Martial Path

"Are you scared?"

Zhong Lin stroked Shi Tou's little head and asked with concern.

"N-No... I'm not."

He forced his trembling legs and pale cheeks to hold steady. Though he was clearly terrified, his eyes remained fixed on the gruesomely dead Mountain-Suppressing Tiger.

Zhong Lin said nothing more. How could he not be afraid? Little Shi was only five or six years old, after all.

Lowering his head, he pulled the arrow from Mountain-Suppressing Tiger's eye socket, casually wiped it clean with the dirt on the ground, and slipped it into his quiver. Then he crouched and began searching the man's body.

Before long, he found a money pouch and a book wrapped in kraft paper on Mountain-Suppressing Tiger.

The pouch contained not Big Coins, but silver—quite a bit of it, a full eight taels. This unexpected windfall delighted Zhong Lin, but all his attention was fixed on the book, and his heart pounded wildly.

A book so carefully kept by a bandit... could it be a Martial Arts Manual?

Carefully opening the wrapping paper, he saw a yellowed, heavily creased book.

Every crease showed that Mountain-Suppressing Tiger must have taken it out and read through it often, yet it had been preserved exceptionally well, without any damage.

"Second Brother, is that a book?"

Little Shi was full of curiosity.

"Mm."

Zhong Lin gently turned open the pages, but his face immediately twisted in frustration.

It really was a Martial Arts Manual. The book contained little figures practicing fist techniques, yet he had also discovered something that gave him a terrible headache.

He could not read.

There were written annotations beside the little figures, but unfortunately, he could not recognize a single character.

I was a university graduate from a Project 211 school in my previous life, yet now I've become illiterate. Zhong Lin complained weakly.

His former self had merely been a rustic villager from a small mountain village. How could he ever have encountered writing? Without universal education, literacy was a monopolized privilege held only by certain classes. It was perfectly normal for him not to know how to read.

Though there were little figures drawn beside the text, Zhong Lin did not dare practice recklessly before understanding the meaning of those words. Had there not once been someone who turned the dignified Daoist martial art Nine Yin Divine Claw into the evil sect's Nine Yin White Bone Claw? He did not want to practice himself into being half-paralyzed.

Helplessly, he wrapped the book again and tucked it into his clothes, then hoisted Little Shi onto his back and quickly departed.

"If you do not mind, young brother, your younger brother may ride on this old man's ox cart."

After giving it some thought, Zhong Lin placed Little Shi on one of the ox carts. Even malnourished, the little fellow still weighed forty or fifty jin. Carrying him for too long was exhausting.

"This old man is named Cui Xian. May I ask young brother's honored name? Had young brother not helped us this time, my family would surely have ended up as corpses in the wilderness." Cui Xian cupped his hands as he asked.

"Zhong Lin. Greetings, Old Cui."

Cui Xian was over fifty, so calling him Old Cui was only proper.

"Zhong? There are not many people surnamed Zhong in Black Mountain, and most of them are in Small Ox Village, Upper River Village, and Summer River Village. Young Brother Zhong must come from one of those places. Who would have thought such a small wilderness village could raise a hand so skilled with the bow? Truly marvelous!" Cui Xian stroked his beard, full of admiration.

Zhong Lin looked at Cui Xian in surprise. "Old Cui, you truly are widely knowledgeable."

"Not at all. I have merely lived longer and know a few more things than others. A great drought fell from the heavens, forcing us to leave our homeland. Now we are nothing more than stray dogs without a home."

Cui Xian sighed, lamenting the many hardships of this world.

Zhong Lin did not wish to talk about anything else and asked directly, "Old Cui, I heard you mention martial artists earlier. Could you clear up some of this junior's confusion?"

"Haha, it seems young brother is quite curious about martial artists as well. I do not know much myself, but I can answer some of your questions." Cui Xian grew serious and continued, "A martial artist is one who cultivates the Martial Path. However, ordinary people who learn only a few farmhand techniques can at most be called martial men. Only those who enter the ranks may be called martial artists."

"What does it mean to enter the ranks?"

Zhong Lin looked intensely interested.

"I do not know the details either. I only know that when martial practitioners train to a certain point, they break past their limits and gain strength beyond ordinary people. This is commonly called entering the ranks. It is said that martial artists are divided into nine ranks. Ninth Rank martial artists are said to be in the Skin Grinding Realm, possessing several hundred jin of strength. More importantly, their bodies are like cowhide, as though they wear armor. Just like that Mountain-Suppressing Tiger—arrows could not pierce his skin, and blades left only pale marks. Shooting him with an arrow was like shooting cowhide; unless one struck a weak point, his defenses could not be broken at all." A trace of lingering fear flashed through Cui Xian's eyes.

Zhong Lin nodded to himself. That truly was terrifying.

In the ancient dynasties of Huaxia in his previous life, keeping swords and blades at home was no great issue. But possessing armor was practically the same as plotting rebellion.

If a person wore armor and carried a blade, even with only a little training, he could chase down dozens of people. And if one possessed several hundred armored soldiers, one could even influence the outcome of a battle involving tens of thousands.

Now, merely entering the ranks made a martial artist akin to someone clad in armor. This showed just how powerful a Ninth Rank martial artist was.

"Eighth Rank is called the Tendons Transformation Realm. At this realm, one's tendons and membranes are powerful in their extension and contraction, allowing for fierce bursts of strength and agile movements.

"Above that is Seventh Rank, the Bone Forging Realm. At this realm, one's bones are like refined steel, and one possesses boundless strength. It is said they can wield the force of a thousand jin, with no one able to withstand a single blow."

"What about above that?"

Zhong Lin's eyes shone, brimming with excitement.

Cui Xian shook his head with a bitter smile. "This old man is only a rustic villager. Even this much was told to me by my son, who works in the County Town. How could I know what comes after? But according to my son, Skin Grinding, Tendons Transformation, and Bone Forging are the Lower Three Ranks of the Martial Path, focused mainly on tempering the body. Above them are the Middle Three Ranks, where one begins to possess Qi and Blood Power within the body. As for what exactly that is, this old man does not know."

Zhong Lin could not hide his regret, but no matter what, he had confirmed that this world truly possessed transcendent power, and that it had already formed a system.

The Lower Three Ranks alone possessed such strength according to Cui Xian's description. Then what about the Middle Three Ranks? And the final First Rank?

Would they be even stronger?

Would they split steles and shatter rocks with their strength, tear tigers and leopards apart with their bare hands?

Or would they move mountains and overturn seas, pluck stars and seize the moon?

Zhong Lin's horizons limited his logic, but not his imagination.

"We're here."

Zhong Lin looked up. Before him stood a towering city gate, and beyond it, he could vaguely see gray brick walls and several tall buildings.

"Black Mountain County, at last."

The closer they came, the more clearly he could see the houses covering Black Mountain County, with roads paved in bluestone. Those houses were not mud-walled huts or thatched cottages, but buildings made of stone and wood. Though they could not be called ornate mansions with carved beams and painted rafters, they still carried an elegant, antique charm.

The village and the County Town formed a stark contrast, like two entirely different worlds, as far apart as heaven and earth.

Soldiers holding long spears stood guard at the city gate, while passersby and refugees streamed inside.

There was no obstruction for the refugees pouring in from outside. This showed that there truly was a way to survive within the city. Even selling oneself into slavery was better than starving to death.