Chapter 15

The chill left by the oil-paper package on his palm had not yet faded. The charcoal marks on those few sheets of rough scrap paper. And those four small, forcefully written characters—“Trust me, practice this.” Like a red-hot branding iron, they burned into the bottom of Lin Feng’s eyes, burning even deeper into the turbulent depths of his churning heart. He leaned back against the ice-cold, piercing earthen wall, his breathing heavy, his chest rising and falling violently. His thin undergarment was soaked with cold sweat, clinging tightly to his skin and sending a series of shudders through him. In his hand was that bottle of wound medicine radiating a bitter coolness, and those few sheets of paper that felt as heavy as a thousand jun. The Young Lord… Qin Lie… That worthless wretch who curled up in the corner of the woodshed coughing up blood, the one shoved around like trash by Wang Biao in the martial arts arena? No! Absolutely not! That perfectly timed touch on Wang Biao’s wrist, the flash of icy sharpness occasionally sweeping across those seemingly murky depths of his eyes, and the medicine and boxing manual delivered like a ghost in the dead of night… This was definitely not something a useless wretch could do! He was faking it! Right under everyone’s very eyes, he had been acting out a colossal play! A massive, bottomless vortex, laden with fatal crises and unimaginable opportunities, had appeared before Lin Feng just like that, without a single sign of warning. Practice? This boxing technique was unimaginably refined. Just a shallow comprehension of the first stance, the piercing sensation of that single punch striking out, far surpassed the "Mad Bull Strength" he had painstakingly practiced for many years! This was a chance to change his fate! It was an olive branch extended by the Young Lord, the only hand that might possibly reach out and pull him out of this muddy quagmire! But what would be the price? Wang Biao’s scar-faced, grinning face surfaced in the darkness. Zhao Gui’s ingratiating yet sinister gaze. And Madam Liu of the Second Branch, the corners of her mouth that looked gentle yet were venomous to the core… Even… Second Prince Xia Yuanchen’s detached arrogance, viewing human lives as mere grass! A lowly guard like himself, once stepping onto the Young Lord’s boat, would be equivalent to standing in direct opposition to these behemoths! Crushing him to death would take less effort than squashing an ant! Not practice? And continue struggling at the very bottom of this Prince's Mansion? Enduring Wang Biao’s bullying every day, trembling amidst the internal strife among the guards, collecting a meager monthly stipend, buying inferior wound medicine, and watching those bought off by the Second Branch rise step by step, while he himself would never see a day when he could get ahead? Until one day, he died silently in some corner like a stray dog, or was used as cannon fodder to fill some meaningless conflict… Living like that… what difference was it from being dead?! Was it worth it? Lin Feng gripped the boxing manual so hard that his knuckles crackled. The pain in his arm was largely eased by the coolness of the ointment, but the stifling heaviness in his chest and that long-suppressed flame called "unwillingness to yield" were burning brighter and brighter! Why? Why should Wang Biao get to lord it over others by sucking up to the Second Branch? Why should he work hard practicing martial arts, yet not even be able to get a decent combat skill? Why… with an identity like the Young Lord’s, did he have to play the fool and struggle for survival in the mud?! In the dark, Lin Feng’s breathing grew faster and faster, his gaze violently torn and shifting between fear and longing. In the end, all his struggles, all his weighing of pros and cons, were ruthlessly crushed to pieces by those four small characters filled with a desperate, do-or-die determination— "Trust me, practice this." The Young Lord dared to gamble! He dared, trapped in a desperate situation where he could barely protect himself, to hand this faint spark to a nobody like him! What did he… have to hesitate about?! A surge of boiling hot blood rushed straight to his head! Instantly scattering all his cold hesitation! "Screw it!" A low, muffled roar burst from Lin Feng’s throat, like the howl of a wounded beast, carrying a do-or-die ruthlessness! He no longer hesitated, his movements astonishingly fast. He carefully applied that precious bottle of ointment to the injury on his right arm once more, ensuring that every inch of red, swollen, and stinging flesh was covered by the biting, cool medicinal power. Then, he took a deep breath of cold, foul air, as if wanting to suck the stifling grievance and past cowardice of this dilapidated room deep into his lungs, only to crush them ruthlessly! Like worshiping a sacred relic, he carefully spread out those few rough sheets of boxing manual scrap paper on the freezing earthen kang. Borrowing the faint, almost vanishing afterglow of moonlight filtering through the window, he widened his eyes, his pupils striving to contract and focus in the dark. A single word! A single line! A subtle annotation of force application! He looked at every single detail with extreme care, with ravenous hunger! In his eyes, those crude charcoal drawings