The next morning, as the first ray of sunlight shone into the room, a well-rested Zheng Fan slowly opened his eyes.
He reached out, fumbled on the bedside table, found the string he was looking for, and gave it a tug.
Outside, a clear bell chimed, like a playful sprite greeting the morning. All things were rejuvenated at this moment, brimming with life under the morning glow.
The bedroom door was pushed open, and three young women stepped in.
One carried a basin with a towel draped over its side.
Another held a tray laden with breakfast.
The last one carried the clothes their master would wear today.
Zheng Fan got up and sat on the edge of the bed.
Under the meticulous care of the three young women, Zheng Fan dressed and finished his breakfast. As he reached the doorway, he looked up, his face tilted at a forty-five-degree angle to the morning sun.
He exhaled softly, his heart filled with emotion. This damn old society, burdening me with so much.
Today was the first day of enrollment for the new students.
The parents—oh no, the study companions were all ready.
In the spacious hall, Zheng Fan sat in his place, while Ding Hao was wheeled out by a servant in a wheelchair.
The wheelchair had been crafted overnight by Xue Three; the dwarven race seemed inherently blessed with the "craftsman" attribute. Xue Three had even eagerly asked Ding Hao if he wanted any mechanisms installed on the wheelchair, such as the Violent Rain Needle.
Ding Hao had hastily refused.
This was Ding Hao’s first proper meeting with Zheng Fan—the master of this group of freaks.
Having been a soldier and a mountain stronghold leader, Ding Hao had always subscribed to one principle: if you wanted to be the boss of a group, you either had the strongest fist or the sharpest mind.
Evidently, Ding Hao had already categorized Zheng Fan as the latter. Though the young man before him appeared youthful, he could very well be a once-in-a-millennium prodigy from some major power!
Facing such a genius, and having to teach him martial arts, made the seasoned Ding Hao, a man who had seen much of the world, feel surprisingly nervous.
In fact, Zheng Fan, his "student" sitting opposite him, was even more nervous.
He was afraid the scene would play out :
"Jester’s Qi, Third Stage!"
"Indeed, the family’s good-for-nothing!"
"Pah! And a waste of family resources too!"
The minds of creators are always full of such clichés.
"Shall we begin then?" Ding Hao asked Zheng Fan tentatively.
"Alright," Zheng Fan nodded.
"Mm," Ding Hao then looked at A Ming, who stood to one side, and said, "Please."
A Ming walked before Zheng Fan and took off his swallowtail coat.
Zheng Fan saw the embroidered diagram on A Ming’s torso, and a sense of profound mystery washed over him.
Then, for one minute, no one spoke.
Five minutes later, Ding Hao the teacher hadn’t spoken, and Zheng Fan the student hadn’t spoken either.
A quarter of an hour later, the teacher and student were still silent.
Blind Bei, standing nearby, couldn’t bear it any longer, even though he was blind. He had to let out a dry cough as a reminder.
Ding Hao seemed to recall something and instinctively asked Zheng Fan, "Are you done?"
"Huh?" Zheng Fan was bewildered. "Er... done with what?"
"This, do you understand it?"
Ding Hao blinked. He felt he was approaching a certain truth. This realization was something he hadn’t considered before. Perhaps it was because these six individuals’ lightning-fast advancement yesterday had shattered some aspect of his worldview. It led Ding Hao to believe that Zheng Fan, as their master, would also instantly grasp it, perhaps even glow with understanding.
"Take it slow. Start from the smallest details," Blind Bei reminded him.
These seven demon lords were all old hands. Even if they didn’t follow this world’s traditional cultivation paths, they had all been titans in their respective fields. So, learning a basic martial art was, for them, no more difficult than solving primary school math problems presented in English—merely a matter of shifting their mindset.
But Zheng Fan was starting from scratch...
Ding Hao heaved a long sigh of relief. This time, he finally felt like a normal person again.
After a moment of contemplation, Mr. Ding began, "The path of a martial artist requires stepping forward with both legs. Only by walking on two legs can one proceed steadily."
"What about three legs?" A Ming interjected.
"Huh? Three legs?" Ding Hao was somewhat puzzled. He knew what "three hands" implied, but what did "three legs" mean? A metaphor? An implied meaning? Or something specific?
Ding Hao had witnessed this group’s talents yesterday, so he instinctively tried to decipher the meaning behind A Ming’s words. It felt like a middle school student analyzing an author’s mindset and intended emotions for a language comprehension question.
"Yeah, wouldn’t a tripod be steadier?" A Ming quipped again.
"Observe classroom discipline," Blind Bei, the class monitor, reminded their blackboard-cum-projector friend.
A Ming shut his mouth and continued to serve as a living blackboard and projector.
Xue Three, standing behind Zheng Fan, made a face at A Ming.
"Mr. Ding, let’s continue," Blind Bei prompted Ding Hao.
"Oh, right. These two legs correspond to two areas of preparation.
"One is body refinement. For a martial artist, one’s physique is always the greatest asset. It’s like a bucket; a wooden bucket and an iron bucket can withstand vastly different forces.
"The second is the mastery of Qi. Qi exists within the human body. Using Qi to command blood is known as ’Qi-blood.’ The physique is the foundation, and Qi-blood is the structure built upon it.
"Those who can control the circulation of their Qi-blood are at the Half-step Ninth Rank. Those who can maintain its continuous circulation are Ninth Rank martial artists. If they can release their Qi-blood externally, they ascend to the Eighth Rank realm!"
