“Then I guess it’s those official martial arts dojos that take in disciples. The second option is the famed expert from the Central Plains—Li Ran, the Soul-Slaying Palm.”
Lu Sheng had done his research on the man. Once a renowned figure, Li Ran’s meridians had been shattered by an enemy in the Central Plains. With his strength crippled, he had brought his wife and children to Mountain-Edge City to live in quiet seclusion, far from the chaos of his past.
“Despite being wounded, he’s still made a name for himself in Mountain-Edge City. He must have a trick or two up his sleeves. And his palm technique is similar to mine… he’s worth checking out. As for hard body skills, there are two others to consider—Chen Jia, the Tumbler, and Yang Furui, the Bronze Pillar.”
Lu Sheng had personally visited both their dojos. Chen Jia, well into his seventies, passed down only basic and unremarkable techniques. Yang Furui, however, was far more forthcoming. Anyone could learn his foundational hard body art—the Tempered Steel Skill—for a price. From there, exceptional students might earn his personal instruction in the Bronze Pillar Skill.
“Enrolling in a dojo as a student is too slow for me. I only need the manuals. As long as I can get inside and obtain them…”
He mulled it over, then decided to head to the city’s auction house first. Perhaps he might stumble upon a powerful martial skill—something like the Black Fury Skill.
The thought of money brought him back to reality. He reached into his waist pouch and felt the thin silver notes and a few golden leaves within. A weary sigh escaped him.
“I’ve got to find a way to earn some money.”
If not for the Wang Ziquan affair… if not for that cursed encounter on the pleasure boat Scarlet Decks, he wouldn’t have been forced into this desperate rush for strength.
After packing his belongings, Lu Sheng took to the main road leading back into Mountain-Edge City. His decision was made—he would seek out the famed expert from the Central Plains, the Soul-Slaying Palm, Li Ran.
Hailing a horse carriage, Lu Sheng let himself be carried through the winding streets of Mountain-Edge City. After a ride that lasted several times longer than it would take to brew a pot of tea, he finally arrived at his destination.
At the end of a quiet street stood an old, dignified manor adorned with peachwood signboards weathered by time. This was the renowned Greenwood Dao Court—the martial arts dojo founded by none other than Li Ran, the Soul-Slaying Palm.
The main gate stood open, and it happened to be the hour when visitors were welcome. Lu Sheng stepped into the noisy stream of townsfolk flowing through the entrance and followed them into the spacious courtyard. Within lay a broad square arena, its crimson pillars rising tall, framing the open air like the ribs of a great beast.
Upon the stage, a middle-aged man with streaks of white in his beard moved fluidly through a series of palm strikes. His stance was powerful and fierce, each movement carrying the weight of a predator poised to strike. Every so often, a sharp roar echoed through the air as his palm cut forward.
“Bravo!”
The man’s set of movements had reached its climax. The crowd erupted into cheers, clapping and shouting praises with unrestrained excitement.
Lu Sheng’s gaze locked on the figure atop the platform.
“That’s the standard of a famed expert from the Central Plains?”
He could hardly believe it. The man’s form was solid, his control over rhythm and movement precise. Yet between each transition, there was a faint hesitation—a momentary pause that betrayed uncertainty. His strikes, though flashy, lacked real weight. Even the booming roars of his palms were little more than clever tricks to mask the absence of true power.
What truly left Lu Sheng at a loss for words was when someone nearby exclaimed, “Yesterday, Grandmaster Li issued an open challenge to every pugilist in Mountain-Edge City! Even the Second Commander of the Winged Honor Guard came to face him. If only you had seen it! Within thirty moves, the commander took a direct palm strike to the chest, staggered back, and admitted defeat on the spot!”
Another voice joined in, brimming with admiration. “Impressive! He truly lives up to his name as a famed expert of the Central Plains—out of this world!”
“What does that count as? Previously, Grandmaster Li had even defeated the Dojo Masters of Bronze Pillar Dao Court, Mad Lion Dao Court, Misty Cloud Dao Court, and Nine Tunes Heaven and Earth Dao Court—one after another!” someone boasted loudly. “I saw it myself! Not a single one of them lasted fifty moves against Grandmaster Li!”
At once, the crowd erupted in astonished cries, voices rising in genuine admiration. Lu Sheng could tell from their tone that they weren’t exaggerating; their awe came from the heart.
He lifted his gaze back to the arena. Li Ran was demonstrating his palm technique when a young man stepped forward to take up the challenge—or rather, to give it a try. The challenger was tall and broad-shouldered, moving with the confidence of one who had trained long. Yet even as he bowed, there was a respectful glint in his eyes. He had only asked that Grandmaster Li offer him a few pointers.
The duel began swiftly. Their palms met and parted with loud smacks, the air whistling from the force of each exchange. The rhythm was fast, precise, and sharp—drawing cheers from the onlookers.
