Food Immortal Master, Section 6

Why could plucked leaves and flying petals pierce a person's neck? Why could someone weighing over a hundred pounds perch lightly on a branch, or skim across water? And how did one send a voice secretly into another's ear, or retrieve objects from afar?

All of this required the seed in the dantian to split into two small shoots, reaching what was called "meridian tree first growth." With a meridian tree came true qi. Without true qi, no matter how well one fought, one had not crossed the threshold, and remained merely a "landlubber," as those in the know teasingly called them.

Pei Ye was currently a rather robust "landlubber."

Once those two shoots appeared, they would split again into four: meridian tree second growth. Third growth brought eight, fourth growth sixteen, and ultimately they could branch eight times, reaching a total of two hundred and fifty-six.

The size of the meridian tree was directly linked to one's reserves of true qi. Understanding this mechanism gave one a rough way to judge a martial artist's strength.

Cultivators at third growth or below, with two, four, or eight meridians, had not yet opened an insurmountable gap between themselves and the "landlubbers."

At this stage, true qi admittedly had countless wondrous uses, and possessing it made an enormous difference. But fighting to the death was not simply a contest of size. Strength, skill, experience, surroundings, and even weapons could all bridge the gap true qi created. At the Mid-Autumn Martial Gathering, Pei Ye had often held his own against senior martial artists at meridian tree second or third growth.

That said, such victories of the weak over the strong generally stopped at third growth or below.

Fourth growth meant eight becoming sixteen, fifth growth meant sixteen becoming thirty-two, and sixth growth meant thirty-two becoming sixty-four. This explosive increase far exceeded the limits of human physical strength.

Beyond that point, even if you were born with divine strength and your opponent was constitutionally frail, you could not offset true qi of sufficient depth. Besides, their greatest advantage was not the physical enhancement true qi provided. More importantly, someone without true qi had no understanding of its wondrous uses, and thus no way to grow accustomed to an opponent's methods of attack. You thought a saber stroke had spent its force, but a turn of their wrist produced an even stronger slash. You thought someone airborne had nothing to push against, yet they could sweep sideways through empty air.

Even if you had heard of such things, facing an enemy left no time to think or react.

There were all manner of unbelievable angles and ideas that galloped unbridled through the heavens, coupled with comprehensive improvements to all five senses. What landlubbers habitually considered "impossible" was merely a casual strike to someone who commanded true qi.

"True qi" almost completely transformed a martial artist's understanding of combat. Add its various profound applications, and calling a Meridian-Opening Martial Artist "another kind of human" was truly no exaggeration.

At seventh growth, with one hundred and twenty-eight meridians, and eighth growth, with two hundred and fifty-six, this monstrous increase put them utterly beyond those beneath them.

Fourth growth could perhaps defeat fifth: if Feng Zhi fought Lin Lin twenty times, he might win once. Fifth growth could occasionally defeat sixth, as with those brilliant young talents from renowned sects. But victories of sixth over seventh and seventh over eighth were always as rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns.

There was good reason for some to argue that seventh and eighth growth should each be classified as separate realms.

As for the realm beyond a fully formed meridian tree, it had little to do with the vast majority of people, or even with the word "martial." That was where Commandant Jing stood. On Martial Arts described it as "standing upon the jade steps of the mystic gate, transforming one's nature and life within heaven and earth, to ascend toward the immortal tower in the skies." There, the paths of sorcerers and martial artists converged.

Chapter 10: Entering the yamen

"Boy," Feng Zhi said, raising his eyes. "Lin Lin told me you had excellent natural aptitude. Once your injuries heal, will you still want to practice martial arts?"

"Yes, Lord Feng."

"Lord Shen would make a good master." Feng Zhi pointed at Shen Yanping. "When it comes to teaching disciples, he admittedly can't match Lin Lin, but he has another tremendous advantage. Though Lord Shen serves the Immortal Platform, he actually trained at Little Cloud Mountain. He's a ninth-generation direct disciple of the Cloud-Kneading lineage."