seemed to transform into supreme steps leading to the peak of power! He forced himself to calm down, banishing all stray thoughts. In his mind, he recalled over and over again that very first, most basic horse-stancing posture on the chart. His feet were slightly apart, neither too wide nor too narrow. His knees were slightly bent, the angle smaller than what the "Mad Bull Strength" required, but the intent to sink his center of gravity was much more concentrated and solid! He tried mimicking the posture on the chart. His center of gravity sank into the Yongquan acupoint at the soles of his feet. Sinking into the cold, solid earth. The curve of his waist and back, the relaxation of his shoulder blades, that faint, illusory sense of suspension at the crown of his head… Every single detail was adjusted strictly according to the scribbled yet immensely precise annotations on the scrap paper. An unprecedented, down-to-earth sense of stability actually welled up spontaneously! It felt as though his feet had grown roots! No longer floating lightly on the ground, they were truly connected as one with the earth! Let the fierce winds and driving rain rage, he would remain immovable as a mountain! Just by adjusting his standing posture! Lin Feng’s heart pounded wildly, like a heavy mallet striking a drum! This feeling… was too miraculous! "Twist the waist and drive the shoulder, punch straight as a drill…" Taking this brand-new, solid horse stance as his foundation, he made an attempt. His mind visualized the humanoid figure punching on the chart. His waist and hips, like a heavy millstone, slowly twisted inward. Power did not arise out of thin air; it truly and solidly surged up from the Yongquan acupoints at the soles of his feet! Following the tense muscles of his calves, it transmitted to his thighs, and then, along the great dragon of his spine, it climbed step by step! Twist the waist! Power accumulated and compressed in the twisting of the waist and hips, like a tightly wound spring! Drive the shoulder! The power followed the twisting waist and spine, thrusting fiercely into the shoulder blades! His shoulder blades came alive, twitching slightly to channel that extreme, compressed power like an arrow leaving the string, instantly pouring it into his clenched right fist! Punch out! The movement was still raw, carrying the sluggishness and stiffness of his injured arm. Yet the moment the punch struck out! An incomparably concentrated stream of air, carrying a sharp, spiraling, piercing force, tore through the cold air right along with his fist-edge! It produced an extremely faint yet exceptionally clear "chi" sound! Like a red-hot iron rod plunging into cold water! Though faint, it vanished in a flash. Yet in Lin Feng’s ears, it sounded like a thunderclap exploding from the nine heavens! He abruptly pulled back his punch, standing frozen in place as if hit by a immobilization spell. In the dark, he stared in disbelief at his own fist—the one that still ached faintly, yet had just erupted with astonishing power. Then he suddenly lowered his head, fixing a deadly glare on those few rough sheets of scrap paper on the earthen kang that seemed to emit a faint glow under the meager moonlight. His pupils contracted violently from extreme shock! His body trembled slightly from wild elation and a sense of awe toward unknown power! This boxing technique! This seemingly crude and scribbled boxing technique! Could it… truly be this terrifying?! Merely the first attempt, merely adjusting the way force was applied, merely imitating the crudest stance! The penetrating power of this punch! The fluid sensation when applying force! Even… the physical energy consumed was much less than a full-strength strike of the "Mad Bull Strength"! The Young Lord… just what kind of… person is he?! And this boxing technique… what grade of treasure is it?! Lin Feng’s heartbeat pounded frantically in the small, dilapidated room like a flurry of battle drums! Thud-thud! Thud-thud! Every single beat slammed against his chest, carrying boiling hot blood that washed through his entire body! Excitement! Wild elation! And a trace of lingering fear—if he had chosen to back down just now, chosen to remain cowardly… This chance to change his destiny would have slipped right through his fingers! He no longer hesitated, completely forgetting the pain in his arm. Like a dying traveler in the desert who suddenly discovers a refreshing, clear spring, he threw himself greedily toward the edge of the kang. Borrowing the nearly vanished moonlight, he devoured the diagrams and chants on the scrap paper over and over again, with insatiable hunger. The minute transitions of every posture. The deep meaning of every chant. The precise location of every force application annotation. He refused to let a single one go! The moonlight shifted silently. That pale patch of light finally, stingingly, fell completely onto the very bottom of the scrap paper. Clearly illuminating those four characters— "Trust me, practice this." And illuminating Lin Feng’s young face, which was slightly distorted by excitement, focus, and a do-or-die resolve. All his confusion, struggle, and fear had vanished like smoke. Deep within his eyes, nothing remained except a roaring, almost devout flame! He took a deep breath of the cold, murky air; the earthy