The past two days of fist practice had seen the barefoot old man’s strikes become increasingly ferocious. Although he no longer forced Chen Pingan to endure the cruel acts of skinning and tendon-drawing, he relentlessly bombarded Chen Pingan’s body and spirit with the “Divine Man Drumming” technique. Each punch piled upon the last, bringing Chen Pingan to the brink of ecstasy and death.

Outside the bamboo building, the pink-skirted girl nibbled on sunflower seeds, her mind elsewhere. Unknowingly, she bit her lip until it bled. As for the azure-robed boy sitting in meditation on the cliff, his expression remained solemn. He desperately focused on digesting the superior snake gallstone within his belly, relying on his innate physical prowess. He also concentrated his divine will, trying to avoid being disturbed by the eerie sounds emanating from the bamboo building. Little did this Imperial River Water Serpent realize that this was actually a grand opportunity to cultivate both mind and body, nourishing qi and refining it. The qi within his body surged like a great flood impacting a pillar in the river—a chance encounter that was difficult to come by.

Occasionally, when the pink-skirted girl became too restless, she would reach out and stroke the bamboo building. Although the words written by the Confucian scholar Li Xisheng did not appear on the bamboo walls, she had memorized them all. She knew the content of the writing, even the strokes of each character, with perfect clarity. Unable to ignore the moans or the sounds of someone slamming against the walls from upstairs, she forced herself to recite the poems and essays inscribed on the walls.

This too, was cultivation.

Regarding snake gallstones, the more the better. They were treasures coveted by all dragon-like creatures. However, there was also a tacit rule of “one, ten, hundred, thousand” that must be followed.

Wei Bo had revealed this heavenly secret to the two youngsters, explaining the reasons behind it. The first superior snake gallstone, which aided in breaking through realms, could be digested by a mixed-blood dragon-like creature in about a year. The fire-python girl, with her weaker constitution, would take slightly longer, perhaps thirteen or fourteen months. On the other hand, the azure-robed boy would only need half a year. However, the second gallstone would not be so easy; it would require ten years of painstaking effort to absorb. The third would take a hundred years of slow, grinding work, the fourth a thousand years, and the fifth ten thousand years! In reality, having a fifth snake gallstone of excellent quality was of little significance. It would be more of a rare collectible in a treasure trove than a true aid.

Therefore, after holding three superior snake gallstones, the azure-robed boy had turned his attention to ordinary snake gallstones. While they could not guarantee breakthroughs, they could accumulate cultivation base over decades, continuously solidifying the depth of his current realm. Eating and increasing cultivation base—how delightful! At that time, the azure-robed boy was focused on enjoying life, basking in the sun, admiring the scenery, and effortlessly climbing through the realms. How pleasant!

It wasn’t until Chen Pingan started practicing his fist techniques in the bamboo building that the azure-robed boy changed his mind. He buried himself in cultivation, because this single-minded serpent didn’t want to be easily defeated with one punch by anyone and he definitely didn’t want to be surpassed in realm by Chen Pingan, this mud-legged bumpkin. What a loss of face!

In this world, for us heroes who roam the Jianghu, face is everything!

Inside the bamboo building, the barefoot old man stood with his arms crossed, looking down at the young man curled up on the floor. The pain was so intense that the muscles all over his body were popping like exploding soybeans. The old man had previously struck Chen Pingan’s twenty-eight Qi Palaces with twenty-eight strikes of the “Divine Man Drumming” technique, reducing Chen Pingan to his current miserable and near-death state.

The old man sneered, “Only twenty-eight strikes, and you’re already acting like a corpse? Truly pathetic! If you can’t withstand thirty strikes, then this Third Realm doesn’t deserve to be called the strongest in the world!”

Covered in blood, Chen Pingan had no energy to retort. He relied on the breathing techniques taught by Grandpa Yang, along with the stream of true qi within his body that resembled a fire dragon, and the “Eighteen Pauses Qi Circulation Method” that Ah Liang claimed was developed by countless sword immortals. All three combined barely allowed him to grit his teeth and endure the old man’s twenty-eight strikes.

