The Ignorance of Meat-Eaters

The Library Building before dawn.

Chen Ping stood in the sheltered corner of the courtyard, knees slightly bent, hands held loosely in a circle. His entire body seemed to become an old pine, stubbornly standing tall against the cold wind.

As he slowly exhaled the last breath of turbid air, he felt a faint warm current spread from his spine into his limbs.

Before his eyes, that familiar line of pale blue text quietly appeared:

[Longevity of Pine and Crane Proficiency +1]

Chen Ping slowly withdrew his stance. He did not move right away, instead carefully sensing the changes in his body.

After standing in the stance all night, that thing known as Qi Sense was still elusive, but he could clearly feel that his control over his muscles had improved by a fraction.

He picked up the broom leaning against the wall and began sweeping the fallen leaves.

This time, he did not make broad, sweeping motions as usual.

With a light flick of his wrist, the broom bristles glided close to the ground, its force contained without being released.

The dead leaves obediently gathered into a pile, yet not a speck of dust beneath them rose into the air.

"So this is control."

A faint smile had just appeared on Chen Ping's lips when his stomach let out an ill-timed, thunderous growl.

Immediately afterward, a fierce hunger hit him. His vision went dark, and he nearly lost his grip on the broom.

Chen Ping gave a bitter smile and fished the remaining half of a coarse black-flour bun from his clothes, swallowing it in a few bites.

But once the dry, hard dough reached his stomach, it brought no relief.

"This is the dead knot of poor scholars and rich warriors."

Chen Ping rubbed his cramping stomach, helplessness showing in his eyes.

Martial arts training was a process of squeezing out the body's potential. Without enough refined meat and vital blood to replenish it, the harder one trained, the faster one's body would be drained dry.

By morning, sandalwood incense curled through the Library Building. The floor heating burned fiercely, filling the place with warmth.

Lin Yici, the Lin Family's Third Young Master, lay sprawled over a large rosewood desk, copying the Book of Rites in a listless manner.

His face was pale as paper, heavy dark circles hung beneath his eyes, and even the hand holding his brush trembled slightly. Those were the aftereffects of having overindulged himself at the Pleasure House the night before.

"Why are these characters getting more and more crooked...?"

Irritably, Lin Yici tossed aside his brush, splattering ink across the rice paper.

Chen Ping stood beside him, silently picking up the ink stick and slowly grinding it against the inkstone.

The ink was thick and black as oil, giving off a faint pine fragrance.

He glanced at the Third Young Master from the corner of his eye. His heart was utterly unmoved; he even wanted to laugh.

This young master, born with a golden spoon in his mouth, wore fine clothes and ate rich food at every meal, treating ginseng and bird's nest as common fare, yet had ruined a fine body into such a state.

That unsteady gait and clouded gaze were plainly signs of severely depleted kidney qi.

"You little bookboy, why are you grinding ink so sluggishly? Didn't you eat?"

Lin Yici vented his frustration on Chen Ping, scolding him with a sidelong glare.

"You are right to reprimand me, Young Master. I shall be quicker at once."

Chen Ping kept his head lowered obediently, but the movements of his hands remained steady and even.

He silently mocked him in his heart:

I haven't eaten my fill, but you're probably so depleted that even supplements won't agree with you.

You are a rich young master, while I am a lowly ant at the bottom.

But you seek fleeting pleasure, draining away your life. I seek longevity, building a foundation.

Even if I have to swallow chaff and eat vegetables now, as long as I live longer than you, I win.

During the midday break, Chen Ping hid in a corner behind the Rockery and took stock of his possessions.

Yesterday, in order to seek the method, he had spent most of his two taels of silver. Now, only a few dozen copper coins remained in his pocket.

"Training like this, I need at least half a catty of meat every day to sustain the expenditure. Otherwise, before I cultivate the Pine and Crane Everlasting Body, I'll turn myself into a dried corpse first."

Chen Ping counted on his fingers. At most, the money he had left could last him half a month.

Increasing income and cutting expenses were urgent matters.

He lifted his head and looked at the plump koi in Lin Manor's rear garden, then at the sparrows hopping among the treetops. A green gleam rose in his eyes.

But he quickly abandoned that thought.

The rules at Lin Manor were strict. Every blade of grass and tree in this garden had someone specifically assigned to watch over it.

The last time, a newly arrived servant had secretly caught and roasted a turtledove to eat. When the Steward discovered it, he had one of the man's legs broken and had him thrown out.

In this manor of rigid hierarchy, even stray cats were fed by maids at set times. Trying to exploit a loophole for wild game here was nothing but a fool's dream.

"One copper coin can stump a hero. The ancients truly did not deceive us."

Chen Ping sighed and carefully put away his copper coins.

At dusk, the afterglow of the setting sun dyed the rear alley of Lin Manor orange-red.

This was where the kitchen dumped its swill. The air was thick with the smell of sour slop, grease, and the lingering fragrance of food.

"Up!"