and mildewed scent now seemed filled with power. Once again, he slowly assumed that brand-new horse-stancing posture. His feet rooted, his center of gravity sinking. His waist and hips like a millstone, gathering momentum. This time, he did not punch at the empty air. His gaze pierced through the dilapidated window, seeming to pass right through the heavy darkness of the Prince's Mansion, locking onto a specific direction—Wang Biao’s room, situated in the relatively prime location of the guards' quarters! In the darkness, he aimed toward that direction. Toward that enemy who had bullied him for far too long. Toward his own unknown yet resolutely chosen path ahead. Punch! Silently, carrying a resolute conviction and the spiraling piercing force he had just comprehended, he lashed out fiercely! The air once again emitted a faint tearing sound, like rending fabric! …… The next three days. For Lin Feng, time was sliced into two completely different halves. By day, he remained that taciturn, mediocre guard in the Prince's Mansion guard detail—an underprivileged low-level guard who appeared even more "antisocial" after talking back to Wang Biao last time. He wore a guard’s short jacket that had been washed pale and mended with several patches. A standard-issue sabre with a slightly notched blade hung at his waist. He followed the squad, patrolling the glamorous yet bone-chilling corridors and courtyards of the Prince's Mansion under the malevolent sweep of Wang Biao’s gaze. "Lin Feng! Are you damn well blind? Didn’t you see the fallen leaves over there uncleaned? Get your ass over there and clear them out!" Wang Biao’s harsh voice exploded in his ears, carrying unmasked harassment. Lin Feng kept his head down, his expression unreadable, and merely replied dully, "Yes, Head Wang." He walked over briskly, picked up the tattered broom from the corner, and silently swept away the fallen leaves blown down by the autumn wind. His movements appeared slightly clumsy, and because of the injury to his right arm, his sweeping posture was even a bit awkward. This drew undisguised sneers and snorts from several guards nearby who had been bought off by the Second Branch. "Trash is just trash, can't even sweep the floor properly!" "I heard he played the hero in front of the Young Lord the other day, only to have his arm nearly wrecked by Head Wang with a gentle touch? Ha ha!" "Why doesn't he take a piss and look at what kind of thing he is!" The mockery pierced his ears like cold needles. The fingers gripping the broom handle turned white with force. Yet he did not raise his head, nor did he talk back. He merely buried his head lower, hunching his back further, like a quail with its wings soaked by the rain. All his rage, unwillingness, and stifled grievance were pressed firmly down into the deepest recesses of his heart, wrapped tightly in a thick disguise called "cowardice." Only occasionally, in unnoticed corners, when he lifted his eyelids to sweep past Wang Biao’s smugly swaggering back, would a cold, piercing sharpness flash deep within those seemingly numb eyes. It vanished as fast as an illusion. Wang Biao seemed to sense something and whipped his head around. Lin Feng had already lowered his head again, focusing intently on sweeping the floor, as if that sharp gaze from a moment ago had never existed. "Hmph, you know what's good for you!" Wang Biao spat, cursing as he walked away. Lin Feng gripped the broom and continued to sweep in silence. Stroke by stroke. What he was sweeping away seemed not to be fallen leaves, but his past self—cowardly, confused, and at the mercy of bullies. …… When the clamor and humiliation of the day sank below the horizon along with the last trace of daylight. When the Prince's Mansion was completely swallowed by ink-black night. When the snoring and sleep-talking rose in waves from the eastern courtyard where the guards lived. Lin Feng’s world truly began. Like a dormant venomous snake, under the cover of darkness, he quietly slipped out of his dilapidated room. Avoiding the flickering light of the night patrol's lanterns, he skillfully threaded his way through the most secluded and desolate corners of the Prince's Mansion. There, near the towering outer walls of the mansion, lay a cluster of long-abandoned servants' quarters where even the lowest servants rarely bothered to tread. Broken walls, overgrown weeds. The cold night wind whistled between the shattered window frames and door lintels like a ghost's cry. The air was thick with the scent of heavy dust and decaying wood. Yet Lin Feng paid no heed to this eerie place. As if returning to his own territory, he walked straight to the center of a relatively intact ruined house deep in the courtyard. This was a supreme, secret training ground he had discovered. The cold, clear moonlight poured through a massive hole in the roof, acting like a stage spotlight to cast itself precisely onto a relatively flat patch of open ground in the center of the room. Lin Feng stood within the patch of light, taking a deep breath of the cold air laden with the scent of decay. All his daytime disguises and suppressions melted away entirely at this moment! His gaze was as sharp as a falcon's, his back straight as a javelin! He slowly assumed his stance. His feet were neither too wide nor too narrow, his center