At the thought, Tang Changsheng could only sigh deeply.
Early the next morning, Fan Zhiming was roused from bed. He checked the time: it was only six. Regret and irritation surged through him...
Modern people, especially the young, had long since grown used to sleeping late and waking late. Even with his strict upbringing, Fan Zhiming usually got up at eight.
For his classmates, sleeping until noon was perfectly normal.
But he did not dare complain. He could only drag himself out of bed and wash his face and brush his teeth.
The air on Yin-Yang Mountain was astonishingly fresh that morning. One deep breath seemed to wash his lungs clean.
Then Wu Shulan strode over, her face stern, and barked at him and Cui Zhengfei, "Your master has gone into seclusion today. You'll do morning practice with me. We'll start with an hour of scripture recitation."
"Aren't we part of the Southern Zhengyi Daoist Tradition, not Northern Quanzhen? Do we have to do morning and evening practice too?" Fan Zhiming asked, puzzled.
"If I tell you to do morning practice, you do it. Why so much nonsense?"
Wu Shulan might have looked kindly on Yin-Yang Mountain, bustling about like a housekeeper.
But she had once been a formidable figure in the underworld. Now her face hardened, and her whole bearing changed. She held a rattan cane ready to lash out at any moment.
Cui Zhengfei, by contrast, was much more obedient. He trained diligently every day. Though heat billowed through the Fire Chamber and he felt roasted after only a few minutes, he insisted on going there to practice each time.
Yesterday, he had even fainted beside the Fire Pool. If Wu Shulan had not found him in time and rescued him, he might have lost his life.
Now