Distributing Grain

Feng Xiu had no time to wipe away his sweat. He stared down at his hands in shock.

His hands had grown rougher and heavier than before, as if a thick layer of calluses had formed over them. The most astonishing change was in his fingers!

Aside from his thumb, the other four fingers had all become the same length and thickness!

He could feel that his grip, the strength of the muscles in his hands, and his dexterity had all increased several times over!

And at the tips of his ten fingers, sharp protrusions slowly began to grow from beneath his nails.

It was as if his nails had been sheathed in black crystal jade. They gleamed darkly, with a slight curve and keen, glinting edges!

"This...!"

Feng Xiu was completely stunned. He could still feel his strength, his skill, and his qi and blood.

But the change in his hands, heavy yet razor-sharp, left him speechless for a long while.

"Finger blades. Finger blades. The Five Force Fist is a higher-level martial art. It focuses on the ultimate integration of the body's strength, combining the five forces into one and channeling them through the hands."

"The stance training and the Eight Sections Vajra Skill can both be considered lower-level martial arts of the Five Force Fist, used to build a foundation and cultivate the method."

Feng Xiu reached out and pinched the nail on his index finger, offering the most plausible explanation based on the underlying principles.

But as he absently touched it, trying to explore the lethal wonders of the finger blades, he heard a snap.

His index fingernail popped right off its nail bed, and Feng Xiu was dumbstruck.

"No, ah—"

"Wait!" Feng Xiu's expression turned grave. He immediately circulated the Internal Breath Method.

At once, a spontaneous sense of connection between his qi and blood seemed to link with his consciousness.

Then Feng Xiu put the nail back in place. Feeling it lock firmly, he dragged it hard across a crossbeam inside the carriage.

A clear groove appeared!

"These aren't nails. They're a physical transformation of qi and blood!"

"It can do that too!?" Feng Xiu pondered to himself.

A thought seemed to cross his astonished face: the finger blades embodied the primal martial principle of striking first.

"Then... can I shoot my nails out like hidden weapons?"

Along the way, Feng Xiu kept exploring how the Vajra Finger Blade could improve his fighting ability.

New ideas kept surfacing in his mind. After a series of experiments, he found that it worked!

Not just a little—it worked remarkably well!

First came the question of hardness. The nails that had detached from their nail beds were astonishingly hard!

Feng Xiu tested them by biting one. He nearly cracked a back tooth.

Next came the question of keeping them attached. As long as he maintained the connection between the nail bed and the nail, Feng Xiu had to expend some qi and blood to keep it from falling off.

And through repeated experiments, he gradually discovered the trick to circulating qi and blood through the Vajra Finger Blade. Then he realized he could control the growth of his nails!

They could grow to about the length of three index fingernails stacked together, and were thicker, with a sturdier connection to the nail bed!

"So the Vajra Finger Blade has suddenly given me both tremendous close-combat ability and ranged capability?"

Ideas raced through Feng Xiu's mind, but two problems still stood before him.

"How quickly do the nails grow back? I'll have to test that carefully. And how exactly do I shoot them out?"

Feng Xiu thought it over. He recalled the ultimate method of exerting force in the Five Force Fist: combining all five forces into one. Then he gave it a try.

"No good. The nail is made of qi and blood, but in the end, there's no 'primer' to strike it."

He tried using the qi-and-blood circulation pattern of the Vajra Finger Blade, but that still didn't work.

Feng Xiu shook his head. He realized he'd been getting ahead of himself.

"Maybe I should try again once I advance to Blood Burning and can condense my blood and gather my force. Since that won't work for now, I'll settle for the next best thing: using wrist strength to flick them out!"

By his reckoning, the nails—or Nail Bullets, as he might call them—

should be able to shoot out with just a casual lift of the hand.

In other words, they'd need no wind-up. Before he'd learned more techniques for exerting qi and force, aiming straight for the ultimate goal really was a bit unrealistic.

Feng Xiu thought of the glass marbles he'd played with as a child. Perhaps he could get the same effect by flicking them like marbles.

Then he lifted the carriage curtain again.

He gazed at the bustling crowd outside the window, but the urge to try it faded.

"Have I underestimated the Five Force Fist, or the Eight Sections Vajra Skill?"

"The Ultimate Martial Path is the power born from cultivating three martial arts to their utmost. By chance, all three share the same roots."

"I need to find a good martial art as soon as possible."

Feng Xiu's thoughts flowed in orderly fashion. After carefully taking stock, he pondered the matter in silence.

By then, the carriage had left the inner city and passed through the main thoroughfare at its center. A gray-white wall separated the inner and outer cities.

The wheels rolled over the bluestone road. The houses in the outer city looked more dilapidated, and the view held far fewer carved balustrades and painted beams, as well as fewer buildings in an old-fashioned style.

Beside the shops along the street, there were also many refugees, ragged and gaunt, their faces sallow and their bodies thin.

Someone gazed longingly into a restaurant as a waiter skillfully cleared scraps and leftover food from a table. They couldn't help swallowing.

"Mother, how much longer do we have to stand here?"

Farther ahead, more than a dozen refugees had gathered of their own accord in front of an abandoned earthen house, forming a market that resembled a slave auction.

Now and then, well-fed men with shrewd faces sifted through the crowd.

Their haughty questions about the price were met with hesitant, stammering answers.

Feng Xiu's brows furrowed slightly. He recognized that man.

The style of his clothes made it obvious: he was from the Fan Family's broker's office.

"Mother, why do I have to wear a piece of grass on my head?"

A gaunt woman stood with tears and dust caked into a deathly white mask on her face. Many of the other refugees beside her had already signed contracts selling themselves into servitude.

The woman opened her mouth, then looked at the frail girl, whose expression was innocent and who seemed never to have complained of hunger.

Unable to bear it any longer, she lowered her head and began to cry. A little while later, she still lifted her gaze toward the broker who was about to leave.

"Sir, please take a look at me..." The woman steeled herself and pushed the girl forward.

But as soon as the words left her mouth, an aged voice interrupted her. "Wait a little longer."

At the same time, a withered, wrinkled arm gently redirected the force of the woman's push, guiding the wide-eyed, bewildered girl toward the street.

"Your destined connection has arrived," the voice continued in her ear.

The woman froze, only to see that the carriage had stopped.

"Eldest Young Master, someone's blocking the road."

On the carriage's front seat, the young driver paused with the whip raised. He pulled on the reins with one hand and asked in a low voice,

"Eldest Young Master, should we keep going?"

"Stop the carriage."

Feng Xiu opened the rear door and stepped down. His oxhide boots landed on the ground as he calmly surveyed the surroundings.

The refugees who had not yet been sold—men and women, old and young—looked at him with fear and tried to avoid his gaze.

They didn't know why the carriage, which usually sped past as if eager to avoid them, had stopped.

Nor why a young master dressed in an ornate brocade robe, clearly from a wealthy family, had stepped out.

"Go. Notify Uncle Zheng right now, and have him bring over every manager from the family's grain shops.

"Count the refugees in the city. Starting tomorrow, set up porridge kitchens every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Tell them it's my order."

The young driver answered at once, "I'll go right away."

Then he turned the carriage around and drove toward Feng Mansion in the inner city.

After the driver left, Feng Xiu let out a soft sigh. If these had been people from his own estate, he could have comforted them or made some excuse.

But faced with people on the verge of starving to death, people selling their sons and daughters, he could only do what little he could to help.

In the end, one could be generous and bold in the martial world, but never petty.

Since he'd come across them, he might as well lend a hand.