“Practicing martial arts?” Lu Quanan furrowed his brows. “Why are you starting again?”
He was about to scold his son, but the words stalled. He recalled the other young masters of noble families—wasting their days in drunken pleasure, idling in frivolous games. Compared to them, Lu Sheng’s determination seemed admirable. The rebuke lingering on his tongue softened into a sigh.
“If you want to practice martial arts, then find your Uncle Zhao and learn from him instead of flailing about on your own. Practicing blindly can easily lead to mishaps.” He shook his head, turned toward the doorway, and began walking away. Halfway there, he stopped and added, “If you need any medicine from the pharmacy, just take it. I’ll increase your allowance to two thousand taels a month.”
With that, he left in long, decisive strides.
Second mother Liu Cuiyu stepped forward, gently dabbing the sweat from Lu Sheng’s forehead with a soft towel. “Your father’s quite soft-hearted,” she sighed. “He and the Xu family’s Old Master were sworn brothers… Now that tragedy has struck, he’s been deeply troubled. It’s good that you’re practicing martial arts, but most start young to build a solid foundation. At your age, it’s rather late…”
Her voice faded into the background. Lu Sheng’s thoughts were already elsewhere—fixed entirely on the Black Tiger Saber Technique he had just acquired.
It’s really incredible…
Lu Sheng’s eyes narrowed slightly. Though he appeared to be listening to Liu Cuiyu, inwardly he was studying his body with meticulous focus. He flexed his arms.
The muscles feel the same as before, but there’s this strange familiarity… a deep sense of muscle memory, as though I’ve trained for years.
He shifted, testing the strength in his legs. This time, the power came more naturally—flowing effortlessly. He could feel the force rising from his thighs, coursing through his waist, and surging into his arms like an unbroken current of strength.
This fluid motion of power—this harmony between muscle and intent—was precisely what the Black Tiger Saber Technique described in detail. It called this state Strength Proficiency.
If the saber technique is correct, Lu Sheng mused, then most martial artists possess methods to circulate large portions of their bodily strength. To mobilize fifty percent of one’s total strength already makes one an expert. But to reach eighty percent… that is the so-called Strength Proficiency realm.
He recalled fragments of memory from his body’s previous owner, along with bits of conversation overheard from Uncle Zhao and other martial experts. Together, they painted a vivid picture—Strength Proficiency was considered one of the highest realms attainable by those within Nine Links City.
For an ordinary person, to concentrate every ounce of strength into a single blow would unleash terrifying speed and power—far beyond the limits of a common man.
Uncle Zhao himself is in that realm… Lu Sheng exhaled inwardly, relief loosening his chest. The Modifier’s effects were flawless. His lingering doubts finally eased.
“It’s a pity,” he muttered under his breath, “that the Modifier consumes both mental energy and Qi. Just modifying an ordinary saber technique once nearly drained my life force—I almost lost both Qi and blood to the point of collapse. And it’s not even one of those legendary inner force techniques.”
Gradually, understanding began to dawn. The Modifier wasn’t magic—it was an intricate adjustment mechanism, one that engraved his body with new instincts, memories, and martial experience.
But every adjustment came with a cost. It devoured energy—his own vitality and spirit—to restructure his being.
And even then, success wasn’t guaranteed.
The body is like a pile of raw materials, he reasoned. The Modifier reshapes those materials, rebuilding the foundation from what already exists. But it can’t create strength or bone power out of thin air.
Lu Sheng’s eyes deepened with thought as the logic settled into place, the rhythm of his breathing aligning once again with the quiet pulse of his newfound strength.
In the days that followed, the changes in Lu Sheng’s body confirmed his suspicions.
From the very first day, his strength began to recover. Firm muscles gradually took shape along his arms, legs, chest, and back. The soreness that once plagued him dulled into a faint numbness, and a rough, calloused layer began forming on his palms.[1]
His appetite surged. Each day, it grew harder to restrain his hunger. To conceal his strange transformation, he began sneaking out for extra meals in secret.
At home, he still kept to his four usual meals—three proper ones and a midnight snack—but outside, he devoured just as much again.
Seven days passed in this manner. By then, his frame had visibly changed. His once frail, slender body was now firm and defined, the weakness of the past replaced by quiet resilience.
As for the Black Tiger Saber Technique manual, he had already returned it to Uncle Zhao.
Having heard that Lu Sheng had fallen ill and taken to bed, Uncle Zhao said nothing more. He merely accepted the manual, sighed softly, and let the matter rest.
