The Day of Cultivation

The next day, Wang Anfeng delivered the Buddhist beads Yuan Ci had given him and Mr. Ying's Scroll painting to Uncle Li.

Today had begun with clear skies and brilliant sunshine, yet a sound like a long sword cleaving the heavens suddenly shot into the sky. In that instant, everyone in Great Liang Village felt a chill run down their spines and their scalps prickle. But in the next moment, they were enveloped by an aura as warm and upright as sunlight, and the terror of that brief instant seemed nothing more than an illusion.

The melodious qin music beneath the great locust tree came to an abrupt halt.

Jiang Shouyi frowned slightly. Looking at the still-ordinary sky, he said softly,

"Dao exists in Heaven and Earth. Treading the right path, one goes forth without misfortune."

His voice reverberated into the distance. The world, frozen by that aura, gradually returned to normal. The sword qi that had soared into the heavens and blazed with open righteousness slowly faded away. Only the blue autumn sky remained as usual. The qin music began again, still quiet and serene, drawing birds to stop and listen.

Within the old residence at the village entrance, the Scroll painting had been unrolled across the table. It depicted mountains and rivers in sweeping ink, vast and magnificent. It should have been a tranquil landscape, yet a fierce, murderous aura permeated it. Beside it, the Buddhist beads hung lightly in the air, radiating waves of peaceful light.

Li Qidao looked at the Scroll painting, which had absorbed sword qi into its ink and poured forth the mountains and rivers in its artist's heart. His brows drew tighter. Then he looked at the Buddhist beads, warm as the morning sun and faintly purifying the body. After hesitating for a moment, he finally let out a long sigh.

"Enough, enough. Children and grandchildren have their own blessings... With the owner of these beads here, Feng'er shouldn't have any trouble with his body."

He quietly put away the Buddhist beads. The old man cast a sidelong glance at the imposing ink-wash landscape, faint anger visible within it, and grinned. With a casual shove, he tossed the Scroll painting—an item worthy of being called a treasure—straight into a nearby wine jar. Then he leaned back in his lounge chair, took a sip of muddy wine, narrowed his eyes in contentment, and said leisurely,

"It's just this painting... It's hideously ugly. It's an eyesore."

"The person who painted it must be tough as nails too..."

"Should be able to take a beating."

Remembering how the painter had been driven into a furious fit after being struck by his Gang Lei Jin, the old man's pent-up frustration vanished. He took another drink and chuckled.

After that day, Wang Anfeng plunged into extreme training. He did not know whether it was merely his imagination, but the chains on his body seemed to grow heavier and heavier. Yet while climbing the mountain, his endurance also seemed to improve slowly. Since he no longer completely lost consciousness as before, he simply assumed it was an illusion.

After his daily training, whenever he passed Jiang Shouyi's door, he would always be invited inside for a cup of clear tea and a piece of qin music, along with a few words of idle conversation. He often felt something stirring in his heart, yet could never quite understand it. He only found himself respecting the gentle and detached Mr. Jiang more and more. And Jiang Tianhong, who could relax for a moment whenever he visited, grew increasingly close to him as well.

On the eighth day after Wang Anfeng returned to Great Liang Village, Jiang Shouyi built a small schoolhouse there. He charged no tuition; anyone interested was welcome to attend. He explained the written word and its meaning, and in his spare time discussed quiet, simple principles. Within a few days, the villagers held this learned teacher in the utmost respect. His standing even faintly surpassed that of the village elders.

Thus, every day when lessons ended, someone would bring local produce from home to give to Jiang Shouyi's family.

Jiang Shouyi, dressed in a loose robe with a broad sash, set down the book in his hands and glanced at the villagers who had long been waiting beneath the locust tree. He said softly,

"That is all for today. When you return home, review it each on your own."

"Thank you, Teacher."

Seven or eight young children rose unevenly, clasped their fists, and bowed respectfully to Jiang Shouyi. He likewise set down his book and stood to watch them leave.

