle Li!"

With a flick of his wrist, he threw the wine jar directly at Wang Anfeng. The boy instinctively reached out to catch it. His body felt a wave of numbness and itching, and he became even more tired, but the faint pain completely dissipated. Li Qidao had already turned and strode away, his retreating figure seeming somewhat exasperated.

The boy didn't understand the meaning behind it and just looked at the wine jar in his hand, sighing:

"Master... he doesn't drink... Giving it to Master would be too presumptuous."

"Never mind, I'll give it to Mr. Ying."

Because he was preoccupied with the enormous penalty, Wang Anfeng ate lunch and then entered Shaolin Temple. It was still the solitary peak, and still his master and Mr. Ying. The former saw that Wang Anfeng was in good condition and felt a slight sense of relief. The latter, a scholarly middle-aged man, was focused on the chessboard and casually placed a piece, saying indifferently:

"You're here? Since you're here, go cultivate..."

Upon hearing this, Wang Anfeng did not go down the mountain. Instead, he gently placed Uncle Li's wine jar beside Mr. Ying. The latter paused slightly. Although they could know what was happening in the outside world, they paid little attention to trivial matters, so they were unaware of Li Qidao's affairs. He frowned and asked:

"Is this for me?"

Wang Anfeng nodded and said, "Uncle Li asked me, a junior, to give it to you."

After putting down Uncle Li's item, Wang Anfeng turned, picked up the iron bucket beside him, and strode down the mountain. Hearing the clinking of the chains receding, Yuan Ci asked with a smile:

"Why not open it and see?"

Mr. Ying scoffed and said:

"This wine was meant for you. He knew you don't drink and didn't want to be presumptuous, so he gave it to me."

"When have I ever accepted something that someone else didn't want?"

With a wave of his sleeve, it rolled out like clouds and struck the wine jar. However, the coarse porcelain jar did not crack. A bolt of purple lightning flashed from it, shattering the sleeve of Mr. Ying's right arm!

RUMBLE!

Purple lightning surged, and in the blink of an eye, it shattered all the seals on the wine jar. Thunderous plasma flowed over the clear wine, inspiring awe. Suddenly, a dragon's roar erupted, and the wine rose into the form of a dragon, riding the wind and electricity, soaring into the sky. Clouds roared, accompanied by thunder and fierce winds. Even in this realm, it triggered a celestial phenomenon within a ten-mile radius, with thick black clouds rolling in.

The dragon's head emerged from the mist, baring its fangs, and let out a proud roar at the summit of the solitary peak. Purple lightning erupted, but the area near Wang Anfeng remained peaceful.

Mr. Ying's eyes widened slightly, and he slowly lowered his head, looking at his shattered sleeve. He said coldly:

"...What a temper. To imbue wine with thunder without damaging the jar in the slightest, what great skill!"

He then looked up at Yuan Ci and sneered:

"It seems someone is questioning whether you are qualified to be this boy's master..."

Yuan Ci shook his head and chuckled:

"There's no killing intent in this thunder. It sounds more like an old man complaining... It must be that the chains on Feng'er's body have displeased that Uncle Li, or rather... given the weight you gave him, it would be strange if there were no reaction at all."

Mr. Ying sneered upon hearing this:

"So, are you just going to let this slide?"

Yuan Ci shook his head and slowly stood up.

"Not suitable..."

"His actions also carry the intent of testing me. As Feng'er's master, I naturally cannot be impolite in return."

With one hand raised before his chest, the gray-robed monk lowered his gaze. Within his peaceful voice, the Buddhist Dharma Image appeared behind him, its Vajra's Wrathful Gaze fixed, standing upon Karmic Fire. It raised its hand and swept it forward. Amidst the grand Buddhist chants, the swirling clouds and thunder were scattered.

When Wang Anfeng left today, he was entrusted with a string of Buddhist beads and a scroll painting, with the instruction to deliver them to Li Qidao. Mr. Ying, with his stern expression, unusually spoke a few more words to him, requesting that he bring some books next time.

If that's not enough, then he should go to the county town, or the prefectural city. There should be librarians in these cities.

Watching Wang Anfeng disappear from sight, Yuan Ci turned to Mr. Ying and smiled, saying:

"I never imagined you would actively seek to understand Feng'er's world."

The middle-aged scholar did not reply. He merely lowered his gaze to his right hand. His sleeve had already recovered, and his palm was fair and slender, but it was still trembling uncontrollably, with faint purple lightning flickering beneath his skin. He slowly closed his five fingers, and a strange light appeared in the scholar's eyes. He said softly:

"Because this world seems to be very different from our own... You and I are trapped here, and can only understand this world through Wang Anfeng."

"I had intended for him to enter closed-door cultivation. It seems that in addition to arduous training, he should also be allowed to travel around the vicinity these years. I imagine that since it is the martial world, there will be no shortage of bandits and thieves. Even if the world is at peace, there will always be some martial arts schools and sects..."

He murmured in a low voice, a faint curve appearing at the corner of the scholar's lips, his expression growing ever more stern.

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