Chapter 008: Fourth Level of External Martial Arts

Having already made up his mind, he solemnly tucked the Shadow Painting into his clothes and prepared to leave. First, he would investigate, then decide how to act.

Just as he rose to his feet, Old Wang interrupted him, “What’s the hurry? Young people are always so rash. Do you even know where he is? Do you know what his cultivation level is, or what martial arts he’s skilled in? If you just charge in blindly like this, how is it any different from seeking death?”

Listening to Old Wang’s admonishment, Yao Qian wanted to argue, but seeing the man’s confident look, his eyes lit up.

“I still need your guidance, Uncle. With your wealth of experience, you are a role model for us younger folk.”

His flattery had the desired effect—Old Wang looked pleased, stroking his chin with the air of a man whose wisdom had finally been recognized, and began to speak.

“In the path of martial cultivation, the first stage is Foundation Building, which is divided into four levels: Body Refinement, Force Channeling, Hard and Soft, and Inner Breath. Beyond Foundation Building is the Innate realm, but that’s too elusive. I’ve been in Pingyang City for over twenty years and have never seen an Innate expert.”

“The first level, Body Refinement, is simple and direct—it’s about strengthening the body. A towering building starts from solid ground; without a strong physique, the foundation is weak, making future cultivation difficult or even impossible.”

“The second, Force Channeling, is gathering the body’s strength and focusing it to a point, unleashing it in a single explosive strike—the air itself crackles, the momentum is fearsome.”

“The third, Hard and Soft, is about harmonizing the vital energies, achieving a perfect balance of strength and flexibility, so that movement is as swift as the wind and as precise as an arrow.”

“The fourth, Inner Breath, is the tempering of flesh and blood, the adjustment of the internal organs, uniting the exterior and interior. Power flows to every extremity, hidden force surges, marrow is enriched, bones and sinews are strengthened, and one gains control over even the subtlest changes within the body.”

After giving a detailed explanation of the four levels of Foundation Building, Old Wang smacked his lips, as if still savoring the topic.

Yao Qian listened with a surging heart; he hadn’t realized there were so many realms in cultivation. At his current pace, he was only at the Body Refinement stage—Force Channeling was still a distant goal.

Noticing his expression, Old Wang smiled, “Never be greedy for quick progress in cultivation. The foundation is everything. Without a solid base, all else is but moonlight in a well, flowers in a mirror. The Five Tigers Gate-Cleaving Blade may not be a cultivation method, but in the Foundation Building stage, it’s invaluable for tempering the body. If you later acquire a Foundation Building technique, your progress will surely be twice as fast with half the effort.”

Old Wang spoke earnestly, afraid that Yao Qian might bite off more than he could chew and waste his considerable talent and aptitude.

Yao Qian understood well enough—now that he knew the path ahead, his goals were clear.

“Uncle, you haven’t told me about this person’s cultivation yet,” he prompted. If the man was too formidable, he’d better just return the Shadow Painting to his uncle.

Of course, he doubted that would be the case; since his uncle entrusted him with it, he must have his reasons.

“Don’t worry,” Old Wang assured, “his cultivation is only a bit higher than yours, but be careful—he’s ruthless, a master of joint-locking techniques you must not underestimate.”

“In the past, he fought two experts of the same level at once and, single-handedly, crushed every bone in their bodies. Their screams lasted three days before they finally died.”

Many other martial artists had also fallen at his hands, leaving behind countless maimed and crippled. In the martial world, he was known as Yu Hongchuan, the Bone-Twister.

As Old Wang recounted Yu Hongchuan’s deeds, Yao Qian’s expression changed. This man was truly vicious—a killer who didn’t just end lives, but tormented his victims so that neither life nor death came easily.

His eyes narrowed slightly, but in them grew a resolute determination.

After some further discussion about Yu Hongchuan, Yao Qian suddenly asked, “How’s the case with the Chen family going?”

Old Wang’s face darkened, bitter disappointment clouding his features. After a long pause, he replied, “What can be done? The verdict’s already been passed. It was ruled as retaliation by the Black Mountain Bandits. The culprits are the heads of the Black Mountain Bandits.”