He gently declined the enthusiastic villagers' offers to give them vegetables and chickens. Only after watching their figures disappear into the street did Jiang Shouyi turn and enter the house, taking his seat before the desk.

The graceful woman poured him a cup of tea and said softly,

"We have already stayed here for more than a month."

Jiang Shouyi knew what she was implying. He nodded slightly.

"Indeed... If we stay another two months, we will have to leave."

"Using the qin's resonance to awaken their spiritual understanding, the introductory technique of our Confucianism is enough to let them take the first step... What comes afterward will depend on their own choices. Only those who can flap their own wings may soar straight into the Nine Heavens."

"It's just... I've made things difficult for you and Tianhong."

Jiang Shouyi sighed softly. A trace of apology appeared in his gaze as he looked at the woman. She pressed her lips together in a smile, looking at him with a hint of coquettish charm.

"What is it? Have you regretted it? Back then, you said it yourself. Though the people of the world may be stubborn and foolish, with one fewer person lost in ignorance, there can be one more person of wisdom. Even if this body is small and insignificant, I would never abandon it in this life..."

Jiang Shouyi was slightly stunned. Looking at the woman before him, he suddenly remembered the young scholar who had berated the powerful in the great hall all those years ago, his bearing wild and unrestrained. In the blink of an eye, more than twenty years had passed, yet he had never forgotten those words. He smiled.

"One must not yield to one's teacher, much less to a king..."

The graceful woman curved her lips in a smile.

"That is the Shouyi of those days..."

Jiang Shouyi laughed helplessly, but the woman changed the subject and asked,

"In the past month, I have observed that everyone in Great Liang Village has ordinary aptitude. But what do you think of Wang Anfeng?"

Thinking of that familiar youth, Jiang Shouyi smiled.

"In Great Liang Village, Anfeng is like an awl hidden in a sack. One day, he will surely thrust out and distinguish himself..."

"Such an uncarved jade is a pity. He already has a teacher; otherwise, if he cultivated the arts of our Confucianism, he would become a Great Scholar of his generation forty years from now, teaching and transforming the world. If he entered Taoism, then in thirty years he would become a True Man of Taoism, take up the True Martial Sword once more, and sweep away every demon."

The woman looked slightly stunned.

"You truly think that highly of him?"

Jiang Shouyi nodded and sighed.

"Given his temperament, if he does not die young, he will enter the ranks of the Grandmaster one day."

"To look upon all living beings beneath Heaven as equals, and the ten thousand zhang of mortal dust..."

"What a pity..."

On Great Liang Mountain, Wang Anfeng had swallowed the last Qi Gathering Pill. With a clear shout, he drove his right fist straight forward. His fist wind sank into the mountain, and the chains rang out. It looked ordinary, but observing the changes in his force, one could see that it had already calmed the dryness from before, truly like the Yangtze and Yellow Rivers—vast and heavy.

His fist slammed into the center of the old tree's trunk. With a muffled boom, the ancient tree slowly toppled over with tremendous force, sending dust and waves of air flying everywhere. Wang Anfeng rose, exhaled lightly, and frowned at his right fist.

"Mr. Jiang said that the ordinary and the original are one. This force is released by me, so why can I still not control it? Why can I not reach that state of perfect appropriateness..."

"Every time I throw a punch, some Internal force rebounds."

"If every bit of strength were directed toward a single point, it should be stronger."

As he pondered with furrowed brows, heavy footsteps suddenly sounded from the forest behind him. The youth assumed another woodcutter had returned from chopping trees and turned around to greet him. But then a vicious gale rushed into his face. His heart stopped. He abruptly rolled backward, and the fierce wind swept past his body.

Boom-crack!

The old tree beside him exploded with a thunderous roar. The thick trunk, which would have taken Wang Anfeng's fist an hour or two to break, had been torn open in an instant by four enormous gashes. Their edges were razor-sharp, making the youth's pupils contract. At that moment, a giant beast slowly stepped out before him, its eyes locked onto the youth as viscous drool dripped from its fangs.

"Roar, roar, roar!!"

The deep growl rang through the forest, startling a mountainside of birds into flight.