Divine? Ghostly? Divine and Ghostly?!

After dinner and a brief stretch of free time came evening study.

Zhao Cheng didn't waste his free time, either. He stayed in the classroom and read for a while from a book of miscellaneous stories he'd borrowed from the school library.

The book's contents were related to swordsmanship. It told stories of swordsmen, some seemingly dating back to the Shang and Zhou dynasties, others as though they'd happened only a few hundred years ago.

The stories blended truth and fiction with folk customs, mythology, strange tales, and all sorts of other elements. They were fragmentary, with no particular timeline.

The book was called Strange Tales of Swordcraft. Its date of publication was unknown. Some said it was over three hundred years old, others that it was over five hundred. As for the author, there were no fewer than five candidates.

One theory held that it had been written by Chen Sheng, who had repeatedly failed the imperial examinations as a young man. In middle age, he had befriended swordsmen, then traveled the land in search of strange tales. Only in his later years had he put together this collection.

Another theory attributed it to Zhang Sheng, who had passed the provincial examinations over three hundred years ago but spent his life as a minor official. In his later years, he wrote this collection of miscellanea.

The history was too uncertain to pin down, so the people who later edited and revised the book simply listed all the names—true or otherwise—in its introduction.

One story Zhao Cheng was reading now was about a man named Wang Sheng. He had been an ordinary scholar with some talent, though not much, and had failed the imperial examinations. Then one night, while walking along a road, he took a fall. In a daze, he dreamed of the Primordial Heavenly Lord, who told him he had a destined connection to the Dao and passed a scripture on to him. When word of this spread, people asked him to recite or write down the scripture the Heavenly Lord had taught him, but he said he could neither speak it nor write it.

So the people around him assumed he'd hit his head and gone mad.

Yet before long, Wang Sheng became a swordsman of his age, with peerless swordsmanship.

Several years later, bandits attacked his village. Wang Sheng faced them alone with nothing but his sword and cut his way through them.

Only then did everyone realize Wang Sheng hadn't been lying: he really had received a heavenly transmission.

Some wanted to become his disciples, but Wang Sheng said he still hadn't mastered what he'd learned himself, so there was no way he could teach anyone else. Then he drifted away.

Decades later, someone from the village reportedly saw Wang Sheng in the Taihang Mountains. Though many decades had passed, his appearance had not changed.

Some said Wang Sheng had built himself a hut in the mountains and practiced his sword there, becoming a Sword Immortal.

At the end, the author could only marvel: "Divine? Ghostly?! Divine and ghostly?!"

The way the story was written, and its subject matter, reminded Zhao Cheng a little of Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio, which he'd read in his previous life.

But the two works were nowhere near comparable in fame.

Besides, in his previous world, supernatural happenings were mostly flights of fancy. In this one, such things were real.

The so-called Heavenly Lord's transmission might well have been the work of a master swordsman, using his will to wrestle with heaven and earth and passing his understanding swordsmanship directly into Wang Sheng's mind, pouring it into him like a sudden flood.

Since what Wang Sheng received was only a thought, he felt as if he'd been given a scripture, but couldn't speak or write it down.

As the story went on, Wang Sheng gradually came to understand this, and realized he still hadn't mastered what he'd learned.

Of course, that was only Zhao Cheng's theory, based on the circumstances of this world.

As for the truth, there might not even have been a Wang Sheng in the first place.

A novelist's words could not be trusted completely.

Zhao Cheng read these books partly to broaden his horizons, but also simply for entertainment. Whether the stories were true or not, they were still pretty good.

Sometimes Zhao Cheng wondered: if someone could gather the myths, legends, and pantheons of gods and Buddhas from across this world's history, organize them into a coherent whole, and weave them together with historical events, they'd surely have a bestseller on their hands.

Unfortunately, no such great talent had appeared yet. The classical mythology of Yanhuang remained tangled and chaotic, enough to put ordinary people off looking into it any further.

Evening study only lasted until nine. Zhao Cheng spent the whole session asking himself questions and answering them, trying to figure out the Panel's operating logic through this clumsy method. Unfortunately, he wasn't getting far.

As for joining Kendo Class, he'd only given his verbal agreement. The school still had to go through the proper procedures and arrange his schedule.

Take today, for instance. He'd already had a full swordsmanship lesson in the afternoon. If he had to make up extra lessons that evening as well, it would be twice the effort for half the result.

So his schedule would have to avoid clashing with the full swordsmanship lessons.

After school, Zhao Cheng didn't linger. He bought a bowl of noodles and a guokui at the school gate and ate as he walked.

If an ordinary person ate like this before bed, they'd likely put on weight. But Zhao Cheng was at an age when he was still growing, and his swordsmanship was improving quickly. His body needed plenty of nourishment, so the extra meal was just what he needed.

In this world, there was no such thing as spiritual energy. Swordsmanship was something you trained for, but it was also something you ate for.

Some powerful swordsmanship experts could eat an entire ox in one sitting. Of course, they could also go three or five days without food, or even water, and still remain full of energy.

In fact, when they weren't exercising strenuously, they used even less energy than ordinary people. It was only after an intense burst of activity that they needed a great deal of nourishment.

Zhao Cheng had finished his noodles and eaten half his guokui by the time he got home.

His home was only a three-minute walk from Qingyuan. The school was practically right on his doorstep.

Father Zhao had to be said to have been lucky. In the early days, Qingyuan ranked near the bottom in Xiangnan and couldn't compare with famous schools like "First High" and "Second High," so housing prices were cheap.

Father Zhao had gritted his teeth and bought a place outright. Later, he'd even regretted it for a while. Qingyuan's educational resources had been poor back then, and he'd worried it would hold his child back.

Among their relatives, the house had sparked quite a few rumors and snide comments.

Then, a few years ago, Qingyuan underwent a restructuring, and the winds changed overnight. Everyone said Father Zhao had had an eye for the future, and at last he could hold his head high.

Naturally, housing prices in the area had soared, too.

The money Father Zhao had paid for the house back then probably wouldn't even buy a toilet now.

"Zhao Cheng, you went out for a late-night snack and didn't even bring me anything?"

As soon as he stepped inside, Zhao Cheng heard a clear, bright voice.

"Zhao Xiaoxiang, you get just as much allowance as I do. If you want something, go buy it yourself."

Zhao Cheng answered casually.

He turned to close the door and saw that the living room was brightly lit. The big-screen television was playing a recently popular romance drama called something like My Tyrannical Sword Master Lover.

In some ways, the two worlds were remarkably alike.

At that moment, a girl of about fourteen or fifteen was curled up on the sofa in the living room, one pale shin peeking out. She was eating potato chips and watching television, looking for all the world like an oversized hamster.

"Cheng, I guess our feelings really have faded. Back when we used to watch the stars in the park, you called me Xiang'er over and over. Now that we're grown up and I'm past my prime, you just call me Zhao Xiaoxiang."

Zhao Xiaoxiang spoke without even turning her head.

"You used to swear up and down that you'd marry me, but that's not what you're saying now."