Shen Yanping gave a gentle, rueful smile. "I've accomplished little, and hardly deserve a place under my master's roof. But if young Brother Pei doesn't mind, you may study martial arts with me for three years. Once that term is up, I can send you to train at the main sect."

Warmth spread through Pei Ye's heart. His throat shifted as he bowed in thanks. "I am grateful for Lord Feng's care and Lord Shen's kindness. Once my dantian seed recovers, I would gladly attend Lord Shen at his side."

Shen Yanping helped him up, smiling. "There's no need for such ceremony. Look, Lord Feng always calls me by my name. Even after you become my disciple, we can be at ease with each other."

Pei Ye's nose stung. He could only bow again, speechless.

Some of this might have been kindness left behind by Lin Lin, but the generosity of these two officials still took him by surprise.

Recommending him to Shen Yanping, thereby opening a path into Little Cloud Mountain, had been the future Lin Lin originally planned for him.

Back then, the boy's talent had indeed stood out like an awl piercing through its bag.

But after his dantian seed shattered, with recovery nowhere in sight, that plan had to be set aside. Now that Lin Lin had died a violent death, the path had been sealed off entirely.

Yet Feng Zhi, burly and rough-spoken, a man Pei Ye had met only a handful of times, had unexpectedly kept this matter in mind and personally built the bridge to recommend him.

Lord Shen likewise did not mind that by the time he recovered, he would be rather old and his talent no longer exceptional. He had actually agreed to take him on, willing to work toward sending him to Little Cloud Mountain, sketching out a bright future for him several years down the road.

Practicing martial arts could be as slapdash as one wished, or as exacting as one pleased.

One could grab anyone who knew how to fight, take them as a master, and begin learning. Street gangs, mountain bandits, and mounted brigands invariably had a few saber manuals or boxing texts to pass down. A youth from a respectable family who wished to learn would generally pay to enter a Martial Arts Hall, though Martial Arts Halls naturally varied in quality. Above all these assorted avenues stood admission into a renowned sect holding a golden register bestowed by the court.

Leaving aside their profound, indescribable martial arts, future prospects such as service in the Immortal Platform, their countless connections and resources, and the breadth of insight absorbed through daily exposure-even practicing the same basic boxing routine every day offered far greater advantages within a major sect.

One had to understand that martial artists who had clawed their way through the martial world, though possessing particular strengths and the ruthlessness to fight, invariably had flaws of one kind or another. There were several root causes. First, they lacked proper martial manuals; even a purchased copy of the commonplace Crouching Tiger Fist might contain errors, omissions, or missing pages. Second, they lacked guidance from a teacher, or their teacher's own skill was mediocre. Their training inevitably yielded half the results for twice the effort and was prone to mistakes. A fist an inch too low here, a waist an inch too high there-over time, these accumulated into countless openings. Third, circumstances forced them to chase quick results rather than build a solid foundation. This might not show in everyday fights, but against disciples of reputable orthodox sects, they often collapsed at the first clash.

Young martial artists trained in Martial Arts Halls were generally "proper and by the book." Their foundations had no major defects, but beside major-sect disciples they appeared rigid and inflexible. In an actual fight, most were no match for seasoned veterans of the martial world. They usually still needed tempering and improvement.

The Greater and Lesser Cloud Mountains, two brother sects joined like branches of the same tree, were not at the very pinnacle, but they were already sacred grounds countless people dreamed of entering. Anyone wearing their sect robes outside would receive every measure of respect due to them.

Dark clouds blanketed the sky, and daylight faded unusually early. Around the time the sun had barely begun to tilt westward, Chang Zhiyuan finally entered the courtyard in his robe, staff in hand. The old man's bound white hair was damp and disheveled. He leaned against the doorframe to catch his breath.

"I selected the seven most likely targets. If there are others as difficult to discover as Big Ears and Lin Jue, there's nothing I can do for now."

