Luo River Rebirth, Reunion with the Fairy Maiden

Tan Yingshou stood by the bridge, staring fixedly at the dark river below. His chest heaved violently, aching faintly.

He had never imagined that, as a dignified expert of the Black List, even after striking with all his strength, he would still let this novice young monk escape from beneath his palm.

The river flowed on, its ripples fading away until no trace remained.

He stared at the river for a long while, then flung his sleeve viciously and turned away. The livid look on his face left the onlookers silent with fear; no one dared make a sound.

Yet this battle was destined to spread far and wide.

A young Shaolin disciple had taken four palms head-on from Black List expert Tan Yingshou upon Luo River Bridge, counterattacked despite grievous injuries, and finally escaped by fleeing through the water, emerging unscathed from the hands of a grandmaster.

Within a single day, the spectators who had witnessed the breathtaking scene at the bridgehead vividly spread the tale through teahouses and taverns, streets and alleys. It swept across all of Luoyang, then spread throughout the martial world.

And Yuan Zhen's name was unearthed as well.

For a time, Shaolin's Yuan Zhen rose to fame, his name resounding throughout the martial world.

The Black List grandmaster's attempt to intercept and kill a Shaolin disciple had even drawn out Shaolin's "Sword Monk," No Attachment. That, however, was a later matter.

Now, back to Zhu Yingxiong.

The moment he fell into the river, the icy water instantly swallowed him. Clinging to his last shred of awareness, he instinctively dove beneath the surface and followed the undercurrent downstream.

Then his consciousness sank completely into darkness.

Yet though he had fallen unconscious, the true qi within his body did not stop circulating.

Within his dantian, that mass of innate true qi seemed to possess a spirit of its own. It actually began slowly circulating through his meridians on its own, following the cultivation method of the Muscle-Tendon Transformation Scripture.

At the same time, the mass of blood-colored true qi within the Tanzhong acupoint of his middle dantian began to move as well.

It spun round and round, slowly at first, then faster and faster, until it resembled an invisible vortex that began drawing in the foreign true qi still raging through his meridians.

That was the lingering force left behind by Tan Yingshou's Profound Qi Method—heavy, dense, and tyrannical. Moments ago, it had rampaged through his meridians like wild horses running free. But now, it was gradually pulled, bound, and dragged toward the Tanzhong acupoint by the blood-colored vortex.

It turned out that when Zhu Yingxiong had previously cultivated the Muscle-Tendon Transformation Scripture, the qi that had dispersed into his middle dantian had already carried the scripture's innate attributes. Stirred by this, the blood-colored true qi had also taken on a trace of innate essence.

Thus, it was fundamentally different from the Purple Blood Art cultivated by others of the demonic sect throughout the generations.

Now, relying on that trace of innate spirituality, it began pulling in and devouring the ownerless foreign true qi.

Strand by strand, thread by thread, it was slowly refined and dissolved, finally merging into that mass of blood-colored qi.

With every fraction it devoured, the blood-colored true qi grew stronger, its rotation becoming increasingly steady and powerful.

At the same time, the true qi of the Muscle-Tendon Transformation Scripture continued to circulate without pause.

Wherever it passed, the meridians torn and injured by the palm force slowly began to heal.

The two currents of true qi, one below and one above, one Buddhist and one demonic, each had a clearly defined task and worked together in flawless harmony—

The blood-colored true qi devoured the foreign energy to strengthen itself; the Muscle-Tendon true qi repaired his meridians and stabilized his foundation.

Had anyone watched from nearby, they would surely have been dumbstruck. Such a sight of Buddhist and demonic cultivation supporting one another was likely without equal under heaven.

Even more wondrously, submerged in the water with his mouth and nose sealed, his body automatically entered the state of "fetal breathing" spoken of in Buddhist legend. It was as if he had returned to his mother's womb and become one with heaven and earth.

Zhu Yingxiong drifted with the current, his body entirely immersed in the Luo River. As the true qi within him continuously circulated through the major and minor heavenly cycles, he faintly developed a subtle resonance with the river water.

