Patches of unmelted snow still lingered along the riverbank, yet resilient patches of vibrant green grass were already bravely sticking their heads out.
The legendary little river, rumored to have once spawned a little white dragon, had also thawed.
Fan Yi leisurely finished practicing the Tongbei Fist a few times, followed by several rounds of basic swordsmanship.
It was worth mentioning that once he could execute the eighteen forms of basic swordsmanship with absolute fluency, his peculiar talent began to manifest.
Every night in his dreams, he would be practicing basic swordsmanship; moreover, during the day, his muscles would twitch slightly, continuously mimicking the exertion of swinging a sword!
All of this brought him a great deal of trouble. The most direct consequence was that he broke quite a few bowls and dishes during that period, paying out a great deal of his hard-earned pocket money in compensation.
However, this situation only lasted for about half a month before his sword could move entirely in accordance with his will!
Even so, Gu San never came back after all, which Fan Yi found slightly regrettable. Gu San was actually quite suited for martial arts.
As mentioned earlier, Fan Yi's spiritual power had uncontrollably merged with his Internal Force. Although he had killed Lei Laohu right before his eyes with a single slap, he was actually utterly exhausted. For a long time afterwards, he relied entirely on his out-of-body Internal Force to manipulate his body's movements, as his physical body was simply too weak to move at all.
Throughout the entire winter, he could only continuously study martial arts and deepen his understanding of the world through those who came to visit him. At any rate, he was certainly no longer going to treat the words of those two outdated old men as gospel.
First, regarding the distribution of powers, the supreme number-one overlord of the Central Plains was undoubtedly Xia Hong. This fellow was practically the founding Emperor Hongwu of another world! Although his personal strength was merely at the First Heaven of Dark Force, he had a whole crowd of formidable thugs under his command and, moreover, controlled the largest armed forces in the Central Plains.
Next were the inescapable Shaolin and Wudang.
Oddly enough, Xia Hong had studied martial arts at Shaolin for a period of time, yet after becoming emperor, not only did he fail to help Shaolin flourish, but he even intentionally or unintentionally patronized and propped up the Wudang organization to keep them in check.
This left Shaolin with quite a few grievances.
After that came the unfathomable Tianmen Gate. According to the grapevine, the method of Qi Condensation was passed down from Tianmen Gate. However, because Tianmen Gate had no fixed stronghold, even Emperor Xia Hong could not necessarily find them.
The remaining ones included the Overlord Blade Sect, the Jiuge Sword Sect, and Xinglin Valley, renowned for both medicine and poison.
There was also the White Lotus Cult, which sounded like nothing good, constantly striving to launch rebellions, getting crushed, and then springing back to life in all sorts of ways while thoroughly enjoying the process.
These were the forces capable of swaying the martial arts world.
Speaking of which, Fan Yi grew furious whenever he thought about it: his Tongbei Fist turned out to be a foundational cultivation boxing routine derived and popularized by Xia Hong from Shaolin's Vajra Subduing Fist. As for the Twenty-One Forms of the Divine Sword, needless to say, it was utterly cheap street-peddler goods.
Actually, Fan Yi knew this could not entirely be blamed on those two old men, because every sect's techniques had corresponding special muscle training and maintenance methods, but the conditions on the island were too harsh. Forced training would leave hidden injuries.
Only this common Tongbei Fist trained merely the most ordinary and easily recoverable one hundred and eight muscles.
As for the Divine Sword Twenty-One... well, that damn thing really was just cheap street merchandise.
After organizing the recent information in his mind, Fan Yi prepared to head to the capital to see the world. Now that his body had recovered, naturally he could no longer hole up in the inn.
Casually tossing down a few silver leaves, he waved goodbye to the inn server—who had ultimately failed to trigger any plotline for him—and then, carrying his luggage and holding his sword, he set off on the road.
The inn server finally saw off this strange young hero who had recently been shooting up like crazy, as if he had eaten miracle fertilizer.