The old man kicked out, striking Chen Pingan’s back. Chen Pingan crashed into the wall and fell heavily to the ground. His Qi Sea, which had been on the verge of stabilizing, was thrown into chaos once more. Lying on the ground, Chen Pingan convulsed like someone having a seizure.

The old man laughed loudly, “A pure martial artist, wanting to stand at the peak of the mountains, relies on what? On a single breath of Qi, enduring the attacks of those qi refiners who freely borrow the spiritual energy of the heavens and earth! If your breath of Qi is lost at the slightest hardship, leaving you unable to throw a punch, and you think you can retreat to heal and recover? Will your opponent give you that chance? Therefore, the breath of Qi that you, Chen Pingan, have accumulated is far from enough!”

Slight hardship.

With his face covered in blood, Chen Pingan couldn’t utter a single word in rebuttal.

Although the old man’s words were venomous, filled with the power to mock and belittle, martial arts grandmasters who had fought life-and-death battles with him, or those mountain immortals who had been severely injured or killed by him, would undoubtedly find it unbelievable. Apart from his heaven-defying fist techniques, the old man was known for his extreme arrogance.

At his peak, as the only tenth-realm martial artist in the Eastern Treasure Bottle Continent, he roamed the three continents with only his body and fists! Before striking, the old man wouldn’t announce his name, and after striking, he wouldn’t reveal his identity. He came and went quickly, fighting a battle and then leaving. If he accidentally killed someone, his disciples and grandchildren were welcome to seek revenge if they had the guts and ability. Whether it was a hundred people attacking him for a hundred years, or if they employed endless treasures and cunning schemes, he would meet it all with his fists!

Back then, the three continents only knew that this eccentric, nameless divine man rarely showed respect to his defeated opponents. Even a worthy adversary was not taken seriously by the old man, and he never considered taking a disciple.

This dilapidated bamboo building on Fallen Phoenix Mountain held many secrets. The Cui family elder was lucid for one hour each day. Now, as he gradually returned to his peak, he could maintain clarity for half the time. This Grand Li National Preceptor Cui Chan’s grandfather had completely lost all affection for his family after falling from his peak. Back then, his heart had been broken by the family’s sycophants because of his grandson’s matter, and there was no trace of family affection left. Now that he was on Fallen Phoenix Mountain, spending his days in the bamboo building and occasionally gazing at the mountains and rivers from the second floor, the old man was beginning to enjoy this peaceful place. It wasn’t just that the bamboo building was his blessed ground.

Wei Bo walked to the outside of the bamboo building, just in time to hear the old man roar, “Chen Pingan, what’s with lying down! If you can’t stand, crawl!”

“Do you know who the only person I have respected in my life of wandering, striking, killing, and injuring countless people is?!”
It was an eighth-realm martial artist whose name I’ve now forgotten. On the verge of death, I stomped my foot on his face. Before he perished, the eighth-realm warrior mustered all his strength to raise a fist, delivering his last punch to me. Even though that punch was as feeble as that of a child or woman, it was a punch that all tenth-realm martial artists, and even the legendary eleventh-realm Martial Gods, would respect and admire!

“That punch… that is where the true divine intent of us martial artists lies!”

*Bang, bang, bang!* The sounds of violent impacts echoed as Chen Ping’an, having just managed to stand, was repeatedly slammed against the wall.

“Chen Ping’an, again! A little pain is nothing! If you’re a man, stand up and take another punch…”

The old man was quiet for a moment, then suddenly erupted in fury, cursing and swearing, many of the vulgarities learned from the youths of Mud Bottle Alley.

It turned out Chen Ping’an’s heartstring had nearly snapped.

Too much was too much.

Chen Ping’an refused to give in, relying not only on his stubborn spirit, but also inadvertently invoking his ethereal “inner energy”. After being sent flying by the old man’s punch, his inner energy plummeted along with him, bringing him to the very brink of life and death. This was the first accident that had occurred since the old man began teaching him the fist.

The old man, despite his relentless verbal assault, had already crouched down and quickly pressed a palm against the boy’s chest. He looked down at the youth’s dark face, twisted in agony, and at his arm resting across his chest, fist clenched in a purely instinctive reaction.

