Another Meeting by the Stream

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When spring came, the peach blossoms bloomed on the mountain behind Blacksmith Village.

Every morning, Nan Feng went to the mountain to cultivate. On his way back, he picked a branch of peach blossoms and put it in a coarse porcelain vase on the windowsill of the smithy.

Old Chen never said anything when he saw it. He simply replaced the old branches in the vase and filled it with fresh water. Nan Feng knew Old Chen liked peach blossoms, though he had never said so.

The people of Blacksmith Village weren't in the habit of saying what they liked. They showed affection by putting an extra piece of meat in your bowl or slipping a few boiled eggs into your bundle when you went out.

Nan Feng's Soul Power had reached level nine two months ago. He was stuck at the thin membrane between levels nine and ten, and no matter how he tried to break through, he couldn't get past it.

Old Huai said this was normal. The threshold between levels nine and ten was thicker than any before it. Level ten was the dividing line between Soul Masters and ordinary people. Only by crossing it could one truly set foot through the door of a Soul Master.

A child from an ordinary family with innate Soul Power of level three or four would be considered fast if they could reach the threshold of level ten by twenty. With innate Soul Power of level eight, Nan Feng had reached level nine half a year after his awakening, which was already considered fast.

But Nan Feng knew it wasn't fast enough.

Every morning and evening, he spent two hours practicing the Primordial World Qi Refining Art. The rest of his time was spent helping Old Chen at the forge. Old Chen's smithy took jobs from several nearby villages-hoes, sickles, kitchen knives, iron plowshares-and the forge fire never went out all day.

Nan Feng had officially started swinging a hammer at six. Old Chen had forged him a small hammer weighing three jin and had him hammer alongside him.

At first, his arm ached after ten blows. Later, he could still keep his hammer steady after a hundred. By now, he could turn the iron billet at just the right moment when Old Chen finished his first pass, so Old Chen's hammer never had to stop.

Smithing was cultivation too. The Gravity Field pressed down on his body at every moment, and his bones absorbed and worked through the recoil from every hammer blow.

That kind of tempering didn't show in his Soul Power Level. But Nan Feng could feel his bones growing heavier, his meridians tougher, and his Soul Power circulating nearly twenty percent faster than when he had awakened.

Old Huai had said that the Gravity Field inside the tower was his trump card, so he would put that card to its fullest use.

That evening, Nan Feng went to fetch water from the mountain stream behind the village.

The stream had risen a little since winter, and the water struck the rocks with a duller sound. Carrying a wooden bucket, Nan Feng followed the bank downstream, looking for a place where the current was gentle.

When he reached a bend in the stream, he stopped.

The black-haired boy was squatting by the water, holding a flat stone.

Tang San.

The last time he had seen him was over a year ago. They had both been four then, and after looking at each other across a dozen paces of water for a few breaths, they had each gone their own way. Tang San was a little taller now, and his shoulders were a little broader, but he was just as thin and still wore blue cloth clothes washed pale.

He squatted by the stream, turned sideways to the water, and flicked his right wrist. The stone skimmed across the surface. Once, twice, three times, four times.

Nan Feng counted silently. At twenty, the stone sank to the bottom.

Twenty skips. Tang San was six.

Nan Feng tightened his grip on the bucket handle.

From reading the novel in his previous life, he knew Tang San had practiced Hidden Weapons from a young age and had begun laying the foundation for Controlling Crane Capturing Dragon at three or four. But seeing it with his own eyes still made his scalp prickle.

For a six-year-old to control the force of his wrist so precisely could only mean he had already grasped the basics of the Mysterious Heaven Skill. Tang San had practiced it for at least two years, and his internal force could already flow steadily to his fingertips.

Nan Feng himself had only practiced the Primordial World Qi Refining Art for half a year. His Soul Power was growing quickly, but compared with the fine control of an internal art like the Mysterious Heaven Skill, it was an entirely different path.

Tang San stood up and brushed the dust from his hands. When he turned, he saw Nan Feng.

The two six-year-old boys looked at each other across the stream. Nan Feng hadn't said much the last time they met. Back then, he hadn't awakened yet and didn't know how far he could go in this world.

Now things were different. He had awakened, and he had the tower, Old Huai, and a path of his own. There was more understanding and appraisal in his gaze as he looked at Tang San than there had been a year ago.

"You've grown taller," Tang San said first.

"So have you." Nan Feng set the bucket down by his feet. "You're even better at skipping stones than last time."

"Practice." Tang San wiped the water from his hands onto his trousers. "You're not good at skipping stones. Last time, you spilled all the water in that bucket of yours."

Nan Feng smiled. He squatted down and dipped the bucket into the stream. Water poured through the opening, rocking the bottom of the bucket twice.

When he stood up with half a bucket of water, Tang San was still standing in the same place. He reached out a hand and drew it back, twice.

After a while, Tang San spoke. "You're from Blacksmith Village, right? Is your dad that big man who works the forge?"

"Yeah. Old Chen."

"My dad used to be a blacksmith too." Tang San's tone was flat as he said it. His gaze shifted toward Holy Soul Village. "He doesn't do much smithing anymore."

Nan Feng didn't ask any further. He knew why Tang Hao had stopped working the forge.

Clear Sky Douluo, a man who stood at the pinnacle of the Soul Master World. His wife had sacrificed herself, and Spirit Hall had hunted him down. He had hidden himself in a small mountain village, numbing himself with smithing.

