Chapter 41: Move the Nine Heavens

“Can’t cultivate…?” The seventh young master’s speech was halting, as if he hadn’t understood his mother’s words: “What do you mean?”

“Can’t cultivate is can’t cultivate.” The lady didn’t seem to notice his expression; her gaze remained fixed on the tea leaves floating in the cup: “The Spirit Crane Body isn’t a martial art for ordinary people to practice.”

“But Master Xu said this martial art allows one to enter the Dao through martial means and join an immortal sect?”

“Enter the Dao through martial means? More like misinformation passed along.” The lady’s face held a faint sneer: “People often reverse cause and effect, indulging in wild fantasies.”

“Why?” The seventh young master’s expression darkened further.

“It’s not that practicing this martial art lets you enter the immortal sect—it’s that only after entering the immortal sect can you practice this martial art.”

Seeing her son’s confused expression, the lady explained: “Do you know the origin of the Spirit Crane Body?”

The seventh young master shook his head.

“Everyone says cultivation depends on talent—but what exactly is talent?”

“Spiritual roots?”

“Yes, spiritual roots are most important, but immortal sects also value another kind of talent—Dao Body. The top geniuses of immortal sects are usually single-spirit-root cultivators with innate Dao Body.” The lady continued: “Dao Body is naturally formed, but some ancient masters have devised methods to achieve Dao Body through cultivation.”

“So the Spirit Crane Body is…” The seventh young master’s expression brightened slightly.

“What are you thinking? How could a single martial art possibly do that? But the Spirit Crane Body was indeed created based on an innate Dao Body—though its effects may be less than one percent of the original, and perhaps only useful in the early stages of cultivation.”

“If it’s only useful in the early stages, and ordinary people can’t cultivate it, then what’s the point of this technique?”

The seventh young master pointed out the contradiction.

“Because although this technique imposes no cultivation base requirement, its comprehension demands extremely high conditions,” the lady explained: “Take the Spirit Crane Body—it’s said one must observe every kind of bird in the world to comprehend it. How could an ordinary person possibly do that?”

The seventh young master still didn’t understand, so the lady added: “These martial arts were originally created by those great masters to train their own descendants.”

“Those great masters’ descendants could summon at least a Nascent Soul True Person to use the Illusory Mirror technique, projecting the entire world to observe all feathered creatures.”

The lady fixed her gaze on her son: “Can Zheng Fa do that?”

The seventh young master understood: “So from the beginning, you knew Zheng Fa couldn’t cultivate it?”

“Yes.”

“Why? If you knew it was impossible, why give him the Spirit Crane Body?”

The lady acted as if she hadn’t heard his anger; her gaze returned to the teacup. Her right hand gently stirred, and the tea leaves within helplessly drifted with the current.

“Years ago, Master Xu achieved mastery in martial arts after twenty years and wanted to leave the Zhao family to seek his fortune in the martial world,” she said, as if answering a different question: “I didn’t want to use my power to hurt our bond, so I gave him the Spirit Crane Body—and then… he stayed on as Zhao’s instructor for twenty years.”

The seventh young master looked at his mother, half-understanding.

“Failure made him realize his talent meant nothing. He accepted his limits—and his fate.”

“Zheng Fa… is the same?”

“Exactly.” The lady lifted her gaze to her son, her eyes utterly cold: “He has better talent, greater ambition, and not the slightest respect for you.”

The seventh young master couldn’t hold back: “Mother! I don’t care!”

“But I care! If he had no chance to enter the immortal sect, I could tolerate his ambition. But if he does, I won’t allow it!”

“I’ll tell him myself!” The seventh young master rose abruptly.

“Zhao Jingfan!” The lady’s voice rose sharply: “You are the master; he is the servant! Zheng Fa should be your hand, your leg—he should assist you in managing the Zhao family and help you enter the immortal sect.”

“But I will never allow him to stand on my son’s shoulders! You may forget your identity—he must never forget it!”

The seventh young master stared at his mother, his jaw clenched, speechless. Finally, he turned and swept out without a word.

…

The teacup on the table still steamed. The lady watched her son’s retreating back, silent for a long time.

“Madam,” the maid ventured cautiously: “Don’t be angry with the young master—he’s just kind-hearted.”

“Kind-hearted? I think he’s stupid!” The lady snorted, sitting down: “He’s been stupid since childhood!”

“His father chased women outside and sired several bastards, and what does he do? Goes to be their little brother! Gets tricked and doesn’t even know it!”

“Then he learned to be a little smarter—spent all his time clinging to his sister. Wherever she went, he followed! When she entered the immortal sect, he cried and carried her pillows and quilts to sleep in her room for a whole year—like some little girl!”

The lady scolded coldly: “Does he hate me because he can’t enter the immortal sect? If that were it, I’d be glad! He hates me for separating him from his sister!”

The maid lowered her head, silent.

The lady continued: “Now he grows up with a cold, dog-faced expression, offending everyone, pretending to be clever—but then he opens his heart to some favored servant!”

“But Madam, didn’t you say before that it was fine for the young master to be a little naive, as long as you were watching over him?” the maid asked, puzzled.

Hearing this, the lady rubbed her temples: “His sister wrote. She’s coming back early—and plans to get this fool into the immortal sect.”

“The eldest miss?” The maid’s eyes lit up: “That’s wonderful!”

“Wonderful? With his brain, what happens if he enters the immortal sect without protection?”

“So Madam, you…”

“Zheng Fa is a good seed—talented, steady temperament, just a bit proud. I plan to send him with this boy to the immortal sect—it’ll put my mind at ease.” The lady shook her head: “But before he goes, I need to trim this seed. Too bad I’m rushing things.”

The maid understood at last, sighing softly: “Madam, you’ve gone to such lengths for the young master.”

“I gave birth to him—I owe him my life.” The lady sighed.

“I’m afraid… if the young master really tells Zheng Fa, Zheng Fa will harbor resentment.”

“Resentment? Who is he resenting? Me.” The lady smiled, her gaze drifting toward the training ground: “Didn’t this boy sneak the secret of cultivating the Spirit Crane Body from my mouth and give it to him? Now he’s about to sell out his own mother to comfort him? Shouldn’t he be grateful to his young master? The worse I am, the more noble and loyal my foolish son looks!”

“But the young master doesn’t understand you, and Zheng Fa hates you…”

“I don’t want him to understand me—I want him to be safe. As for Zheng Fa? A servant’s hatred—I can bear it.” The lady blew gently on the floating tea leaves in her cup, utterly unconcerned.

After a long silence, the maid ventured hesitantly: “What if… what if Zheng Fa’s talent is truly extraordinary, and once in the immortal sect, he soars beyond all others? What then?”

“What then? My son’s a fool, but fools have good fortune. He’s been kind to Zheng Fa, opened his heart to him—do you think Zheng Fa would kill him over this?” The lady chuckled: “If he truly has that kind of talent, I’d be delighted!”

As she spoke, she frowned, turning her gaze toward the training ground, her ears tilting slightly, her eyes focused.

A faint crane cry rose from the training ground—first melodious, then rising in pitch and intensity, piercing straight to the heavens. Above, the white clouds churned violently with the sound.

Everyone in Jingzhou City looked up, curious, searching the sky for the source of the sound.

The lady remembered the records she’d read. Her hand trembled; the teacup slipped and shattered on the floor, but she didn’t care. She murmured: “He’s succeeded?”

The maid bowed her head, watching the tea leaves—wild, free, drifting in the puddle on the floor—and sighed deeply.

Madam, you don’t look delighted at all.