With just a few glances, Lu Sheng understood why Li Ran commanded such reputation.
So it turns out that Li Ran’s speed and strength are indeed impressive… among ordinary men, he thought silently.
Up until now, Lu Sheng had never truly known how far his own abilities had reached. He had always trained in secrecy, concealing his power and cultivating alone, without an opponent to measure himself against. Watching Li Ran fight finally gave him a point of reference.
Now that I see clearly… this Li Ran… I can defeat him in three moves.
Lu Sheng shook his head faintly, turned from the crowd, and began walking away.
His so-called Soul-Slaying Palm is only slightly stronger than my Heart-Shattering Palm. Without using inner force, he might be my equal. But if I use inner force… He paused, reconsidering. Three moves? That’s giving him too much credit.
One move. That would be enough.
When he drew upon his inner force, his strength multiplied severalfold—far beyond the reach of such “masters.”
What I need aren’t these so-called experts, Lu Sheng thought as he left the Greenwood Dao Court behind. He had planned to visit the Bronze Pillar Dao Court next, but with the sun already sinking beyond the rooftops, he decided to return home and rest instead.
The next morning, Lu Sheng made his way to the Bronze Pillar Dao Court, followed by several others across the city. He had come to observe the demonstrations of their famed hard body skills.
The Bronze Pillar Skill, as its legend claimed, could temper one’s body to the point of bending a spear with the throat. The sight was indeed striking—students lined up in disciplined rows, their necks pressing against sharpened spears without flinching.
Yet to Lu Sheng’s eyes, it was nothing extraordinary. He had seen similar forms of training before—techniques that merely hardened the body through sheer endurance and inner force. The method was painfully simple: withstand the suffering, persist through it, and the body would adapt.
Moreover, this particular art demanded vast quantities of medicinal herbs to temper the flesh. Without them, the practitioner would suffer hidden injuries that would accumulate over time. The Dao Courts were generous with their teachings, openly displaying the skill’s cultivation method to the public—but the recipe for the body-tempering elixir was kept tightly guarded.
Lu Sheng made discreet inquiries and soon learned the truth: only the formal disciples of the Dao Courts were permitted access to the medicinal brews.
That discovery left him disheartened. Without those elixirs, even if he succeeded in the physical training, his body would be left scarred and broken. The risk wasn’t worth the gain.
He recalled the agony from his previous experiment—the Black Fury Skill, which had taken half a year of bedridden recovery just to stabilize after reaching Level Three. The thought of repeating that ordeal made his body ache all over again.
By the time he stepped out of the Dao Court’s gate, the sun had already begun its slow descent. Half a day gone, and he had gained nothing of worth.
Disappointment tugged at him as he made his way toward the Ghost Market on First Street—a notorious quarter of Mountain-Edge City where all manner of dubious trade took place. Burial goods, stolen treasures, contraband, and relics of unknown origin were exchanged freely there.
Before entering, Lu Sheng checked the weight of his purse. After counting and sorting everything, he had no more than two thousand taels in silver notes and golden leaves combined.
The stationery shop under his name brought in less than a hundred taels a month—a paltry sum. For the path he walked, that kind of money was as good as nothing.
“I’ll have to find something worthwhile this time,” he muttered under his breath, before stepping into the shadowed depths of the Ghost Market.
“Let me take a look around and see if I can pick out any gems.”
Lu Sheng had come to the Ghost Market because Zheng Xiangui once told him that many of the rare treasures auctioned off in Mountain-Edge City had originally been discovered here. From that day onward, he often wandered through the market whenever he had spare time—hoping fortune might one day favor him.
The Ghost Market wasn’t large. It consisted of little more than a dozen cramped stalls packed along a narrow alleyway, dimly lit by hanging lanterns swaying in the breeze. Few people came here; only those who knew how to distinguish gold from dirt dared to linger.
Lu Sheng moved slowly through the alley, crouching from time to time to examine the curios displayed before him—jade pendants dulled by age, broken blades with faint inscriptions, and jars of unidentifiable powders. His expression remained calm and focused, yet nothing he touched sparked the faintest trace of interest.
After a long circuit through the stalls with no worthwhile discovery, he sighed and turned to leave, intent on returning home to cultivate his inner Qi.
Just then, a hesitant voice called out from the far end of the alley.
“You’re… Lu Sheng… Lu Yue Sheng?”
Lu Sheng looked up. Approaching him was a young nobleman in a yellow robe, his posture upright and confident, a piece of yellow jade hanging from his waist. Though Lu Sheng did not know him personally, his appearance immediately gave away his identity.
“You’re… Chen Yunxi’s elder brother? Chen Jiaorong?”
Chen Jiaorong blinked in surprise before breaking into a smile. “Brother Lu’s eyes are sharp indeed.”