The old man reached out his other hand, gently grasped the boy’s fist, the skin broken and bone exposed, and a rare look of kindness appeared on his face. He chuckled softly, “Not bad, kid. Fist techniques should be grounded and practical, fist intent ethereal and lofty, and the essence of the fist lies deep within the heart. You’ve already embarked on the true path of martial arts.”

Just then, whether in a dream or in a daze, Chen Ping’an muttered a curse word.

The old man was taken aback, but instead of anger, he smiled, “You little rascal.”

The next day, Chen Ping’an endured twenty-nine punches before losing consciousness.

The first thing Chen Ping’an did upon waking was stagger to the second floor and ask, “Will I be beaten to death if I take thirty punches next time?”

The old man opened his eyes inside the room, “No.”

Then Chen Ping’an stood under the eaves of the second floor and began to curse and swear. Gu Can’s mother was once known as the best street scolder in the town, even Granny Ma of Apricot Blossom Lane had to go home to summarize her experiences and learn lessons, but still suffered repeated defeats. As someone who often eavesdropped on these battles of words, Chen Ping’an’s skills were naturally not lacking.

Once the fist practice started tomorrow, there would be no chance to curse.

He would curse today first.

Anyway, he had suffered enough hardships and undeserved punishments. The old guy couldn’t possibly kill him, so what was Chen Ping’an afraid of?

If he didn’t curse, Chen Ping’an was afraid he would stifle himself to death. He hadn’t achieved any great success in fist training, but he would die of anger first. This wouldn’t do!

The old man didn’t care at all.

In fact, this was a good thing.

Because this was precisely one of the important meanings of fist training.

The youth of Mud Bottle Alley had accumulated too many emotional impurities, like garbage that Chen Ping’an had swept little by little into the corner. Not too much, not too little, it didn’t affect his state of mind because “out of sight, out of mind”. But in the future, as he climbed the martial arts path and constantly ascended, these flaws would be constantly magnified. At the second or third realm, the old man could relatively easily remove them by hammering and beating with various fist techniques and divine powers. If he reached the great threshold between the sixth and seventh realms, or the insurmountable gap between the ninth and tenth, it would be as difficult as ascending to heaven to turn back and clear them away.

But the old man was not a clay idol; how could he stand the endless cursing? He roared, “Get lost! If you utter another word of nonsense, I’ll kill you right now.”

Chen Ping’an left with a chuckle, very satisfied.

The old man chuckled and cursed softly in the room, “He really is like Chanchan when he was young.”

At this point, the old man looked a little dazed.

When Chanchan was young, was he, as his grandfather, too strict and ruthless, forcing his growth too much?

The Third Sage of Confucianism had a profound saying, which was passed down through the ages, “At the beginning of man, his nature is good. Their natures are similar, but their habits are different.”

The old man sighed.

He had personally experienced that thrilling battle between the third and fourth realms. The consequences were what he was now. This was still because the old man had not delved too deeply.

He had once traveled to a nameless mountain and encountered an old scholar in a Confucian robe. At sunrise, the old man was walking in circles on the mountaintop, slowly stretching his muscles and bones, as if drawing circles. But from the perspective of his tenth-realm martial artist, he could see that the elderly scholar seemed to be turning in place, but each time he drew a circle, he would slightly expand outward.

He curiously asked, “Why doesn’t the old gentleman take a step out?”

The old scholar in the Confucian robe smiled and replied, “Breaking the rules is not allowed.”

After a wide-ranging conversation, he never saw the elderly scholar again.

On the third day, the old man smiled at Chen Ping’an before starting fist practice, “Now that you have firmly established yourself in the third realm, let’s continue. I will lay a solid foundation for your fourth-realm martial arts. This short trip will not delay a few days of work.”

Chen Ping’an shook his head and said it wouldn’t work. As soon as Master Ruan succeeded in forging the sword, he had to leave immediately.

The old man continued to lure Chen Ping’an to practice the fist, “Why could I kill Sun Shujian, a peak sixth-realm expert, with a punch from my fifth-realm cultivation? It is because there is a world of difference in the same realm. So even on the martial arts path, where it is most difficult to kill someone across realms, I can still easily kill Sun Shujian, who is one level higher, because his foundation is too loose.”

