Lying Flat Beats Working Hard

Mingfeng's face was as white as a sheet of paper.

He opened his mouth, but not a single word came out.

All of them?

The Azure Yang Temple's martial arts texts might not have been peerless secret manuals, but they were the temple's accumulated collection from a hundred years.

The Scripture Pavilion was no marketplace. Was it somewhere an outer disciple like him could come and go as he pleased?

Let alone carry out every book!

"What?" Chen Fan set down his teacup, its base making a soft tap against the stone table. "Is there a problem?"

The soft tap made Mingfeng shudder all over.

He suddenly remembered what had been said at the mountain gate.

Three thousand taels of incense money.

This young master wasn't joking.

He really did dare go back and complain, and he really could cut off the temple's source of income!

"N-no problem!" Mingfeng practically shouted, the veins in his neck bulging. "I-I'll see to it right away!"

The short Daoist beside him, whose Daoist name was Mingzheng, was badly frightened too. He tugged at Mingfeng's sleeve, his face full of alarm.

"Senior brother, Martial Uncle Zhou guards the Scripture Pavilion. With his temper..."

"We can't worry about that now!" Mingfeng lowered his voice and spoke through gritted teeth. "Offend Martial Uncle Zhou, and we'll get a beating at worst! Offend this young master, and the two of us will be skinned and sent rolling down the mountain!"

With that, he dared not delay another moment. He bowed deeply to Chen Fan, then dragged Mingzheng out of the Listening to Bamboo Pavilion, scrambling on hands and feet.

Chen Fan watched their fleeing backs, his expression unruffled.

This was exactly the effect he wanted.

If he was going to establish his authority, he would drive it into their very bones in one stroke.

He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and waited quietly.

Half a shichen later.

Mingfeng and Mingzheng returned.

Both looked utterly drained, their faces pale and their Daoist robes covered in dust.

Seven or eight outer disciples in the same gray Daoist robes followed them, each carrying a thick stack of books.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Yellowed, worn books, some even smelling of mildew, were piled beside the stone table in the courtyard. Before long, they formed a small mountain.

Daoist Xuanli also hurried over upon hearing the news. At the sight, his plump face was covered in sweat.

"Nephew, what are you..."

Chen Fan stood up, ignored him, and walked straight to the pile of books. He picked one up at random.

Its title was the Green Yang Breathing Method.

He opened it to find densely packed annotations and a few simple diagrams of the human meridians.

This was it.

An internal cultivation method.

The first step onto the Martial Dao.

"All of you, get out," Chen Fan said, holding the book without looking back.

"Nephew, these texts belong to our sect..." Xuanli still wanted to say a few words to dissuade him.

Chen Fan turned his head and gave him a look.

It was a calm look, but it made Xuanli swallow everything else he had been about to say.

He suddenly felt as though he had never understood this Eldest Young Master Zhao.

"Yes, yes. Take your time reading, nephew. If you need anything, just say the word." Xuanli hurriedly nodded and bowed, then led the disciples out of the courtyard.

The courtyard gate closed.

The world was finally quiet.

Chen Fan sat cross-legged on a meditation cushion and spread the Green Yang Breathing Method open before him.

His heart began to beat faster.

It wasn't a reaction from Zhao Long's body, but excitement from the depths of Chen Fan's soul.

Martial arts!

It was a dream every man in Huaxia had once had.

Soaring over rooftops and running along walls, smashing monuments and splitting stones.

Now, the entrance to that dream lay right before his eyes.

Following the book's instructions, he turned his palms, soles, and crown toward the sky, pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and cleared his mind of distracting thoughts. Then he began to sense the sea of Qi in his Dantian.

According to the book, a beginner would feel a faint current of warmth in the lower abdomen.

This was called the "sensation of Qi."

It was the beginning of all methods.

Chen Fan closed his eyes and focused on sensing it.

The time it took an incense stick to burn passed.

There was no warm current.

Only his legs, numb from sitting cross-legged for too long.

A shichen passed.

There was still no warm current.

His lower abdomen was ice-cold, and the chill of the mountain night even made it ache faintly.

Chen Fan opened his eyes.

He refused to believe it.

Perhaps this body was too weak and needed more time.

He kept trying.

From dusk until late at night.

He continued like this for three days, until the morning of the fourth.