“It’s not my eyes,” Lu Sheng replied with a faint shake of his head. “You and your sister just resemble each other too much.”
It was true—Chen Jiaorong shared nearly identical features with his sister, though his face carried a slightly sterner edge. The resemblance was unmistakable.
Chen Jiaorong laughed heartily. “Since I’ve run into Brother Lu here, why don’t we go have a drink? Zhenguo often mentions you to me.”
Lu Sheng considered briefly, then nodded in agreement.
The two men left the Ghost Market together and soon found a nearby tavern. They chose a quiet corner and ordered wine.
The hall was lively—waiters shouting orders, laughter spilling from tables, the clinking of cups and dishes ringing through the air. Yet amidst the noise, Lu Sheng and Chen Jiaorong sat in calm silence, each quietly lost in thought as the faint aroma of wine drifted between them.
“I’ve heard from Yunxi that Brother Lu is a man of admirable character. I must admit, I’ve underestimated you before,” Chen Jiaorong said, breaking the quiet between them. After a brief pause, his tone grew more serious. “The authorities have stepped in to handle Wang Ziquan’s case. It wasn’t Zhenguo who filed it, but his cousin and other family members.”
Lu Sheng lifted his cup, taking a slow sip of the sharp, fragrant wine. The warmth spread across his tongue, but his expression remained unreadable. “Let’s put aside Yunxi’s matter for now. What did the yamen authorities conclude?”
Chen Jiaorong shook his head lightly. “Zhenguo asked me to look into it as well. The verdict is that he slipped and fell into the water. That’s also what the Senior Constable’s investigation found. Supposedly, someone even witnessed him falling into Cypress Pine Lake. They have both testimony and physical evidence.”
Lu Sheng said nothing. He tilted his head back and emptied his cup in one motion. “So that’s it?”
“Yeah… what else can we do?” Chen Jiaorong sighed, spreading his hands helplessly. “To be frank, people go missing at Cypress Pine Lake every year. There are plenty like Wang Ziquan. The authorities always handle it this way. And we’re not even allowed to publicize such incidents—if we do, we could be arrested for spreading rumors.”
Lu Sheng’s eyes darkened. For the first time, he understood why Mountain-Edge City carried the reputation of being so “peaceful.” It wasn’t order—it was silence.
Chen Jiaorong hesitated, then changed the subject. “My sister said the reason you turned her down was because you two don’t know each other well enough yet.”
Lu Sheng set his cup down gently. “So we’re just leaving it at that for Wang Ziquan’s matter?”
“Yes, we’re leaving it as that,” Chen Jiaorong replied with a resigned sigh. “Cypress Pine Lake is massive. Surely you don’t expect people to dive in one by one to find a body that’s probably been eaten by fish by now?”
Lu Sheng leaned back, exhaling heavily. A bitter weight settled in his chest—the same frustration he had felt time and again, whether in Nine Links City or here in Mountain-Edge City. The indifference of those in power, their effortless dismissal of life, grated against every fiber of his being.
“Then what’s the use of the authorities?” he suddenly burst out, the words escaping before he could stop them.
Startled, Chen Jiaorong instinctively pressed his hand against the yellow jade at his waist, his eyes darting around the room.
“Yeah… what on earth is the use of the authorities?” he echoed softly, his voice uncertain, almost trembling beneath the weight of the question.
In that moment, both men fell silent. Their thoughts drifted elsewhere—Chen Jiaorong’s brow furrowed with unspoken worries, while Lu Sheng’s gaze dimmed under the weight of his own. The once-lively tavern around them seemed to fade into a distant hum.
Without realizing it, Lu Sheng’s eyes had fallen upon the piece of yellow jade in Chen Jiaorong’s hand. A faint flicker crossed his expression, his eyelids twitching slightly.
“Brother Chen, may I take a look at that piece of jade?”
Chen Jiaorong glanced down, then nodded and handed it over without hesitation. “It’s a gift from a close friend of mine,” he said with a hint of pride. “They call it Nine Plains Jade—it’s of exceptionally fine quality.”
The moment the jade touched Lu Sheng’s palm, a sharp chill coursed through his body, like a thin blade of ice sliding beneath his skin. The sensation was immediate, distinct—and all too familiar.
That coldness… it was the very same he had felt when absorbing the mysterious powder before.
What thick Yin Qi…!
Lu Sheng’s heart trembled slightly. He had named this kind of energy Yin Qi—a frigid essence that nourished his cultivation. But the concentration within this jade far surpassed anything he had encountered. It was so dense, so pure, that even without shedding a drop of blood, he could feel it seeping into his veins through the mere contact of skin.
The jade lay quietly in his hand, smooth and lustrous, yet emanating an invisible frost that only he could sense.
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