Cultivation

Early the next morning.

Feng Xiu and Xiang Geng ate breakfast in the courtyard.

Following the recipe for the Bone Refining Claw, Xiang Geng went to a nearby town to purchase medicinal herbs.

Feng Xiu had brought quite a few supplies in his personal chest, but he was still missing a few key ingredients: red niter, iron-thread vine, and century-old vinegar.

After Xiang Geng left, Feng Xiu continued to ponder his concept for the Tyrant Fist.

He repeatedly attempted to manifest that "pause" force within his dantian.

Sometimes he succeeded, sometimes he failed; when he succeeded, that surge of blood-qi would rush to his shoulder, feeling as if someone had given him a shove.

When he failed, his chest would feel stifled and congested, as if he had been punched hard, leaving him unable to catch his breath for a long time.

He tried ten times, succeeding three.

Seven times he failed.

But overall, it was indeed much better than last night.

Pausing for a moment, Feng Xiu walked to the stone table and picked up a cup of coarse tea to drink.

At the same time, he pulled up his attribute panel.

[Vitality: 17]

[Spirit: 7]

[Strength: 12]

[Agility: 7]

[Technique Record: None]

[Synthesis: Not yet at the pinnacle (Unavailable)]

[Ultimate: Vajra Finger Blade]

The attributes remained the same as always. Feng Xiu smacked his lips, savoring the bitterness on his tongue; he had assumed that after practicing the Tyrant Fist, a corresponding martial art entry would appear.

Looking at it now, he had clearly overthought it.

The Tyrant Fist is merely a concept; to a certain extent, what I am doing is no different from creating my own martial art.

Moreover, the Tyrant Fist does not involve feedback from external conditioning; it is simply a method of digging deeper into the control of blood-qi.

Feng Xiu pondered for a while, then snapped back to reality, realizing his line of thought might be wrong.

In that case, does it mean not all martial arts can increase attributes?

Feng Xiu shook his head, closed the panel, and continued to explore the cultivation of the Tyrant Fist.

By the afternoon, Xiang Geng had returned with the medicinal herbs.

The two went to the bamboo forest.

Deep in the bamboo forest, Xiang Geng found a relatively open clearing and had someone build two stoves out of stones.

On one stove sat a large iron pot filled with black-red iron sand mixed with gravel, heating until it was scorching.

In the other earthenware pot, a medicinal decoction was bubbling away, and a rich, herbal fragrance began to permeate the air.

"Young Master, we can begin."

Feng Xiu walked to the iron pot and looked down at the boiling iron sand.

A wave of heat hit his face, scorching his cheeks.

He took a deep breath and slowly plunged his hands into the iron sand.

Hot.

The sharp edges of the iron sand pressed into his palms, the gravel scraped between his fingers, and the heat burrowed through his skin and into his bones.

Feng Xiu furrowed his brow slightly. After becoming a martial artist, his pain tolerance had greatly increased, and this level of agony was still within his capacity to endure.

Immediately, he began to churn his hands through the iron sand.

One, two, three times.

Xiang Geng watched from the side, his eyes filled with a hint of approval.

To be able to endure this on the first attempt was no small feat.

Fine beads of sweat seeped from Feng Xiu's forehead, but his hands did not stop moving.

The Bone Refining Claw was not a martial art that refined the hands themselves, but rather the bones and joints of the hands, forcing every inch of skin to endure the scorching heat before spreading into the marrow.

When a martial artist first begins training, they must soak their hands in the medicinal bath after every short interval of grinding.

With the foundation of the Vajra Finger Blade, Feng Xiu naturally managed to delay those intervals significantly.

He did not know how much time had passed when Xiang Geng spoke up, "That will do."

Feng Xiu pulled his hands out of the iron sand.

His hands were bright red, coated in black-red iron sand powder, and his fingertips were trembling slightly.

He walked over to the clay pot and submerged his hands into the medicinal liquid.

The warm liquid enveloped his hands, and the burning sensation slowly faded, replaced by a tingling, comfortable numbness.

Feng Xiu leaned against a bamboo pole, eyes closed, letting the medicinal power seep into his hands.

Xiang Geng stood to the side, his gaze falling inadvertently onto Feng Xiu's hands.

His eyes narrowed.

How had he not noticed before? Feng Xiu's five fingers were almost identical in thickness and length.

