Divine? Demonic? Divine and Demonic?!

After dinner, a brief period of free time was followed by evening self-study.

Zhao Cheng did not waste his free time; he stayed in the classroom and spent a while reading miscellaneous books borrowed from the school library.

The content of the books was related to kendo, recounting tales of sword-wielding heroes, some seemingly from the ancient Shang and Zhou dynasties, others appearing to be from a few centuries ago.

The stories were a mix of truth and fiction, blending folklore, mythology, and strange anomalies, all fragmented and lacking structure, with no specific timeline to be found.

The book was titled Strange Tales of Swordcraft. Its date of composition was impossible to verify; some claimed it was over three hundred years old, while others insisted it was over five hundred. As for the author, there were as many as five credited.

One theory held that the author was Chen Sheng from five hundred years ago, a youth who failed the imperial examinations repeatedly, befriended sword heroes in his middle age, traveled the world exploring strange phenomena, and finally compiled these tales in his twilight years.

Another theory suggested it was Zhang Sheng from over three hundred years ago, who passed the examinations in middle age but remained a minor official his entire life, writing these miscellaneous notes in his old age.

History is hard to rely on, so those who later edited and patched the book simply listed all the various names, both real and fabricated, in the introduction.

Take the passage Zhao Cheng was currently reading: it spoke of a man named Wang Sheng, originally just a scholar with some talent, though limited. After failing the imperial exams, he was walking home one night, tripped, and in his dazed state, dreamt of the Primordial Heavenly Lord. The Lord told him he had an affinity for the Dao and imparted a scripture to him. When word of this spread, people asked him to write down or recite the scripture the Lord had bestowed, but he could neither speak nor write it.

Consequently, those around him simply assumed he had been knocked silly and was suffering from delusions.

Yet, not long after, Wang Sheng became a legendary sword hero with formidable swordsmanship.

Years later, when bandits raided his village, Wang Sheng, with a single sword, broke through their ranks.

Only then did everyone realize that Wang Sheng had not been lying; he had truly received a divine endowment.

Some wanted to become his disciples, but Wang Sheng replied that he had not yet mastered the art himself and was in no position to teach others, after which he drifted away.

Decades later, people in the countryside reportedly saw Wang Sheng in the Taihang Mountains, his appearance unchanged by the passing of time.

Some said that Wang Sheng was living in a hut in the mountains, practicing his sword, and had become a Sword Immortal.

The author concluded with a sigh: "Is it divine? Is it ghostly? Or is it the work of spirits?"

The style and content of these stories were somewhat reminiscent of Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio from Zhao Cheng's past life.

Though, in terms of popularity, the two were incomparable.

Moreover, the supernatural events of his past life were mostly delusions and fantasies, whereas here, they were undeniably real.

The so-called "divine transmission" was likely a master of the sword, using their consciousness to strike at the heavens and earth, transmitting the essence of kendo directly into Wang Sheng's mind through a heart-to-heart connection.

Because what Wang Sheng received was merely a surge of intent, he felt he had obtained a scripture, yet he could neither speak nor write it.

Later in the story, Wang Sheng gradually realized this, which was why he had said he had not yet mastered the art.

Of course, this was merely a deduction Zhao Cheng made based on the circumstances of this world.

As for the facts, there might not have even been a person named Wang Sheng.

One should not fully believe the words of a novelist.

Zhao Cheng read these things partly to broaden his horizons and partly as light reading; truth aside, the stories were quite well-written.

Zhao Cheng sometimes thought that if someone could synthesize the myths, legends, and pantheons of this world throughout history, organize them completely, and combine them with historical records, such a book would surely be a bestseller.

It was a pity that such a talent had yet to appear; the classical mythological system of Yanhuang remained complex and chaotic, leaving ordinary people with no desire to delve deeper.

Evening self-study only lasted until nine o'clock. Zhao Cheng spent the entire time questioning and answering himself, attempting to use this clumsy method to experiment with the operating logic of his Panel, though unfortunately, things did not go smoothly.

As for his joining the Kendo Class, he had only given a verbal agreement; the school still had to go through some procedures and arrange his schedule.

Take today, for instance: he had already attended a major kendo lecture in the afternoon. If he were to continue with remedial classes in the evening, it would undoubtedly be twice the effort for half the result.

Therefore, the timing had to be staggered from the major kendo lectures.

After school, Zhao Cheng did not linger. At the school gate, he bought a bowl of noodles and a guokui flatbread, eating as he walked.

If an average person ate like this before bed, they would certainly gain weight, but Zhao Cheng was currently in a growth spurt. His swordsmanship was improving rapidly, and his body required a massive amount of nutrition; such a late-night snack was exactly what he needed.

In the real world, there was no high-level energy like spiritual qi; swordsmanship was something forged through practice and fueled by food.

Some powerful kendo masters could eat a whole cow in one sitting. Of course, they could also go three or five days without eating, or even drinking water, and remain full of vigor.

In fact, when not engaged in strenuous activity, their energy consumption was even lower than that of an ordinary person; only after a violent burst of exertion did they require massive nutritional replenishment.

He had just finished the noodles and half the flatbread when Zhao Cheng arrived home.

His house was only a three-minute walk from Qingyuan, truly achieving the ideal of having the school right at his doorstep.

One had to admit that Father Zhao was lucky. In the early years, Qingyuan was at the bottom of the rankings in Xiangnan, incomparable to elite schools like "First High" or "Second High," so the housing prices were cheap.

Father Zhao gritted his teeth and bought it, even regretting it for a time, worried that the poor educational resources at Qingyuan would hinder his child.

At the time, relatives spread plenty of gossip because of this house.

It wasn't until the reforms at Qingyuan a few years ago that the tide suddenly turned; everyone praised Father Zhao for his sharp eye back then, and he finally held his head high.

Naturally, the housing prices in this area had since skyrocketed.

The money Father Zhao had spent on the house back then would probably only be enough to buy a bathroom now.

"Zhao Cheng, you didn't even bring me any late-night snacks."

As soon as he stepped through the door, Zhao Cheng heard a crisp voice.

"Zhao Xiaoxiang, your pocket money isn't any less than mine. If you want to eat, go buy it yourself."

Zhao Cheng replied casually.

He turned to close the door, only to see the living room lights blazing bright, with the large-screen TV playing a currently trending romance drama titled something like The Overbearing Sword Master Falls for Me.

Come to think of it, in some respects, the two worlds were still remarkably similar.

At this moment, on the living room sofa, a girl of about fourteen or fifteen was curled up, exposing a sliver of snow-white calf, eating potato chips while watching the television, looking for all the world like an oversized hamster.

"Cheng-lang, our feelings have faded after all. Back when we watched the stars in the park together, you called me Xiang'er with every breath, but now that I've grown up and lost my youthful bloom, you just call me Zhao Xiaoxiang."

"You didn't talk like this when you used to swear up and down that you wanted to marry me."

Zhao Xiaoxiang said without turning her head.