“For example, in the imperial examination, why are some scholars who enter the palace examination noble Zhuangyuan and Tanhua, while the rest are Jinshi, and even those pitiful Tong Jinshi? That Golden Luan Hall is a realm, but within the same realm, there is still a hierarchy.”
“Chen Ping’an, you must understand, the difference between the third and fourth realm of martial arts is enormous. It is akin to the vast chasm between the final stage of the lower five realms and the first stage of the middle five realms for qi refiners. Whether or not this old man helped lay the foundation for you, you yourself should be most aware of the benefits you’ve gained from enduring such hardships. If you can break through to the fourth realm in one go, then as long as you shatter that bottleneck, the martial path of the fourth realm will be smooth sailing, wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

Chen Ping’an didn’t hesitate, still shaking his head.

Since Old Yang said this place was not suitable for a long stay, and that he must leave the mountain as soon as he obtained the sword, heading south, Chen Ping’an would absolutely not delay even for the time it takes an incense stick to burn.

In truth, deep down, Chen Ping’an was still somewhat apprehensive about cultivating his fist above the third realm. To say he wasn’t afraid would be deceiving himself.

The old man nodded. “Being able to resist temptation is also a good thing. The likes of Sun Shujian are not lacking in talent, but countless have died prematurely, all because of greed. Then today, this old man will make an exception and reward you once, changing thirty punches to thirty-one. Don’t worry, it’s guaranteed not to kill you, and will help you thoroughly solidify your third realm. You don’t need to be grateful to this old man, it’s just because you are the teacher of Chanchan…”

The old man’s surface words were gentle, but the killing intent and chilling aura within them, Chen Ping’an could hardly fail to notice.

Yesterday’s scolding had been truly satisfying, but today he was going to suffer the consequences?

As a result, after the thirty-one punches, Chen Ping’an slept in the medicinal bath for an entire day for the first time, and then slept soundly in bed for a whole night.

At dawn, Chen Ping’an walked out of the house. Wei Bo and the two little ones were sitting under the eaves.

Seeing Chen Ping’an, Wei Bo, sitting on a bamboo chair, looked up, clasped his hands, and happily said, “Congratulations, congratulations.”

Chen Ping’an returned the greeting with clasped hands and said with a wry smile, “Hard to put into words.”

The pink-skirted girl gave up her bamboo chair to her master. After Chen Ping’an lowered his voice, Wei Bo continued, “Ruan Qiong will be firing up the furnace in the next two days. I chatted with the little snake and heard you wanted to buy a sword-nurturing gourd, so I took the liberty of converting the original betrothal gift of a mountain head from the Great Li Dynasty into just one gourd, foregoing five magical treasures. Chen Ping’an, if you feel it’s a loss, you can change it and continue to accept the original five treasures from the Great Li.”

The pink-skirted girl and the green-robed boy exchanged glances, urging Chen Ping’an not to be blinded by greed and choose one over five.

Chen Ping’an laughed, “Of course, I want the sword-nurturing gourd.”

Wei Bo laughed heartily, and with a wave of his sleeve, a delicate vermillion gourd appeared in the palm of his hand.

Slightly smaller than the silver gourd A Liang hung on his waist, its color was warm and its style was simple and elegant, captivating at first sight.

Chen Ping’an’s face was full of surprise as he carefully took the vermillion gourd with both hands, his eyes wide as he examined it closely.

Wei Bo explained with a smile, “This sword-nurturing gourd can only be considered of average quality, not a true celestial object, but it is already very rare, especially here in Eastern Treasure Bottle Continent, which cannot compare to Sword Cultivator rampant Juhu Continent. However, even if it were taken to Juhu Continent, this little gourd would still be coveted by Sword Cultivators in the middle five realms.”

Wei Bo pointed to the bottom of the little gourd, “The inscription on the bottom reads ‘Jiang Hu’, a homophone for ‘wandering the Jianghu.’ It’s quite amusing, and it’s likely that it was a cherished item of a certain Sword Cultivator surnamed Jiang, hence the name. Do you like it?”

Chen Ping’an smiled so happily that he repeatedly replied, “I like it! How could I not like it! A sword-nurturing gourd!”

The pink-skirted girl covered her mouth and chuckled, while the green-robed boy rolled his eyes and slapped his forehead.