Pei Ye turned to look. They were all youngsters found at Martial Arts Halls. Their expressions differed, but all carried a bewildered unease. Two children who looked barely ten, however, had not grasped what was happening and were still fiercely arguing about something in low voices.

Pei Ye understood Chang Zhiyuan's dilemma completely. He wished he could gather everyone who might be harmed and protect them, but whether the county yamen could offer that protection depended on how quickly Commandant Jing arrived.

What if bringing back too many people led to the killers casually slaughtering those who need not have died?

"That wasn't the crucial matter to begin with." Feng Zhi had already donned his heavy armor. He handed the old man a cup of tea. "I've had an unexpected discovery here. The men investigating the shoeprints reported that a man in a black robe really did buy new shoes at a tailor's shop in town two days ago. They match the prints at the head of the trail."

Chang Zhiyuan frowned. The enemy's composure was plainly no good news for them.

He turned and asked gravely, "Shen Changjian, has the Soul Bird brought word?"

Shen Yanping shook his head. "No, but it should soon. The rain is bound to have delayed it somewhat."

"All right. Everyone, go inside." Chang Zhiyuan nodded. The old man was the frailest person present, yet he was unmistakably the pillar they all relied upon.

Everyone shuffled into the building. Chang Zhiyuan picked up his long staff again and planted it firmly against the ground, pushing himself upright. But after a full day of trudging about, that brief rest had only left his legs weaker and more sore. He stumbled as soon as he moved, and Shen Yanping hurried to support him.

The old man smiled helplessly. "Truly, 'The old lotus falls without wind.'"

Feng Zhi sat down on the steps outside, a great halberd leaning against a pillar. Shen Yanping stood on the eaves, sword cradled in his arms.

The "most dangerous stretch of time" they had spoken of earlier had arrived. Would the enemy hold the final ritual on schedule? Had they realized something was wrong after killing Lin Lin and already fled? Or did they have more room to adjust their plans and intend to strike early, before Commandant Jing arrived?

Feng Zhi and Shen Yanping knew nothing. They could only watch their surroundings with eyes as keen as hawks.

Chang Zhiyuan led Pei Ye and the other seven into a room in the rear courtyard and lit candles for them. Patting the two children's heads, he said gently, "Sit or lie down as you please. If you're hungry or thirsty, there are refreshments in the next room. Don't worry. We've only called you here as a precaution. Spend the night here, and you can go home when you wake up tomorrow morning."

With that, he left the room. As he closed the door, he looked at Pei Ye, who had followed him out, and said softly, "Little Pei, sorry for the trouble, but please keep an eye on them."

The exhaustion in the old man's face was plainly visible. Pei Ye nodded. "Rest assured."

Back in the room, the warm candlelight shut the rainy night away in another world. Pei Ye found a place among the seven and sat down. The moment he turned his head, he met a pair of sparkling eyes.

I actually received a monthly ticket last night. Thanks to "Snowy Sky, Slippery Road."

Chapter 11: Childhood dreams

As far as Pei Ye could tell, those eyes had settled on him quite a few times already.

"Is there something you need?" Pei Ye asked.

The boy before him was a little younger than Pei Ye, looking only fourteen or fifteen. His features were lively, and he wore a blue-green robe. Fresh traces of sweat remained at his temples; clearly, he had just been pulled out of a Martial Arts Hall.

"Brother, did you used to train under Lord Lin?" the boy asked cautiously.

Pei Ye nodded. "Yes. Why?"

"Then... then is your surname Pei?" The boy's voice immediately rose.

"Yes. Do you know me?"

"Brother Pei! It really is you! I remember watching the Mid-Autumn Martial Gathering back then. Nobody could last ten moves against you! I climbed a tree to cheer for you every time!" Excitement lit the boy's face. "I-I'm Cheng Feng. Are you now-"

His voice caught. His tone dropped, and he asked carefully, "Brother Pei, are your injuries any better?"

Pei Ye's expression grew distant. During those two spirited, triumphant years, several newly enrolled children had indeed always crowded around him, asking question after question. The face before him now also stirred a faint sense of familiarity.