With that, Old Wang lost all interest, waving Yao Qian away.

Yao Qian’s expression soured, but he also knew there was nothing more to be said. Once the higher-ups had made a decision, it was clear they wished to bury the case. The Black Mountain Bandits were already infamous—what were a few more murders to their name?

He felt a heavy weight in his heart; in these past few days, his worldview had been upended.

He was more keenly aware than ever how dangerous this world was, how hard it was simply to stay alive.

The pressure pressed down like a mountain, but his resolve only grew stronger—his heart for the martial path became more steadfast.

Leaving the yamen, sunlight fell across him as he breathed a deep sigh. Not far ahead, two figures in dark uniforms were approaching—the Chen brothers.

They saw Yao Qian but didn’t greet him, brushing past and heading into the yamen as if he were air.

Since the Chen family tragedy, a gulf had grown between them—perhaps because of his earlier words about not seeking vengeance. Their relationship had cooled ever since.

He smiled, unconcerned. He was not the original Yao Qian, and their bond was not as deep as it seemed. If they wanted to distance themselves, he wouldn’t demean himself by seeking them out.

Besides, he still believed he was not at fault. The massacre of Chen Zekuan’s family was clearly bizarre—dismemberment, brains consumed—what human could do such things?

Who could say it wasn’t the work of ghosts or demons? How could the three of them, mere junior constables, hope for vengeance? At best, it would only add their three corpses to the count.

Even if not some supernatural force, but the Black Mountain Bandits, they had entrenched themselves outside Pingyang City for years, impossible to root out. Could it really be so simple? Who knew who was supporting them, or whose interests were being served?

The three of them were nobodies, with no backing. If they carelessly offended these shadowy powers, they might not even keep their bodies whole!

If the Chen brothers couldn’t see that and wanted to cut ties, he was happy enough to comply.

People like that are more likely to ruin things than accomplish them—nothing but dead weight, always dragging others into trouble they can’t solve.

He cleared his mind and stopped dwelling on it, leaving without another glance.

Two days later, at night—howling winds and torrential rain.

Dark clouds gathered above, enormous raindrops lashed down, drumming on the roof tiles with a relentless patter.

On a dim, desolate street, several huddled and shivering shadows could be seen at the corner—probably vagrants or beggars who had nowhere to go. Who could say how many would be found stiff and dead by dawn?

Time passed—how long, none could tell. The darkness deepened, the wind grew fiercer, wailing and howling. The rain turned to a deluge, pounding down like a river from the heavens.

Suddenly, a carriage emerged from the curtain of rain, drawing near with a clatter. The swaying lantern cast only the faintest glow, barely illuminating half a yard around.

The driver was drenched, the rain stinging his face and body like stones. He wiped his face with his whip hand, stealing a glance into the carriage. At once, the sound of a woman’s soft, coquettish murmurs mingled with a man’s boisterous laughter drifted out.

“Adulterer and whore!” he cursed silently, feeling much better for it, as though even the rain’s sting had lessened.

But in that moment of distraction, as he turned back, he suddenly realized—a figure had appeared in the road barely half a yard ahead.

The sudden apparition startled him so much he yanked the reins, calling out for the horses to halt.

The carriage hadn’t been moving fast, but the abrupt stop caused a cry of alarm from inside.

A burly figure, as massive as a black bear, threw open the carriage curtain, roaring, “Are you looking to die?”

“Master, there’s someone ahead...” the driver stammered, his heart pounding, especially as the figure behind him emerged. Simply standing there, the stranger made the driver feel as though he’d entered a predator’s hunting ground. Cold sweat broke out all over him, and he shivered uncontrollably, not knowing whether from fear or cold.

Hearing the driver’s trembling voice, the black bear of a man turned his gaze forward. There, standing just ahead of the horses, was a shadowy figure, draped entirely in black, a wide-brimmed hat on his head. Rain streamed down like a beaded curtain, obscuring his face.

The burly man eyed him warily. “What do you want, blocking my carriage?”

“To kill.”