Zheng Fan listened attentively. Actually, these theories weren’t difficult. Later generations of xuanhuan and wuxia novels had already expounded these concepts countless times, just repackaged. But the problem was, back then, he read those works purely for entertainment. Now that it was his turn to try and learn, it suddenly felt... still so hard. Most importantly, can we stop with the theory and get to the practical details?
"What’s the first step?" Zheng Fan asked.
"Body refinement—tempering muscles and bones—this is something that needs to be done daily. Simultaneously, the other step is... to find the sensation of Qi-blood within your body. First, find it, then try to tame it for your own use."
"Close your eyes and feel it with your heart."
Zheng Fan really wanted to roll his eyes at this disabled teacher before him. That phrase, ’Close your eyes, feel it with your heart,’ was an absolute jack-of-all-trades, applicable everywhere in every profession. When your teacher doesn’t want to teach you the real skills and just wants to brush you off, they’ll often say this.
"Is there... any shortcut?"
Ding Hao frowned slightly but still nodded. "Yes, there is. Because this is the first step, the ’foot in the door,’ some people aren’t lacking talent but simply cannot sense the flow of Qi-blood initially. So, they resort to an external aid. Once they sense their Qi-blood with the help of this aid, their subsequent development won’t be restricted by having used it to begin with. However, that aid can be addictive and requires moderation."
"May I ask, sir, what is this external aid?" Blind Bei inquired.
Such is the heart of parents everywhere! The way Blind Bei and the other five looked at Zheng Fan was no exaggeration to describe as parents hoping their child would achieve greatness. It couldn’t be helped. As long as it could accelerate Zheng Fan’s cultivation, whether it was the most expensive study aid or something achieving results at quantum physics speed, they would accept it!
"Take drugs," Ding Hao uttered these two words.
Blind Bei was stunned. The others behind him, including Zheng Fan, were also stunned.
"Is it Five-rock powder?" Zheng Fan asked.
Ding Hao nodded. "The practice of taking drugs is quite prevalent in Jin State and Qian State. Actually, the initial purpose of Five-rock powder was to use the noxious qi it contains to impact the body, helping martial arts novices sense the flow of Qi-blood sooner. However, this substance gradually spread and became a plaything sought after by the literati. Scholars in Jin State and Qian State, even those who don’t practice martial arts, take drugs daily, merely pursuing that momentary feeling of euphoria and transcendence. Here in our Yan State, however, because the late Emperor once had a prince who took drugs caned to death, this trend never really caught on."
This was natural. For ordinary beginners in martial arts, taking drugs could serve as a stepping stone. But if it spread widely and became fashionable, the consequences and impact would be similar to opium in the late Qing Dynasty. In another world’s Wei and Jin Dynasties, from emperors down to ordinary well-off families, taking drugs was practically a symbol of recreational culture. The reality of those so-called famous scholars of Wei and Jin was mostly them gathering to take drugs. Stimulated by heavy metals and other substances, their skin would flush red, their Qi-blood would churn, and their minds would become excited. Then they’d strip off their clothes and run wildly through the forests, singing at the top of their lungs: So high...
Yan State was founded on martial prowess. To its north, it bordered the desert and faced threats from barbarian tribes. In the Central Plains, three major states watched it covetously. Yan State held no advantage in population or territory. The reason it could maintain its position as one of the four great states and even strategically suppress the neighboring Jin and Qian States was due to the fierce valor of the Yan region’s people. If the iron cavalry of Yan all started taking drugs for fun, just imagine the opium-addicted soldiers of the late Qing Dynasty. How could such a war be fought?
"I’ll go to the market and see if it’s sold. This stuff isn’t banned in Yan, is it?" Xue Three asked Ding Hao.
Ding Hao shook his head. "There are too many types of these powders, and too many ways to obtain them. It’s impossible to completely ban their sale. However, the upper echelons of our great Yan consider taking them shameful."
"I’ll go buy it," Xue Three said, ready to head out immediately.
"Wait." Blind Bei stopped Xue Three. Then, he turned to Ding Hao and asked, "The purpose of taking these powders is to let the components in the ore impact the body, to stir up a stagnant pool of water, is that right?"
"It’s to draw upon the noxious qi within the powder?"
"Yes. However, you don’t need to be so anxious to find these powders. You can certainly give this... your master some time. During this period, he can refine his body while trying to sense his Qi-blood. Even if it takes three months or half a year, it wouldn’t be excessive."
Slow cultivation? If we were going for slow cultivation, why would we have captured you?
Blind Bei suddenly grabbed the wrist of Liang Cheng, who was beside him, and lifted her hand.
"Here, grow out your nails."
Following Blind Bei’s instructions, Liang Cheng’s fingernails slowly elongated. Wisps of black, noxious qi swirled around them.
"This is good. The noxious qi is pure and controllable. It can completely substitute for the effects of the powder, and without side effects. However... it might be a bit painful."
After speaking, Blind Bei again instructed Liang Cheng, "When you channel it into My lord’s body later, be gentle."
Zheng Fan, sitting there, was suddenly a bit confused by the changing direction of this first lesson of his "new semester."
Wait... this... I just came for a lesson, didn’t I?
Blind Bei then faced Zheng Fan and said, "My lord, please bear with a little pain."
Saying this, he walked towards Zheng Fan, leading Liang Cheng.
Zheng Fan opened his mouth. "Wait... this..."