Well, the key is that he recognizes the goods and understands the priceless value of a sword-nurturing gourd, hence his joy. His master’s greedy habits are truly unchangeable.

Chen Ping’an suddenly asked, “Can it hold wine?”

Wei Bo nodded and smiled, “Naturally, it can hold more than ten pounds of wine without hindering the nurturing of flying swords. But remember, within the sword-nurturing gourd, one cannot nurture flying swords with conflicting Intent, nor is it a matter of the more the better, otherwise it will delay the progress of nurturing the sword. It is best to nurture two or three at the same time…”

Speaking of this, Wei Bo mocked himself, “If one can nurture two flying swords at the same time, it would already be terrifying. Leaving aside the opportunity to obtain superior flying swords, how much financial and material resources would that require?”

Chen Ping’an silently remembered.

Then, with two swooshing sounds, “Little Fengdu,” his natal flying sword, and the emerald green “Fifteen” that Old Yang had given Chen Ping’an, shot out from Chen Ping’an’s two qi reservoirs one after the other, flashing into the vermillion sword-nurturing gourd. The two flying swords seemed extremely happy, darting around inside, constantly colliding with the inner wall of the gourd, causing the little gourd to shake slightly in Chen Ping’an’s hands.

Wei Bo’s eyes widened, feeling utterly humiliated, and he shook his head helplessly, “Well, I take back everything I said.”

The green-robed boy proudly huffed, “Now you know how wealthy my master is, right?”

Wei Bo didn’t bother arguing with the little snake, and said cheerfully, “I know, I know.”

Wei Bo finally smiled, “By the way, the gourd is filled with wine, so with your little capacity, Chen Ping’an, feel free to drink it.”

After Wei Bo left, Chen Ping’an carried a bamboo chair to the edge of the cliff, sipping wine alone.

The pink-skirted girl wanted to follow, but the green-robed boy grabbed her arm and shook his head, signaling her not to join in the fun.

Chen Ping’an comfortably leaned back in the chair, stretched out his legs, and held the little gourd, temporarily serving as a wine pot, with both hands. After a few sips of wine, he felt his cheeks burning and his throat hot, and his whole body warmed up.

Chen Ping’an looked towards the distant south, full of longing.

It seemed that the mountains and rivers over there were the Jianghu hinted at by the homophone of the sword-nurturing gourd in his hand.

This was a life Chen Ping’an had never imagined.

It was good to be alive.

For an orphan in Mud Bottle Alley, after his parents passed away, the ages of five to seven were the hardest.

Sometimes, when he was so hungry that his intestines knotted, he was truly so hungry that he wished he could dig up dirt to eat. Whenever it was mealtime, every household near Mud Bottle Alley was filled with smoke, even just walking in the alley, a child could smell those tempting aromas of rice and vegetables. The child wore clothes left by his parents, cutting them into sizes he could wear, and never discarding any scraps, accumulating them piece by piece.
The child tasted another’s cooked meal for the first time after the family’s resources had been utterly exhausted. With the family’s belongings all sold, the six-year-old, in the dead of winter, unable to ascend the mountains to gather herbs for meager copper coins, was stripped bare of any means to live. Unwilling to resort to thievery, he wandered the alleyways like a small, forlorn wraith, from one end to the other, until twilight descended. As cooking smoke began to curl into the air, the child was utterly lost as to how to survive.

Kind souls had previously offered, “Little Ping’an, come eat at my house.” The child would always smile and decline, saying, “We still have rice at home.” And then he would quickly scamper away.

But on this particular day, the child truly had nothing left. He had first visited Old Yang’s shop during the day, hoping to obtain provisions on credit, but the old man refused to even see him.

And so, in that twilight hour, the child thought with a heart full of grievance, “Will someone see me? Will someone smile and say, ‘Little Ping’an, come in and eat?'”

But on that day, no one opened their doors. The gates remained tightly shut, while within there were sounds of cheerful laughter and angry scolding.

In the end, the child returned to his own courtyard, hungry and defeated. He lay down on the cold, thin bedding atop the hard wooden plank, silently telling himself, “Not hungry, not hungry. If I fall asleep, I won’t be hungry. If I think of Father and Mother, I won’t be hungry.”