of gravity sank, and his waist and hips twisted inward slowly like a millstone. It was precisely the opening horse-stance technique from the optimized boxing manual! Under the moonlight, his movements no longer carried the clumsiness and sluggishness of the daytime. Every twist of the waist, every drop of the shoulder, every mental guidance carried an almost instinctive fluidity! Three days! Just three short nights! This set of boxing techniques seemed naturally branded into his bones and blood! Hoo! Ha! His breathing grew long and rhythmic. With every inhalation, it was as if he were drawing the cold moonlight and the "earthly energy" that had laid dormant in this ruined courtyard for years deep into his abdomen. Every exhalation carried a stream of scorching white vapor that quickly dissipated in the chilling air. "Settle energy in the waist and hips, power rises from the earth…" He recited the chant silently in his heart. His mind guided that faint stream of heat surging up from the earth and circulating within his body. "Twist the waist and drive the shoulder, punch straight as a drill!" His waist and hips twisted violently! The accumulated power released like a compressed spring! His right fist tore through the air and struck out! Chi—! A sound of breaking air, clearer and sharper than on the first night, suddenly rang out! The air directly in front of his fist seemed to be brutally bored through by an invisible drill! The generated fist-wind even whipped up a small cloud of the fine, accumulated dust on the ground! Lin Feng withdrew his fist, brilliant light bursting from his eyes! He could clearly feel that the injury to his arm was roughly seven or eight parts healed, thanks to the miraculous efficacy of the medicinal ointment and the conditioning and nourishing of his physical blood and qi by the boxing technique itself! More importantly—power! A pure sense of power! And an unprecedented mastery over that power! It felt as though every single muscle and bone in his body had been reawakened and reconnected, twisting together into an unbreakable rope! "Footwork follows the body, avoid the solid and strike the void…" He began practicing his footwork. No longer simple movement, it now coordinated with the rhythm of the boxing technique. Advance! Like a civet cat pouncing on a mouse, silent yet swift as lightning! Retreat! Like a nimble snake returning to its hole, twisting and eerie, leaving no trace! Turn! Like a spinning top, its center of gravity solid, ready to erupt with a thunderous strike at any moment! Under the moonlight, his figure shuttled, leaped, and turned rapidly amidst the broken walls. At times like a fierce tiger descending the mountain, its momentum deep and majestic! At times like a nimble ape climbing a branch, light and agile! At times like a venomous snake spitting its tongue, striking and retreating instantly! The sound of breaking air! No longer a single "chi" sound! Instead, it carried various rhythms of whistling, low humming, and even sharp sonic cracks! Fist-wind! Leg-shadows! They stirred the dust beneath the moonlight in the center of the ruined house, forming brief, fierce trajectories! Sweat soon soaked his thin garments, steaming into faint white mist in the cold air. Yet he remained entirely oblivious. All exhaustion and pain were submerged by an unprecedented, immense euphoria of mastering power! He practiced faster and faster! More and more fiercely! He executed, pondered, and fused the postures, force application, and footwork coordination from the optimized boxing manual on the scrap paper, over and over again! From the initial clumsy imitation to gradual fluency and ease. Later on, he even began attempting to link and combine different moves, searching for his own personal combat rhythm! Bang! A straight punch imbued with spiraling force smashed fiercely into a half-rotten wooden pillar in the center of the ruined house! He did not use his full strength. Yet a small patch of wood chips exploded from the surface of the pillar with a crisp snap! A clear fist imprint, bearing spiral grain patterns, was deeply branded onto the wooden pillar! Lin Feng withdrew his fist, staring at the clear imprint, his chest rising and falling violently. Not from exhaustion. But from excitement! From wild elation! From a sense of profound metamorphosis, as if shedding his old skin! 2nd Layer Martial Artist! No! Just the refinement of this boxing technique and his mastery of power meant his current combat prowess definitely was not inferior to an ordinary 3rd Layer Martial Artist! Even… stronger! Three days! Just three short nights! Young Lord… what kind of fortune have you given me?! Lin Feng raised his head, gazing up at the cold, bright moon hanging outside the hole in the roof. His eyes were filled with boundless gratitude and an almost fanatical worship! The moonlight spilled down quietly. Illuminating his crystal-clear, sweat-soaked face, as well as the cluster of flames deep in his eyes named "hope" and "loyalty," which were burning fiercely! …… The third night. The hour of Zi had passed. Lin Feng brought tonight's cultivation to a close. Sweat had long since soaked his clothes through, sticking coldly and clingily to his skin, yet a ball of fire burned within him, his blood and qi surging, his vitality abundant. The exhilaration