When the first ray of sunlight shone into the courtyard, Chen Fan finally gave up.

There was no dejection on his face, only a deathly calm.

He had sensed it.

Not a warm current.

But a complete... blockage.

The meridians in this body were like river channels clogged with silt: dry, rigid, and utterly devoid of life.

Zhao Long's twenty years of wine, women, and pleasure had long since eaten the foundations of this body completely hollow.

Forget producing a sensation of Qi.

Even if a peerless expert poured his cultivation into him now, the True Qi would find no passage and blow him apart.

Trash.

A complete and utter Martial Dao waste.

The so-called pinnacle of the Martial Dao had never had anything to do with him from the very beginning.

Chen Fan sat where he was, silent for a long time.

Through Death-Substitution Rebirth, he had taken over the body of Qinghe County's number one wastrel.

Yet the result was a garbage body that couldn't even touch the gates of the Martial Dao.

What was this supposed to be?

He stood up and loosened his stiff limbs.

After a sleepless night, this body was exhausted to the limit, an aching weakness seeping into the very gaps between his bones.

He walked over to the mountain of books.

He casually tossed the Green Yang Breathing Method aside.

Since the path of internal cultivation was closed to him.

Then he would take the path of external cultivation.

Since he couldn't become an internal martial arts expert.

Then he would practice a few moves at random. He couldn't have come here for nothing.

He began rummaging through the pile of books.

Green Yang Swordsmanship, Flowing Cloud Steps, Stone-Shattering Fist...

He pulled out one text after another on moves, movement methods, and techniques for exerting force.

These things required no sensation of Qi and no meridians.

They only required sinew, bone, muscle, and sweat!

He picked up the Stone-Shattering Fist.

On the first page was a diagram of a horse stance.

This was the foundation of all external martial arts.

Chen Fan took a deep breath and walked to the center of the courtyard.

He spread his legs, bent his knees, and lowered himself, holding his arms in a loose circle before him.

The most standard, and simplest, of horse stances.

Yet after only three breaths.

His legs began trembling violently beyond his control.

A needle-like pain came from his knees.

Sweat instantly beaded on his forehead and slid down his cheeks.

This body was far weaker than he had imagined.

But he didn't give up.

He clenched his teeth and held on with all his might.

He was no longer that transmigrator who yearned to ascend to heaven in a single step.

He was a soul who had died once and crawled back out of the gutter.

He wanted to try this world's martial arts and see just how difficult they were to practice.

Five breaths.

Ten breaths.

Fifteen breaths.

Thump!

At last, he could hold on no longer. He fell onto his backside, gasping for breath.

Every part of his body was screaming with pain.

But he paid it no mind.

He merely stared at his trembling hands.

Chen Fan grinned.

I really am weak...

He braced himself against the ground and shakily got back to his feet, then assumed the horse stance once more.

Just then, the courtyard gate was gently pushed open.

Daoist Xuanli walked in carrying a food box, a broad smile plastered across his face.

"Nephew, you should take care of your health while you practice. I've brought you some..."

His words, upon seeing the fair, plump Eldest Young Master Zhao practicing external body-hardening techniques.

His face was full of question marks?

Chen Fan ignored his surprise, picked up a towel, and wiped away his sweat. Then he went straight to the stone table and sat down.

"Something you need?"

Xuanli came to his senses and hurriedly put down the food box, taking several plates of delicate pastries out of it.

"No, nothing. I just came to see you, nephew."

He rubbed his hands together, looking as though he wanted to say something but hesitated.

"Speak." Chen Fan picked up a piece of osmanthus cake and popped it into his mouth.

Xuanli gave a couple of awkward chuckles and finally couldn't resist speaking.

"Nephew, what you're practicing... it's all just rudimentary external martial arts."

"It harms the body and isn't very useful."

"Why don't I teach you our sect's breathing method instead? That's the proper path..."

Chen Fan shook his head. "No need. I know what kind of Root Bone I have. Practicing it won't do anything anyway."

After three days of cultivation, he had already given up on this body.

And he was thinking, with Death-Substitution Rebirth, why should he put himself through the hardship of cultivating the Martial Dao?

He might as well lie flat and enjoy himself.

He had completely thought it through and accepted the fact that he was now a piece of trash.

With the system as a safety net, why work hard?