Lu Sheng could easily guess what he must have thought—that he had foolishly injured himself while training recklessly.
And indeed, that was exactly what Uncle Zhao believed. He had originally intended to wait until Young Master Lu encountered difficulties in his practice before offering guidance. But when word came that Lu Sheng had been injured and confined to bed—and then, when the young master personally returned the manual without a word about training—Uncle Zhao simply concluded that the boy had given up.
All he could do was sigh and remain silent.
Life in Lu Manor soon resumed its usual rhythm.
The tragedy of the Xu family seemed to cast no lasting shadow. The younger generation carried on as before—taking leisurely hikes, drinking flower wine, listening to songs, horse-riding, attending poetry recitals and flower exhibitions. Nine Links City, though not vast, was far from small; there was never any shortage of pleasure to be found.
As for the older generation, they continued as they always had—attending social gatherings, visiting acquaintances, and occasionally taking part in the yamen’s meetings in the city.
Lu Quanan immersed himself in business, throwing all his energy into trade and negotiation, as if the weight of commerce could bury what had once been lost.
It seemed as though everyone had quietly forgotten the Xu family’s tragedy. Life within Lu Manor returned to its tranquil rhythm, unchanged and undisturbed.
That is—everyone except two people.
One was Lu Yiyi. Having lost her fiancé, her beloved, her days were spent in sorrow. Her face was pale, her eyes swollen from tears, and each passing sunrise seemed to steal a little more of her vitality.
The other was Lu Sheng. He had begun to leave the manor far more often than before—not for leisure, nor for wine, nor to listen to music or laughter.
Instead, he ventured beyond the city walls, to a quiet clearing deep within a nearby grove.
There, alone beneath the whispering canopy, he practiced the Black Tiger Saber Technique in silence, his movements measured and precise, each stroke carving strength into his body and resolve into his heart.
............
Black winds howled across the jagged ridges southwest of Nine Links City, sweeping through the mountains like a restless spirit. The night was deep and cold; the whistling of the wind echoed faintly between the peaks.
Lu Sheng moved swiftly along the narrow path, a long-hilted saber strapped to his back—the one he had bought from a blacksmith’s shop days earlier. He had no intention of reaching Black Winds Ridge itself. His purpose tonight was simple: to test his saber technique.
The Black Tiger Saber Technique—his most secret trump card—was something he had gained through the Modifier, and he intended to keep it hidden from the world.
To everyone else, he was just an idle young master of a wealthy family, too frail to even tie a chicken. That misconception was his shield. If he ever faced danger, this hidden skill could be the blade that turned the tables.
Of course, that was only if the technique truly worked in battle.
He didn’t know where exactly Black Winds Ridge lay, nor how far it was from Nine Links City. But that didn’t matter. Tonight, there was no curfew, and the city gates remained open.
He changed into plain, unremarkable clothes, dusted a thin layer of cosmetic powder over his face to alter his features, and wrapped himself in a thick coat with the collar raised. His head lowered, his stride steady—he looked like any other traveler passing through the night.
Borrowing the cover of darkness, Lu Sheng stepped out of the city. His eyes lifted toward the distant mountains—black and vast, their shadows layered under the moonlight like a slumbering beast.
His pulse quickened. Excitement and apprehension intertwined in his chest.
If he wished to test the Black Tiger Saber Technique without drawing suspicion, he had to vanish from prying eyes.
At the edge of the gate, he drew a slow breath, then stepped forward toward the direction of Black Winds Ridge.
“Ding… ding… ding…”
A caravan was returning from the road, its wagons rattling as it passed through the main gate. The small chimes hanging from the carriage frames jingled softly in the wind, their sound fading into the night.
Lu Sheng slipped through the side gate, disappearing into the darkness beyond the city walls.
The city gates of Nine Links City were peculiar. Not only did they remain open through the night, but there were many of them scattered along the walls. The fortifications looked imposing from afar—tall, solid, unyielding—but up close, countless cracks ran through the ancient stone. The walls breathed faint drafts of cold air, a reminder that they were more for show than for defense.
“Returning late again tonight?”
“Exactly! It’s pitch dark on the road—one of the carriage wheels twisted while rushing back. What rotten luck!”
The voices of the caravan leader and the city guards drifted from the main gate, their words carried by the night wind.
Lu Sheng stood apart, on a narrow side path that faced the southwest. Unlike the broad, torch-lit main road, this small lane was dim and deserted. Only two torches burned weakly above the side gate, their flickering light casting half a meter of faint orange glow upon the ground.