brought by his breakthrough in strength had not yet completely faded. As usual, he prepared to slip back silently to his dilapidated room. Yet tonight, a fierce thought grew like wild grass in his heart. Go see the Young Lord! Go see that Young Lord who, in everyone's eyes, was as humble as dust and frail as paper, yet had bestowed upon him the power of rebirth! Once this thought arose, it could no longer be suppressed. Lin Feng took a deep breath, his gaze turning exceptionally sharp. He abandoned the route that led directly back to the eastern courtyard. Like the night owl most skilled in concealment, using the cover of shadows, rockeries, and floral foliage throughout the mansion, he pushed his optimized movement technique to its limit. His figure grew so fast it practically blurred into a shadowy phantom, silently slipping toward the most desolate and ruined courtyard in the northwest corner of the mansion. That was where Young Lord Qin Lie had been "banished" to live. The closer he got to that area, the sparser the lights of the mansion became, and the patrolling guards were practically non-existent. The air was thick with an atmosphere of decay and desolation. Finally, Lin Feng silently climbed to the top of an already abandoned, ornamental rockery near the small courtyard. The view here was excellent, allowing him to clearly overlook the "Young Lord's residence" below, which consisted of only two low earthen houses and a tiny, barren courtyard. The small courtyard was pitch black and dead silent. Only through the gap in the window of one of the earthen houses did an extremely faint, dim yellow lamplight shine out, as if it might flicker out at any moment. Lin Feng held his breath, blending his body completely into the cold shadows of the rockery, even intentionally slowing his heartbeat. The shallow techniques of the "Tortoise Breathing Formula" were instinctively employed, making his presence faint to the point of non-existence. Like a lifeless stone, he observed quietly. Time ticked away drop by drop. There was no movement whatsoever in the small courtyard. Only the night wind rustling through the overgrown weeds made soft whispering sounds. Lin Feng’s heart sank gradually. Could the Young Lord already be asleep? Just as he felt a trace of disappointment and prepared to quietly withdraw— Squeak… An extremely faint frictional sound of a dry wooden pivot turning broke the dead silence of the courtyard! The dim wooden door of the earthen house, leaking lamplight, slowly pulled open a crack from the inside! A figure flashed out silently! It was Qin Lie! Lin Feng’s heart instantly leapt to his throat! Through the faint lamplight leaking from the door crack and the pale moonlight, Lin Feng saw clearly. The Young Lord still wore that old robe, washed pale and mended with several patches. His figure remained thin, his complexion appearing overly pale under the moonlight. In fact, as he came out, he even instinctively raised a hand to cover his mouth, coughing a few suppressed, muffled coughs. Those coughs were exceptionally clear in the silent night, carrying a marrow-deep frailty. Lin Feng’s heart twitched. Yet the next instant! His pupils contracted sharply! He saw that after Qin Lie lowered the hand covering his mouth, he did not hunch his back or walk with a staggering gait as he usually did. Instead, he walked slowly to the relatively flat open space in the center of the small courtyard. He stood still. And then— He slowly assumed a stance! A stance Lin Feng knew down to his very bones! Feet neither too wide nor too narrow! Knees slightly bent! Center of gravity sinking! Waist and back straight! Crown of the head suspended! It was precisely the opening horse-stance technique of the optimized boxing technique! Under the moonlight, Qin Lie’s movements were slow, solemn, and even carried a trace of post-illness stiffness and caution. Yet every single detail, every shift of the center of gravity, the angle of the waist and hip twist, the degree of shoulder blade relaxation… Matched the annotations on the chart that Lin Feng had painstakingly practiced and pondered over these past few nights, without the slightest deviation! Lin Feng felt an electric current surge straight from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head! His scalp tingled numbly! The blood in his entire body seemed to freeze at this moment! It really was the Young Lord! Not only had he given him the boxing manual! He himself… was practicing it too! And judging from the solidity and precision of that stance, it was clearly not something achieved overnight! In the center of the courtyard, Qin Lie began to practice slowly and meticulously. His movements were not fast. Even somewhat slow. Yet every single punch. Every single twist of the waist and drive of the shoulder. Every transition of footwork. Carried an indescribable sense of rhythm. It felt less like practicing martial arts and more like performing some ancient and mysterious ritual. The cold moonlight spilled over his pale yet exceptionally focused profile. Sweat soon soaked the stray hairs on his forehead. His breathing gradually grew long. His movements, too, shifted from initial slowness and stiffness to becoming increasingly fluid. Though it still lacked the rapid, explosive air-tearing sound that Lin Feng could produce,