Nan Feng couldn't say any of that aloud.

Nor could Nan Feng let it show that he knew. He merely said, "Mm," and lifted the bucket out of the stream.

"Have you awakened your Martial Soul?" Tang San asked.

"I have. Bronze Tower," Nan Feng said. "What about you?"

"Blue Silver Grass. Innate Full Soul Power."

Tang San said it in a flat tone, without any intention of showing off, as though he were stating something as ordinary as eating or drinking. But Nan Feng heard the probe hidden in his words.

The words "innate full Soul Power" would cause an uproar in any village. Tang San couldn't possibly be unaware of how much attention it drew. He was watching Nan Feng's reaction.

Nan Feng showed no surprise. He simply nodded. "That's impressive."

Tang San froze for a moment. He hadn't expected Nan Feng's reaction to be so muted.

A Soul Master with innate full Soul Power ought to be regarded as a monster in a place like Blacksmith Village. But Nan Feng looked at him no differently than he would an ordinary person. There was even something in his gaze that Tang San couldn't quite put into words. It was as if Nan Feng had known all along who he was.

"What about you? How much Soul Power do you have?" Tang San asked.

"Innate level eight."

"That's not bad either."

The two of them squatted by the stream, one holding half a bucket of water, the other still clutching another flat stone. The light of the spring evening was soft. A layer of broken gold floated on the stream, and cooking smoke climbed into the sky from the mouth of the distant mountain hollow.

The cooking smoke from Blacksmith Village and Holy Soul Village merged in midair, until no one could tell which wisp belonged to which household.

"Will you go to Nuoding Academy in the future?" Tang San suddenly asked.

Nan Feng's heart gave a jump. Nuoding Academy, where Tang San and Xiao Wu had met in the original story. Yu Xiaogang was there, Xiao Wu was there, the Grandmaster's Martial Soul Theory was there. The starting point of the whole story was there.

If he went to Nuoding, he would follow the same trajectory as Tang San. But Nan Feng knew their paths could never overlap.

"Probably," Nan Feng said. "What about you?"

"I want to go too." Tang San tossed the stone in his hand into the stream, sending up a ring of spray. "I hear you can learn a lot there."

"Then maybe we can ride in the same carriage when the time comes," Nan Feng said.

Tang San tilted his head to look at him and smiled. His smile held a calm rarely seen in children his age, as well as a flicker of anticipation that vanished in an instant.

Tang San didn't have many friends in this world. The children of Holy Soul Village thought him strange, too quiet and too mature. They couldn't play together. He was even less familiar with the people of Blacksmith Village. Apart from occasionally running into Nan Feng while fetching water, he spent most of his time cultivating.

Nan Feng was the only person who didn't look at him with an "Oh, you're the one with innate full Soul Power" expression when they spoke.

"All right," Tang San said. "We'll talk about it when the time comes."

He waved, then turned and followed the stream bank toward Holy Soul Village. Nan Feng watched his back grow smaller until he disappeared around the bend at the mouth of the mountain hollow.

That night, when Nan Feng entered the space inside the tower, Old Huai poked his head out of the crack.

"You ran into that boy today."

"Yeah. Tang San."

"The cultivation art he practices doesn't have the scent of this world." Old Huai narrowed his eyes, as if sniffing at something across the space.

"The route his Soul Power takes through his meridians is very strange. Fine and dense, even, seeping along. It's different from every Soul Power cultivation method on this continent. That art has a very deep foundation and is very steady, but its path is narrow. It's not the kind that opens and closes on a grand scale."

Nan Feng said inwardly, I know. The Mysterious Heaven Skill. The Tang Sect's internal cultivation method, brought here from another world.

"Like you, he's an outsider." Old Huai drew half his face back into the crack, leaving only a pair of cloudy eyes visible.

"But don't get too close to him. The art he practices has its own origin, and the tower you have has yours. You can travel the same road, but you can't follow the same path."

"I know," Nan Feng said.

Old Huai looked at him for two breaths, then, satisfied, yawned and withdrew into the crack. The green light dimmed, and the space inside the tower fell quiet again.

Nan Feng sat in the darkness and went over Old Huai's words again. The same road, but different paths. He and Tang San could ride the same carriage to Nuoding Academy, eat in the same dining hall, and spar in the same training ground.

But he wouldn't take Yu Xiaogang as his master, wouldn't go to Shrek Academy, and wouldn't follow in Tang San's footsteps along a road that had already been written.

He had his own path. One that led farther than the path of a Soul Master.

When Nan Feng opened his eyes, the moonlight outside the window was shining beside his pillow. Old Chen's snores came from the next room, deep and steady as a mountain.

He rolled over and tucked his right hand under the pillow. The warmth of his palm passed through the coarse cloth into the pillow, spreading into a small patch of warmth.

Soul Power, level nine. Just one step from level ten.

Tang San had skipped a stone twenty times today. He had probably practiced the Mysterious Heaven Skill for two years. Nan Feng had only practiced the Primordial World Qi Refining Art for half a year, but he had the Gravity Field, the tower, and Old Huai.

Starting late didn't mean he would move slowly. He still had time.

Outside the window, the moonlight shifted to the corner of the room. Nan Feng closed his eyes, and his breathing grew deep.