“So this is truly the ancient era…” Lu Sheng exhaled softly, his gaze lifting toward the darkness ahead.
Before him stretched three directions—each swallowed by shadow. Only behind him, Nine Links City shimmered faintly, its distant glow the last trace of civilization.
“No flashlights, no street lamps… the wilderness of this age must be heaven for beasts and predators.”
He hesitated for a moment, unease tugging at his chest. But then, the instinctive knowledge embedded within the Black Tiger Saber Technique stirred within him. The fear ebbed away.
The Black Tiger Saber Mantra had prepared him for this. It taught him how to move through the dark—to listen to the whispers of the wind, to sense the faintest shifts in air, to perceive the world without sight.
Like the tiger it was named for, the practitioner became a hunter born for the night.
Lu Sheng tightened his belt and gripped his long-hilted saber firmly. With steady breaths, he stepped onto the narrow dirt road leading toward Black Winds Ridge. His pace quickened, boots crunching softly against the gravel.
After about a hundred meters, he stopped. Reaching into his waist pouch, he drew two flints, then pulled out a small torch slung across his back.
He pressed one flint against the torch’s head, then struck hard with the other.
“Pop!”
A spray of sparks burst forth—red and bright against the night. They scattered, caught the dry fibers, and soon the small flame bloomed, spreading swiftly across the torch’s head until it glowed with steady, golden light.
There was finally light in the suffocating darkness.
Lu Sheng raised the torch, its flickering flame pushing back the shadows. Behind him, the distant glow of Nine Links City had grown faint—just a scatter of dim lights barely clinging to the horizon.
He adjusted his grip and moved forward slowly, the torch casting long, swaying shapes across the rugged path.
According to that old hunter, a wild wolf often prowls this road at night… well, let’s see how my luck fares tonight.
He had no intention of reaching Black Winds Ridge. Ever since learning that ghosts and monsters might truly exist in this world, he dared not stray too far from the safety of the city.
If he had been able to properly test his saber technique within the city walls, he wouldn’t have come out here alone. But there had been no other way.
After walking for a while, his eyes caught faint imprints on the dirt. Paw tracks. Just as the hunter described—wolf tracks. Beside them, a few white, clay-like lumps of dung lay scattered on the ground.
Lu Sheng crouched, picked up a stone, and prodded one of them. It crumbled under the touch, dry and brittle. Inside were fragments—like bits of bone or nail.
So this is the place… judging by how dry it is, this droppings must be a few days old. The old hunter said he saw that wolf just yesterday—it should still be around here somewhere.
Holding the torch in one hand, Lu Sheng slowly reached for the long-hilted saber at his back.
The weapon was a hybrid between a tool and a blade—a saber with a handle nearly as long as its edge. When the blade was removed, the hilt could even be used as a farming pole, much like a short glaive.
It was heavy, demanding strength and control to wield with one hand.
He looked around. The terrain was littered with jagged stones of various sizes, scattered like the bones of the earth itself. No trees, no brush—nothing that could catch fire.
Planting the torch firmly into a crack between two rocks, Lu Sheng straightened up, both hands now free as the golden light flickered across his face and the gleaming curve of the saber.
Lu Sheng fixed the torch securely between two rocks, its flame wavering in the cold night wind. From his waist pouch, he carefully drew out a small paper bag. Inside was a slab of fresh pork—cut earlier that afternoon.
He unwrapped the grease-stained paper and laid the meat on the ground. A faint sheen of blood still clung to its surface, glistening under the torchlight. The raw, metallic scent spread quickly through the air, carried off by the breeze into the darkness.
Rising to his feet, Lu Sheng gripped his saber and quietly retreated, crouching behind a large white boulder a short distance away.
The wind bit at his cheeks, sharp and cold. He pressed his body close against the stone, eyes fixed on the bait laid out before him.
Time crawled by. The night stretched in silence.
“Howl…”
A low sound drifted through the wind—a tone between a breeze and an animal’s cry.
“Hoo!”
A blur of motion sliced across the edge of his vision. The torchlight caught a flicker of green—two luminous eyes gleaming in the dark.
The black shadow lunged, swift and silent. In an instant, it seized the slab of meat in its jaws and darted away into the darkness.
Lu Sheng’s pulse surged. He tightened his grip on the saber, ready to give chase—
But before he could move, a cold gust swept against his back.
Every muscle tensed. His eyes widened as instinct screamed a warning.
He spun on his heel, the long-hilted saber flashing through the air in a wide, forceful arc.
“Hah!”
Steel met wind, and the silence of the night split open with the sharp hiss of his blade.
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