Yet that fist intent—heavy and unyielding as a mountain, yet concealing an indomitable sharpness—spread silently across the small courtyard with his movements!

Lin Feng lay flat atop the cold artificial rockery, his eyes wide and unblinking.

He stared fixedly at every minute detail of Qin Lie's movements, cross-referencing them with his own insights from the past few nights.

Many subtle points that had felt sluggish and elusive during his own practice suddenly became crystal clear under the Young Lord's seemingly slow demonstration!

So the twist of the waist here needed to be half a fraction smaller! So the shoulder blades needed to be tucked inward like that when driving the shoulders! So the center of gravity needed to shift forward in advance during footwork transitions! ……

Lin Feng watched in rapt fascination, as if someone groping in the darkness for a long time had suddenly seen a bright lamp light up ahead, guiding his path forward!

After an unknown length of time, Qin Lie slowly drew back his stance.

He stood in place, breathing slightly, and raised his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

In the moonlight, his pale face seemed to have lost a fraction of its lifelessness, gaining instead a trace of imperceptible flush.

He raised his head, his gaze sweeping seemingly at random toward the artificial rockery where Lin Feng was hiding.

That gaze was calm and profound, like two ancient wells without a ripple. Yet beneath that calmness, Lin Feng felt a chill as though he had been thoroughly seen through!

Frightened to the point of a missed heartbeat, he hurriedly buried his head down hard and completely held his breath!

After several long breaths, he finally dared to raise his eyelids extremely slowly and carefully to look toward the small courtyard once more.

The courtyard was already empty.

The battered wooden door had somehow been closed again. Only the dim, yellowish light from the oil lamp still stubbornly filtered through the crack in the door, making the breathtaking scene just now seem like a mere phantom dream.

Lin Feng remained sprawled atop the cold rockery, his body trembling slightly from excessive shock and the excitement of prying into a secret.

The moonlight fell upon him, illuminating his eyes where the last trace of doubt had completely dissipated. What remained was only something as scalding as molten lava and as firm as a Monolith—loyalty!