"Cheng Feng..." Pei Ye's gaze focused again, and he smiled. "Much better. How's your training going?"

Cheng Feng pressed his lips together, but still failed to conceal the smile spilling from their corners. "Pretty well. I came first in the school's little competition last month."

Of course he could not be doing poorly. Being brought here was itself a form of recognition.

Pei Ye looked surprised. "That good?"

Cheng Feng grinned, finally unable to hold back a couple of chuckles.

After a little idle conversation, they returned to their present circumstances.

Cheng Feng asked worriedly, "Brother Pei, I heard those people can make someone walk right up to them as if they'd lost their soul. Is that true?"

Pei Ye nodded. "Yes."

Cheng Feng's mouth fell open. He had never heard of such an ability.

The child beside them piped up in a clear voice. "Then couldn't they just tie us up?"

The other child immediately objected. "Zhang Xiaoyan, are you stupid? If you're tied up, you can't even run away!"

The first child rolled his eyes. "You're the stupid one! Couldn't we hide?"

The second child puffed out his cheeks. Unable to find a rebuttal, he turned away and said, "Brother Cheng Feng, couldn't we hide?"

Cheng Feng patted both their heads and said solemnly, "Stop arguing. We should just follow the officials' arrangements."

"Brother Cheng Feng" clearly carried considerable authority. Both children obediently nodded.

"Actually, Brother Pei..." After a quiet moment, Cheng Feng leaned closer with a frown and whispered, "Why don't they tie us up and hide us?"

Pei Ye said, "Lin Jue rarely went out and didn't practice martial arts, but that person went straight to her house and took her away. They have a way to identify and locate people. Hiding is useless."

"...Oh."

Their conversation ceased, and the room fell quiet. With nothing to mask it, the true atmosphere gradually emerged. Cheng Feng immediately regretted stopping the two children's bickering. The oppressive unease now was clearly much harder to bear.

The room was small to begin with. Despite the cool rain falling steadily outside, it began to feel stifling inside. Pei Ye rose and pushed open two windows, then turned to smile at the youngsters. "Have you learned palm techniques from Master Huang?"

Several heads rose at once. Cheng Feng said, "Brother Pei, we all have."

Master Huang was a palm instructor extremely popular with the children at the Martial Arts Hall. This was not merely because he was gentle, patient, and rarely lost his temper. In his younger days, he had been a storyteller in the prefectural city, and he had a gift for words. During breaks, he often treated the children to a dazzling, entrancing tale.

Growing up beside the deep mountains, the children of Fenghuai lived in a world that was, in one sense, rich with excitement: hunting in the mountains, splashing in streams, and chasing rabbits could make children in the schoolroom crane their necks with envy. In another sense, however, it was truly impoverished. The splendid fruits of the various peoples' millennia of civilization scarcely reached them. Never mind the young lords and ladies of the divine capital-even children in the prefectural city could fairly call them "country bumpkins."

The stories Master Huang told opened a window through which Fenghuai's children could admire this wondrous, magnificent world: the merfolk of the Far Southern Sea of Heaven's Edge, the immortals on Jade Emperor Mountain, the wandering heroes of the Crane and Teal Register...

Back then, this had been Pei Ye's most enthralling entertainment. Naturally, the new crop of children was no exception. To avoid missing any of the story, they would neither drink water nor visit the privy during breaks. Only once training resumed would they all rush outside together.

Pei Ye said, "Do you know where Master Huang gets his stories?"

This was a great mystery that scratched at the heart of every group of children.

After all, breaks lasted only so long, and each story ended just as it reached an exciting part. Desperate to know what happened next, the children scratched their ears and cheeks in frustration. Every one of them wanted to find that legendary storybook and indulge in reading it to their heart's content. But no matter how they fished for answers, Master Huang never let anything slip. In pursuit of it, Pei Ye and his companions had climbed over Master Huang's courtyard wall more than a few times.