Reappearance (Please Bookmark)

Rustle, rustle!

Fang Qing's expression was grave. His hands were crimson, like sharp swords, repeatedly plunging into the red sand in the wooden barrel.

This sea sand had come from the beach outside the fishing village. It was said to be where some demon beast had wept blood; an entire stretch of beach had turned red, and the color had not faded for a hundred years.

Using this red sand to cultivate the Red Sand Hand allowed one's progress to advance a thousand miles in a day, surpassing many medicinal baths.

Puff, puff!

Beads of sweat appeared on Fang Qing's forehead, yet his hands did not slow in the slightest.

As sand continually streamed past his fingertips, the crimson hue on his hands gradually deepened.

"...My inner power has deepened another fraction."

Half an hour later, Fang Qing lay on the floor without a shred of concern for his appearance, gulping down breaths.

"The Red Sand Hand can only be cultivated for two hours a day, but after I dispel its inner power, my body seems able to endure more. I can train for an extra half hour each day..."

This ought to be one minor convenience granted by Revert to Root, Return to Origin. Fang Qing silently took note of it.

After a brief rest, he rose again, assumed a horse stance, and began cultivating the Thousand-Kilogram Drop.

Though these two martial arts were merely third-rate techniques, Fang Qing still treasured them deeply. After all, in the Fang Family of Three-Water Hollow before this, they had not possessed even a single martial art.

"Come to think of it... the martial arts from the Lesser Vast Sea actually work here, too. Could it be because they are so fundamental, relying only on basic physical exertion and the transformation of force? Or is it the grand power of my cheat?"

Fang Qing had always harbored certain concerns, such as whether the supernatural systems of the two worlds were compatible.

But with the Dao-Born Pearl, it did not really matter.

Besides, he had no choice at all!

"The human body has its limits. Four hours of high-intensity martial training a day must be supported by potent tonics and meat!"

"Not to mention that every martial art has its own limitations. Take the Red Sand Hand, for example—it can only be cultivated for two hours a day. Any longer, and the body can't endure it..."

"But with my golden finger, I can turn the time and experience spent cultivating the Thousand-Kilogram Drop into that of the Red Sand Hand. It's practically the equivalent of doubling my experience... Of course, it might not convert completely, since they are two different martial arts. If I switched to other second-rate or first-rate martial arts, perhaps ten hours spent cultivating a third-rate technique would only convert into one hour of first-rate inner power!"

"Furthermore, martial arts cultivation also encounters bottlenecks."

Fang Qing silently recorded the ratios and states of all the conversions he had made, preparing to explore the capabilities of his golden finger in the future.

"Now... I can barely be said to possess some ability to protect myself. I can go look for Uncle."

He looked beyond the mountains and sighed.

Before, he had been shrouded in the mystery of the womb, a muddleheaded youth who knew very little.

He only knew that this world was incomparably vast. The Land of Ancient Shu alone exceeded the area of a great nation from his previous life, while Ba Commandery, where the Fang Family lived, contained many cities and a thriving population.

"From what Uncle revealed before, we were planning to flee to Heavenly Prefectural City. It's the nearest great city, with stable order... If he was being hunted and had a large sum of money on him, he would definitely head for a city. Perhaps I can go take a look..."

Heavenly Prefectural City.

The city gates towered high, carrying the mottled traces of time.

Once inside, the crowds pressed shoulder to shoulder. On either side of the streets stood clothing shops, fabric stores, pawnshops, restaurants, taverns, brothels, cosmetics shops... all manner of businesses lined up one after another, enough to leave the eye dazzled.

Fang Qing stood at the city gate, gazing at the notices and wanted posters, his eyes dimming.

"Uncle never said who he came here to rely on... It's like fishing for a needle in the sea."

Fortunately, finding someone was only a slim hope he had entertained on this trip.

Seeing that Uncle was not there, he turned and headed toward the pleasure quarter... no, the restaurant beside it—Heavenly Flavor Tower.

He very much wanted to experience this world's service industry and spend some time listening to music in the pleasure quarter.

But Fang Qing had to admit that he had been captured by the fragrance of wine and food...

For one who had lived in the wilderness, nothing was more alluring than a hearty meal. After all, only when one was full and warm could one think about that sort of thing...

"Wait... children make choices. Adults should... have it all."

Fang Qing turned once more and entered a pleasure house.

"Young master... do you have any familiar ladies in mind?"

A male attendant immediately came forward, his face full of ingratiating smiles.

"No. Call in a few ladies to sing for me... and go next door to Heavenly Flavor Tower and order a fine banquet."

Fang Qing took out a piece of broken silver.

Jade Island did not use silver taels, but rather silver seashells. Yet in terms of purchasing power, they were far weaker than the currency of the Land of Ancient Shu. Fang Qing did not care much about money.

With mastery over a passage between two worlds, he would sooner or later become the richest man under heaven.

"Fair snow-white skin beneath a crimson skirt, boundless charm in every curve... within mandarin duck quilts, she gathers the spring breeze..."

A short while later, in the private room, two heavily made-up women sang while casting resentful looks at their guest.

After bathing and changing clothes, Fang Qing now wore a loose green robe. He might not have been a jade tree facing the wind, but he was at least a graceful young gentleman—far better than those decrepit old lechers.

Yet this guest truly only listened to their songs, without even sparing them a glance.

Naturally, Fang Qing would not tell them that, having been steeped in the influences of his previous life, even if he had never tasted or used such things, his standards were still high.

Besides, something else attracted him even more...