Chen Ping gave a low shout, helping Yun Niang lift a heavy bucket of swill and pour it into a large wooden vat in the rear alley.

Yun Niang stood beside him and wiped the fine sweat from her brow with her sleeve. Looking at Chen Ping's face, lit by the sunset yet still deathly pale, her eyes filled with concern.

"Brother Ping, haven't you slept well these past few days? Why is your complexion so poor?"

Chen Ping set down the bucket, shook out his somewhat sore arms, and smiled. "It's nothing. I've just been reading later than usual recently."

Yun Niang said nothing. She merely looked around in all directions, making sure no one else was nearby. Only then did she mysteriously take a coarse pottery jar from the basket behind her and swiftly stuff it into Chen Ping's hands.

"Take it. Hide it quickly."

The pottery jar was warm and heavy in his hands.

"This is..." Chen Ping froze.

"The master's household stewed old hen soup today. The meat was all fished out, and the broth was originally going to be thrown away."

Yun Niang lowered her voice, a hint of pleased secrecy in her tone. "I saved it especially for you. There's no meat inside, but it's rich with grease, and there are bits of marrow too. It's excellent for nourishing the body."

Chen Ping lifted a corner of the lid, and the rich, mellow aroma of chicken soup rushed into his nostrils.

Inside the pottery jar, a layer of golden chicken fat half a finger thick floated atop milky-white broth. He could vaguely see bone fragments and shreds of meat settled at the bottom.

To Chen Ping now, this was more precious than any spiritual pill or wondrous medicine.

"Sister Yun..."

Chen Ping's throat moved. He wanted to say something in thanks, but his throat felt clogged.

In this world where people devoured one another, this jar of "scraps" in others' eyes was a piece of genuine kindness Yun Niang had saved for him at the risk of punishment.

"Take it back and drink it while it's hot. Don't let anyone see."

Yun Niang gave him a gentle push and said softly, "If there's heavy or tiring work in the future, don't force yourself to endure it. Your body matters."

Chen Ping nodded heavily, clutching the pottery jar tight against his chest and concealing it beneath his broad sleeve.

He secretly swore in his heart: If I ever attain the Dao on this road to immortality, I will protect this woman for the rest of her life.

Late at night, in the servants' quarters.

The two young servants sharing the room were already snoring like thunder.

Chen Ping quietly dragged the pottery jar out from beneath his bed.

The soup had cooled somewhat, and the chicken fat on the surface had congealed into a golden layer of paste.

Chen Ping did not heat it. He simply lifted the jar and gulped it down mouthful after mouthful.

The supreme satisfaction brought by the fat in the chicken soup made every pore on his body open up. His stomach, which had been cramping from hunger, was finally soothed.

"Refreshing!"

Chen Ping wiped the grease from the corner of his mouth, then immediately sat cross-legged on the bed and assumed the seated form of the Pine and Crane Stance.

As he breathed in and out, the warm current in his abdomen became thicker and stronger than it had ever been before.

The Qi Sense that had once been as thin as a wandering thread now seemed to have become a slender little snake, happily moving through his Meridians.

That night, his cultivation went exceptionally smoothly.

[Longevity of Pine and Crane Proficiency +1]

[Longevity of Pine and Crane Proficiency +1]

Chen Ping opened his eyes, a sharp gleam flashing through them before vanishing.

Sure enough, poor scholars and rich warriors was an eternal truth.

Relying on bitter training alone meant twice the effort for half the result; piling up resources meant half the effort for twice the result.

"Make money. Get food."

Chen Ping clenched his fist, feeling the abundant strength within his body as he set his core objective for this stage.

As long as he had enough rich food and grease, the progress of this Longevity of Pine and Crane could double.

Then, forget merely strengthening his body—even the Pine and Crane Everlasting Body, said to exist only in legend, might not be impossible to cultivate.

After finishing his training, Chen Ping lay on the bed, but sleep would not come.

Though Longevity of Pine and Crane was not focused on slaughter and battle, its enhancement of the five senses was undeniable.

In the deep stillness of the night, his hearing had become extraordinarily sharp. He could even hear fallen leaves striking the ground beyond the window.

Suddenly, a burst of intermittent sobbing entered his ears.

The sound came from next door.

Instructor Wang Meng, the manor's guard instructor, lived next door.

Chen Ping's brows drew together slightly as he held his breath and concentrated.

"...Instructor Wang, please... spare me... I really have no money left..."

It was a young woman's voice, filled with extreme fear and pleading.

Then came Wang Meng's distinctive heavy breathing, accompanied by the sound of cloth tearing and a sinisterly threatening tone:

"No money? Heh heh, then use something else to pay! You know that in a few days, the manor will select the steward for the outer courtyard. Whether your dead father can keep that cushy post depends on a single word from me..."

Chen Ping's heart sank.

He recognized that voice. It belonged to Cui'er, the little maid responsible for the laundry room.

He turned over, facing away from the wall, and pulled the blanket over his head.

In this manor, those who knew too much often died the fastest.