On a normal person, the middle finger is the longest, followed by the ring finger, with the little finger being the shortest.

But Feng Xiu's hand, with the five fingers spread out, was nearly uniform in length—and then there were the nails.

The color was much deeper than a normal person's; it wasn't a standard grayish-white, but rather a faint, dark cyan-black like ink jade.

Xiang Geng froze for a moment, then shifted his gaze away, saying nothing.

After a long while, Feng Xiu opened his eyes and pulled his hands from the medicinal broth.

The skin on his hands was ruddier than before, but the cyan-black nails had deepened in color.

He pulled up his panel and scanned it.

[Recorded: Bone Refining Claw (Not yet initiated)]

In the days that followed, Feng Xiu practiced with iron sand every morning, soaked in the medicinal broth every afternoon, and pondered the sudden-force of the Tyrant Fist morning and night.

Xiang Geng was not idle either.

When he returned from the Wild Market earlier, he had brought back a copy of the Wind Chasing Step.

"Young Master, take a look at this footwork manual," he said, handing the booklet to Feng Xiu. "It's a light-body technique; once mastered, you'll run faster than a horse."

Feng Xiu took the booklet and flipped through it for a while.

The concept of the Wind Chasing Step was simple: borrow the momentum of the wind and let the body move with it.

Practiced to the extreme, one would have wind beneath their feet, covering several yards in a single stride.

Feng Xiu handed the booklet back to Xiang Geng and asked directly about the key points of cultivation.

"What is the underlying principle?"

There was no point in having such a good teacher and not using him; in terms of teaching ability, Xiang Geng was far superior to Han Che.

Of course, their focuses differed—one was on combat, the other on techniques.

Xiang Geng thought for a moment. "To put it plainly, it's about how to coordinate the qi and blood in the soles of your feet with the counter-force from the ground."

"When you run, the moment your foot hits the ground, you use the counter-force to make yourself run faster and faster."

Feng Xiu looked thoughtful, feeling that the principle was similar to the joke about stepping on one's own left foot with the right.

But that was the wonder of martial arts—it could unearth such subtle nuances.

Feng Xiu pondered for a moment and asked, "What about when starting? What do you do when there is no counter-force?"

Xiang Geng smiled. "The Young Master has hit the nail on the head. Starting relies on explosive power, not borrowed force. You start with leg strength and run by borrowing force."

Feng Xiu nodded and asked again, "What about turning? If you turn while borrowing force, won't the rhythm be disrupted?"

"Turning is indeed prone to disruption, which is why the Wind Chasing Step includes a specific practice called the Folding Step, which is about changing direction while borrowing force."

Xiang Geng paused, then added, "However, this is not easy to practice. If you get the folding force wrong while turning, it's easy to sprain your ankle."

Feng Xiu had a sudden realization; Xiang Geng's words had indeed provided him with more inspiration.

"When you practice it, pay attention to lifting your qi upward. As long as you can manage to lift your qi and sink your waist, the rest will follow naturally."

Xiang Geng added that he had stayed up all night reading the Wind Chasing Step the very night he went to the Wild Market, so he was naturally clear on the key points.

"Yes, it is time to lift it up."

Unexpectedly, after hearing this, Feng Xiu nodded slightly and sighed softly.

The shift in the conversation was so abrupt that Xiang Geng was taken aback.

"I heard that Old Zhang from Clay Figure Street is about due for retirement."

Feng Xiu spoke again, his gaze shifting to Xiang Geng at the end of his sentence.

Even though there was no outward expression in his eyes, Xiang Geng felt a sense of scrutiny and pressure akin to that of the family head.

Immediately, his expression turned serious, and he bowed slightly. "Thank you for your cultivation, Young Master."

Feng Xiu ignored him and began practicing the Wind Chasing Step on his own.

He lifted his qi, channeled his strength to his waist, and felt a sudden lightness in his lower body. With a single stride, his entire frame shot forward like an arrow released from a bow.

Every step landed on the ball of his foot; in his practice, there was a sense of agility and grace.

Xiang Geng took a deep breath, slowly recovering from his earlier surprise.

He watched intently, and the more he saw, the more alarmed he became.

This Young Master not only had great talent but also a quick mind; many of the problems he had just thought of, Feng Xiu had already figured out for himself.

A person like this, able to grow to this point, certainly didn't rely solely on the family's resources.