Walking along the bluestone-paved road of the town, Fan Yi did not make the slightest sound with his footsteps.
"This is what you call the Tread-Sky Step!" Fan Yi finally felt a bit better inside.
Having reached Hua Jin, his spiritual power could guide his Internal Force to project outside his body through the air, providing much more room for maneuver.
Previously, he could only accelerate by relying on the reaction force of his feet against the ground, and the movement naturally could not be small. Once he reached Hua Jin, he could increase the surface area of contact through his disembodied Internal Force. Only an existence like Fan Yi, who had achieved enlightenment regarding spiritual power, could make such refined distinctions.
Just thinking about how those two old men, back in their youth, could also project their Internal Force outside their bodies yet remained completely unable to sense the existence of spiritual power—when all was said and forth, they merely knew what was happening without knowing why.
At this thought, Fan Yi recalled the immortal master who had never left any clues. Although the yamen had captured most of those bandits, not a single piece of information regarding that immortal master had been interrogated out of them.
Shaking his head, Fan Yi decided not to borrow trouble for himself; if the guy came, so be it—it wasn't as if he was afraid of him!
Indeed, this was him: Fan Yi, the swelled-headed Hua Jin grandmaster, a nearly thirty-year-old chuunibyou soul residing in a sixteen-year-old body with a twenty-year-old face.
"Great Hero!"
A tender and joyful voice rang out.
Fan Yi's heart stirred as he turned to look.
A limping burly man was pulling a little boy with a pair of watery, stubbornly bright eyes.
……
……
……
"Crippled Zhao!!"
Inside Gu San's home, Gu San's mother looked like an angry vajra, holding a rolling pin as thick as an arm and pointing it at Butcher Zhao as she roared, "Is this how you look after the boy for me..."
Blah, blah, blah...
……
When Gu San's mother's voice became somewhat hoarse, Butcher Zhao hurriedly brought over a bowl of water and handed it to her: "Xing'er, you've seen for yourself whether San'er has been happy and joyful these past few days. Even though he's not my own flesh and blood, it breaks my heart, Crippled Zhao."
Gu San's mother took a sip of water and opened her mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by Butcher Zhao: "Can you, as his mother, not know whether San'er was just acting on a whim? If you keep a tight leash on him now, will you still be able to hold him back when he grows up? That young hero is said to be at the Ninth Heaven of Dark Force and is extremely capable, and his character is genuinely good and he truly cares about San'er. If he becomes his disciple, we can rest easy too."
Gu San's mother started to speak but stopped, ultimately just casting a white-eyed glare at Butcher Zhao, thinking to herself, "How could I not know that this child really took it to heart? But I truly can't bear to let him go."
At this thought, Gu San's mother glared fiercely at Butcher Zhao once more: "Don't think I don't know that this little brat just coaxed you into a good mood by calling you 'Dad'!"
Hearing this, Butcher Zhao knew what she was really thinking, so he didn't refute her; he just stood there foolishly grinning, the happiness on his face impossible to conceal.
The lingering rays of the setting sun shone upon a winding, sheep-gut path. A white-robed youth with a remarkably ordinary appearance yet an inherent ethereal air had a sword on his left hip and a wine gourd filled with tea on his right—well, he was still too young to drink alcohol.
Following closely behind him was a tiny figure carrying two bundles, one large and one small, drenched in sweat from exhaustion.
"Disciple, I hear your breathing rhythm is wrong again. The socks the day after tomorrow are yours to wash as well. I've told you so many times to pay attention to the breathing rhythm, or else it won't have any training effect."
The tiny figure's huge eyes were filled with grievance.
Indeed, Fan Yi had ultimately become a master—at Butcher Zhao's own request. Fan Yi had simply agreed out of reluctance.
Watching the little person beside him desperately trying to maintain his breathing rhythm, Fan Yi smiled blissfully. He could finally appreciate the joy of that unscrupulous old man back then, who used to make him maintain his breathing rhythm while helping him hoe the fields.