The water was supremely soft, supremely clear, supremely alive, carrying the most primal nourishing essence of heaven and earth.

With every cycle, a faint wisp of innate watery spiritual essence entered his meridians and circulated alongside his true qi. Wherever it passed, his damaged meridians were not only repaired, but tempered anew.

His meridians had already been tough and broad, but under the repeated nourishment of that supremely gentle water essence, they became even more resilient, smoother, and wider.

The tiny wounds torn open by the palm force left behind no hidden injuries after healing. Instead, they were tempered until they became sturdier than before.

His body was quietly transforming as well.

A cool feeling seemed to flow through his muscles; a hidden suppleness arose within his bones; even his five viscera and six bowels became stronger and more vigorous under the nourishment of that gentle water essence.

It was as though the Luo River had washed him from head to toe, cleansing away the dust and impurities of later life and imbuing him with a trace of innate spirituality.

Zhu Yingxiong simply drifted there in silence.

Unconscious, yet brimming with life; with his mouth and nose sealed, yet breathing freely; grievously wounded and near death, yet quietly transforming.

The surging Luo River carried him through the plains outside Luoyang, around nameless villages, and toward a farther stretch downstream.

After an unknown amount of time, Zhu Yingxiong's consciousness finally began to emerge from the darkness bit by bit.

The first thing he sensed was the lively, vibrant true qi within him—it was still slowly circulating through his meridians, gentle as a stream yet full of life like spring buds. Its aura was steadier and freer than before he had lost consciousness, as though it had undergone a silent tempering.

Submerged in the water, he slowly opened his eyes.

What met his gaze was a wash of golden-red light.

The setting sun hung low at the horizon, its afterglow streaming through the water's surface, shattered by the ripples into countless currents of flowing gold. The light swayed, rippled, and drifted beneath the water, strand after strand, thread after thread, as though someone had crumbled the evening clouds and scattered them into the river, or as though a gentle flame had ignited on the riverbed. Amid the shifting light and shadows, water plants swayed softly and fish occasionally passed by. The entire world was steeped in a hazy, warm orange-red glow.

He was staring in fascination—

When suddenly, a face entered his field of vision.

A delicate head, moth-like brows, and beautiful eyes that seemed to speak. Bathed in the reflection of the water and the setting sun, her face was gilded with a soft halo, radiant and lovely, like a lotus blooming from the water.

Those clear, limpid eyes held a touch of liveliness as they gazed at the surface, though no one knew what she was thinking.

Zhu Yingxiong's heart gave a slight jump—

He seemed to have seen those eyes somewhere before.

But before he could think further, his body reacted first. The state of fetal breathing could no longer be sustained. His chest tightened painfully, and he instinctively wanted to breathe.

He began slowly floating upward.

The surface was within reach, and the lovely figure was reflected in the water.

The woman was, after all, a martial artist, her eyesight keen. The figure suddenly rising beneath the water startled her badly. Her face drained of color as she abruptly retreated several steps, splashing up a spray of water.

"Splash—"

Zhu Yingxiong burst from the water, droplets scattering in every direction and tracing crystalline arcs beneath the setting sun.

His damaged moon-white monk's robes clung wetly to his body, water running down his cheeks. Yet he paid no attention to any of it, merely lifting his eyes to look at the still-shaken woman on the shore.

"It's you."

After retreating several steps, the woman had already steadied herself. When she clearly saw the face emerging from the water, she could not help blurting out the words.

There was surprise in her voice, wariness, and a trace of indescribable complexity.

Zhu Yingxiong carefully looked her over from head to toe. Her slender, graceful figure was exceptionally elegant. Though she had changed into a plain white dress, shedding the mystery she had possessed that day and gaining an air of pure, ethereal beauty—

Zhu Yingxiong still recognized her.

After all, she was the first woman to leave a deep impression on him since he had descended the mountain. Besides, strictly speaking, the reason he had been grievously wounded and nearly lost his life was also thanks to her.