On the eighth day of the twelfth lunar month, Pan Long did get to eat laba porridge after all.
But it was not Aunt Cui who brought it to him. It arrived in a streak of sword light that descended from the sky.
It was the Flying Sword Art commonly used by Daoist practitioners. A flying sword could be used in battle or for travel. Apparently, it could also deliver parcels.
Still... in all his years, Pan Long had never heard of anyone using a flying sword for deliveries.
At the time, he was instructing Zheng Shuang in martial arts under his identity as White Tiger Star. Ever since Zheng Shuang had taken the Ice-Fire Qi-Circulating Soup Pan Long had prepared, his Internal Power had improved day by day. In less than a month, it had caught up with that of ordinary Martial World fighters who had trained hard for more than a decade.
Put another way, when Pan Long had first ventured into the Martial World, his Internal Power had been weaker than Zheng Shuang's was now.
Seeing his disciple improve so quickly filled Pan Long with satisfaction, but it also stirred his emotions.
Seven years ago, that had been about the extent of his own ability—less than Zheng Shuang's, strictly speaking. Zheng Shuang had truly mastered his saber. In close combat, even an Innate Master might die beneath a few head-on strokes.
Yet a mere seven years later, Pan Long had taken a middle-aged man who knew no martial arts and, in just over a month, made him a fighter who could hold his own in the Martial World.
He really had come a long way over the years. If his experiences were written down, they could make a Martial World tale for a storyteller to tell.
...Oh,