The mournful roar of a fierce tiger echoed between heaven and earth, persisting for a long while before fading away.
Inside Liu Wuqiu's house, Xiahou Xuan sat on a stool, reading a book by the moonlight, Wang Anfeng closed his eyes to practice his Inner Qi, fully committing to cultivation. Huangfu Xiong, whose jaw had been forced open to consume medicinal liquor, had also awakened. He was truthfully bored and kept taking small sips from the liquor jar occasionally.
Outside the house was deathly silent, with only the howling mountain wind. They could only wait here, prepared to face an unknown judgment. The Vigorous Qi outside was like a tiger, signalling that this was anything but their affair to intervene in.
But sitting and waiting for death was indeed uncomfortable.
At that moment, amidst the howling wind, a sudden mix of other sounds broke through, like footsteps, but not quite right—as if something was being dragged on the ground, creating a strange, unsettling frictional noise. Wang Anfeng slowly opened his eyes, his palm pressing on the dagger at his waist.
Xiahou Xuan's gaze shifted away from his book, while Huangfu's hand holding the liquor jar inadvertently bulged with veins.
The beating of their hearts started to quicken, and the sound of friction grew closer and closer...
The wooden door was pushed open with a thrust, and a pungent scent of blood mixed with the mountain breeze rushed in, making the three youngsters' hearts race at their fastest. Wang Anfeng's dagger flew out of its sheath in a flash, becoming a glinting protective barrier in front of him. Moonlight fell upon the person before them—it was an old man with white hair, who gave them a smile and said:
"Cough, cough, cough, it seems, you aren't stupid."
Wang Anfeng then recognized that the elder in front of him was indeed Liu Wuqiu, whom they had met before. Only now his clothes were torn and he was drenched in blood, which made him unrecognizable at first. Based on previous assessments, the elder before them bore them no malice; their racing hearts slowed down a bit, and Liu Wuqiu then extended his right hand, saying:
Wang Anfeng hesitated for a moment, then recalling something, he sheathed his dagger, picked up the Folding Fan from a table nearby, and respectfully handed it to the elder. The latter took the Folding Fan, staggered forward, and finally settled on the ground next to the bed.
He took a deep breath and unfolded the fan in the moonlight, trembling as he brushed his hand over the small poem pinned on the fan and softly said:
"Lost for sixty-eight years, won this one time..."
The three youths stood by him in silence as the old man muttered words they did not understand, his tone relaxed, peaceful, and reflective—emotions common to all. His voice gradually lowered and then shifted to descriptions of the various arts of Jianghu, interspersed with vernacular speech.
Wang Anfeng and his friends, having tuned into the old man's emotions, naturally got engrossed in his narrative.
Xiahou Xuan was intelligent and broad in his learning, with a high self-regard, and would ordinarily look down on a character like Liu Wuqiu. Yet the low, somewhat jumbled words the elder muttered rang in his ears like a roaring thunder.
Many parts resonated with his own studies, prompting him to listen more intently as his Inner Qi spontaneously circulated, gradually becoming expansive and inclusive, as if a hundred rivers were flowing into the sea, achieving grandeur.
Huangfu Xiong felt a powerful impact on his mind from the nearly incomprehensible old man's musings on fist technique. Each sentence seemed to reach into the depths of fist methodology, offering high insights that struck straight to the core.
The roaring of the tiger that was still echoing in his ears seemed to smash his previous understanding of fist techniques to pieces, only to rise from the ruins and erect a towering edifice—a lone peak majestically standing above, looking down upon his former self.
Wang Anfeng, who hadn't been practicing martial arts for long and whose understanding of it was far less than his two friends, simply listened to the elder. To be honest, much of what the other party said was beyond his comprehension; however, some words evoked a sense of enlightenment, though unclear, leaving him bewildered as he listened.
But as his Yi Chan Gong Inner Strength circulated, it subtly changed, its impact unknown.
The elder's voice grew softer and eventually ceased. He looked up at Wang Anfeng and the other two, saying:
"Your aptitude is not bad; I've learned a great deal in my lifetime, and today's breakthrough has provided me with much enlightenment. The three of you weren't able to fully comprehend it, but you haven't come away empty-handed,"
"One has gained breadth, another height, and one... purity. Such is the way of the Heavenly Dao, man's efforts can never achieve perfection. Divided in three, standing firm like a tripod? Very good... very good..."
The elderly man's expression was complex as he murmured a few words to himself before saying,
"I am weary; I shall go to sleep."
The three of them didn't understand his meaning, but they were grateful for Liu Wuqiu's teachings. They bowed deeply and exited the room, reflecting on the life-and-death experiences of the night, which seemed like a dream. The crescent moon in the sky had already set, and the pale light of dawn seemed to be churning upwards.
Wang Anfeng looked up at the sky and only then realized that a whole night had passed. The events of this short night weighed heavier and were more unforgettable than all of his thirteen years of life combined. Next to him, both Xiahou and Huangfu wore a similarly dazed look, indicating that this experience was anything but ordinary for them as well.
Suddenly, two streaks of light shot across the sky. Before they drew close, someone shouted loudly,
"Young Master! Young Master?!"
The two figures landed; one was a proud man in brocade, carrying a daunting heavy blade on his back, while the other was a consumptive ghost cradling a wooden zither. Upon seeing Xiahou and Huangfu, he plopped down on the ground, clutching his chest and taking deep breaths, yelling at the top of his lungs,
"All's well, all's well..."
"That was a close call; you nearly scared old six to death..."
The man in brocade frowned and explained,
"Just now, the roar of a tiger echoed from this mountain to the heavens, severing a thousand miles and silencing all beasts. It must have been someone leaping into the Martial Arts Grandmaster path of the Upper Third Rank. That the two... three Young Masters are unharmed is indeed very good."
"In the future, do not separate from us again. Should we encounter such a situation..."
Huangfu Xiong shrugged his shoulders, reaching for the hip flask at his waist, only to find it empty. He pursed his lips and said,
"You would ? Could you protect the three of us from an Upper Third Rank master?"
The man in brocade's expression stiffened as he forced a defense,
"Against a True Master of the Taoist Sect, or a general of the Military Family, I am not their match, but if I wager my life, I can still protect your life at the very least."
Xiahou Xuan sighed on the side,
"Wager your life? Master Liu was covered in a hundred wounds; he must have fought a Third Rank Grandmaster just now..."
At these words, even the consumptive ghost stopped his wailing, staring at the wooden cabin as if seeing a ghost. Wang Anfeng looked up slightly towards the dawn sky.
As the day broke and the sky brightened, he noticed the heavenly signs above—dense clouds converged like coiling dragons, threatening to shake the pillars of Heaven, creating an awe-inspiring spectacle that enveloped dozens of miles around.