Meat!

Braised pork!

It filled his mouth with rich oil, carrying the fragrant searing aroma of freshly prepared food. The rice was steamed soft and fluffy; mixed with the meat gravy, he could easily eat three bowls in a row.

There were also emerald-green vegetables and rich, flavorful chicken soup...

The only dish that failed to catch Fang Qing's eye was the squirrel-shaped mandarin fish. He truly had grown sick of eating fish.

"Within the pleasure quarters, all walks of life gathered. It's a first-rate place for gathering information..."

"But... we're only a hundred li apart. How could they not even know that my hometown had been ravaged by a plague?"

Fang Qing pondered as he shoveled down rice.

Once he had eaten and drunk his fill, he flirted a little with the two resentful ladies, declined their invitation to stay the night, and walked out of the pleasure house. Stretching lazily, he said, "This is what life should be..."

Unfortunately, Old Man Cha had only granted him one day off. For now, Jade Island still had to take priority.

"It's getting late. Time to leave the city."

Fang Qing passed through the city gates and headed down a secluded path.

Before long, his brows suddenly furrowed. "Who is it? Come out!"

The moment the words fell, three burly men emerged from the woods behind him. The leader's face was covered in pockmarks, and he held a dagger in his hand, a cold smile on his face. "The old one got away, but there's still the young one."

"Ma Laosan?"

Fang Qing recognized him at once. He was actually Ma Laosan, leader of that band of refugees who had once tried to surround and kill him!

He could not help but be astonished. "How did you find me?"

"Heh heh... I have eyes at the city gate. You brat really walked right into the net. If we were in the city, we'd still have some scruples. But now..."

Ma Laosan advanced with a savage grin.

"Something's wrong with you. Very wrong!"

Fang Qing's face darkened. "I'm not worth you spending three months tracking me down, am I? Or is there some hidden reason behind this?"

"Hmph!"

Though Ma Laosan was a villain, he did not waste words. He immediately charged forward with his men.

If this had been Fang Qing from three months ago, he could only have submitted helplessly.

But now?

Fang Qing's hands were crimson. In an instant, they split into two palms, like twin dragons emerging from the sea.

Bang! Bang!

Two of Ma Laosan's men cried out miserably, their chests caving in as they fell backward.

"Hm? You know martial arts!"

Ma Laosan's body flashed. The dagger in his hand shot forth like a venomous snake flicking its tongue; he too knew a little crude, three-legged-cat kung fu.

Seeing this, Fang Qing's lips curled faintly. His right hand darted out, catching Ma Laosan's wrist—the one gripping the dagger—as though snatching a fish from water.

The next moment, he exerted force through his feet. The strength of the Thousand-Kilogram Drop burst forth, and his right foot descended like an iron hammer onto Ma Laosan's instep.

Crack!

The shrill sound of shattering bone rang out.

Ma Laosan's face twisted. He screamed and collapsed to the ground.

"Let's go!"

Fang Qing grabbed Ma Laosan and swiftly vanished.

In the wilderness, atop a hill.

Fang Qing casually tossed Ma Laosan down. "What do you think of this place as your burial ground?"

Though Ma Laosan's face was deathly pale and his forehead beaded with cold sweat from the pain, his expression remained sinister. "I never expected you to have such fine martial skills. I've got nothing to say. If I die, I die... It's just a pity my family died when bandits unleashed the plague. I can't avenge them!"

"Avenge them?"

Only then did Fang Qing vaguely recall that Ma Laosan, like himself and Uncle, was a refugee. They had even once been fellow townsmen, though not especially close ones.

"You're saying... this plague was a man-made calamity, not a natural disaster?"

His heart jolted as he thought of his family.

"That's right... I sought refuge with the Luo Family, and only then did I learn that we never had to die. Some scoundrels from the Black Blight Sect were practicing blight arts in our hometown, and that was why the plague spread, leaving nine out of every ten households empty... But once we left the range of those blight arts, we were naturally unharmed." Ma Laosan gritted his teeth.

"The Black Blight Sect? Practicing blight arts?"

Fang Qing was already beginning to believe him. Without supernatural power, there was simply no explaining why the plague disappeared from the refugee caravan once they had left the plague-stricken land.

"Wait... this concerns immortal cultivators. How do you know about it? Did the Luo Family tell you?"

Suddenly, he caught another crucial point. "The Luo Family? That Luo Family?"

The Luo Family was a true local powerhouse. In theory, a vast stretch of land surrounding the Fang Family's Three-Water Hollow was under the Luo Family's control.

Furthermore, the Fang Family's annual Moonlit Flow ritual vessels had all been sold to the Luo Family!

"That's right!" Ma Laosan gave a bleak smile. "I know I'm bound to die today, but you'll definitely seek revenge against the Black Blight Sect... So there's no harm in telling you. I originally only planned to flee my hometown, but people from the Luo Family found me and told me to keep watch on several families. Yours, the Fang Family, was among them!"

"Why track down the remnants of our Fang Family?"

Fang Qing grew even more puzzled.

"I don't know either. I only overheard a few vague words... They said your Fang Family had good fortune, and that once the plague had passed, they still needed to continue fostering literary fortune or something..." Ma Laosan's eyes were equally bewildered.

"Good fortune? Fostering literary fortune?"

Fang Qing silently committed it to memory. Then he interrogated Ma Laosan several more times to verify the details. Once he confirmed that Ma Laosan had not fabricated anything, he raised a hand, pressed it against the man's crown, and sent him on his way.