Chapter 126: Force in the Air, the Coke Old Man

Li Laoda’s palm suddenly flipped upward.

Generally, due to the speed of limb movement, the afterimages left in ordinary human vision are blurred and incomplete overlays.

Yet as Li Laoda’s hand moved, the several images left in the air glowed with a deep blue luster, each palm perfectly formed.

The only difference lay in the depth of their hue.

The lowest palm image was faintest; the topmost, the actual palm.

It was this real palm that blocked Chu Tianshu’s descending hand.

Wuuuung!!

The sound produced by the two palms colliding was strangely odd.

Li Laoda’s palm, wrist, forearm, and elbow all erupted with deep blue ripples.

The surrounding air trembled, howling and reverberating.

Li Laoda’s shoes sank less than half a foot into the snow; a trickle of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.

Chu Tianshu was buffeted by the rippling air, his hair fluttering, his gaze sharp, sensing the entire process of how his opponent absorbed the force.

“Can he really dissipate force into the air?”

Even a fist master who had cultivated the “Guanyin Bones” could only distribute force across his entire skeleton for an instant upon impact.

To dissipate force effectively, contact with a solid object is still best—most often, the ground.

Yet in the instant Li Laoda raised his hand, his palm and the surrounding air formed a viscous, tightly interwoven, mutually responsive relationship.

That was why his palm afterimages were so clear.

When Chu Tianshu’s large hand came down.

The force had barely traveled from Li Laoda’s palm to his elbow before it was Cengceng dissipated, leaking away through some medium into the air.

Only a fraction of the force remained to travel through Li Laoda’s body, reaching his feet.

Under equal strength, this method of force dissipation may have a lower upper limit than Guanyin Bones.

But this dissipation is quicker, with far less impact on the body’s overall dynamics.

Thus, Li Laoda could initiate his next move faster.

Indeed.

Chu Tianshu’s technique had originally carried a grasping intent; the moment his hand touched the target, his five fingers would instinctively clench inward.

Yet Li Laoda’s hand movement was no slower than this instinctive action—his palm twisted in an instant.

The other four fingers curled tightly, the index finger extended, its tip glowing with a brilliant blue light as it stabbed upward.

Bang!!

Chu Tianshu’s palm was pierced by this finger; the Palm Thunder instantly surged, repelling the coldness.

But this caused his hand to rebound upward by over ten centimeters.

The force displayed by Li Laoda’s single finger was even fiercer than his entire palm’s earlier power.

Even if a fist master’s five fingers vary in strength, when all five strike together, their combined force must exceed that of a single finger.

But for an internal energy cultivator, the greatest strength lies in internal force.

Internal force has no fixed form or fixed direction—it flows through the three-dimensional meridian structure of the body, shifting constantly, adapting to each move.

In certain techniques, the power of a single finger may surpass that of a closed fist—or even an entire leg.

After repelling Chu Tianshu’s palm, Li Laoda showed no intention to press the advantage; he spread his arms and slid backward through the air, inverted.

He was a fist master who had forced him to suffer internal injury with just one hand, his index finger throbbing with pain…

Seizing every chance to flee was the only sensible course.

As Li Laoda slid, the down jacket on his back flattened and spread, its seams smoothed by internal force.

It was hard to say whether he was gliding low over the ground or skiing at extreme speed.

In the blink of an eye, he had shot backward over ten meters.

Across the snow he had passed, the ground remained pale and blank, leaving almost no trace.

Chu Tianshu locked his gaze on his opponent, his fingers pinching the air; a silver needle, already pressed between his thumb and middle finger, slipped from his sleeve.

He formed a ring with his fingers, openly aiming at Li Laoda.

Li Laoda, even as he fled, kept watch on Chu Tianshu and clearly saw the silver needle.

Ding!!

A flash of silver thread—Li Laoda’s left hand shot to his chest to block it.

The needle’s tail, four to five centimeters long and as thick as a pen refill, struck his deep blue left palm but failed to pierce his defense.

Yet Li Laoda felt his mind spin; his internal force faltered, and he tumbled headfirst into the snow.

He had been sliding too fast—now, plunging into the snowdrift, his body spun like a giant windmill, rolling several full turns.

“Cough! Cough! Cough! Cough!!”

When he staggered to his feet, dazed, trying to push himself up, Chu Tianshu was already before him, one hand gripping his throat, lifting him off the ground.

Visible now: half a silver needle embedded in Li Laoda’s Yintang point.

The needle was driven deep; even that violent rolling hadn’t dislodged it, and fine threads of blood still seeped from the wound.

When Chu Tianshu shot the needle, he altered his finger force slightly, causing the fine needle and its tail to separate.

Had Li Laoda seen two needles, perhaps he might have reacted differently.

But he saw only one—and when it struck, it was two wounds.

The chest wound was within his expectation; the forehead was entirely unguarded.

“Your lightness skill, force dissipation, and adaptability are all excellent.”

Chu Tianshu reflected.

“But your observational ability and instinctive sense of danger are somewhat lacking…”

He didn’t know if this was an individual flaw or a common trait among internal energy cultivators.

Yet the advantages should be universal—at least all who cultivate internal energy learn lightness skill.

In this short time, Li Laoda had already been choked unconscious; if he squeezed any longer, he would suffocate.

Chu Tianshu changed his grip, seizing the front of Li Laoda’s coat, dragging him back.

Over there, Qi Lianyong and the others had already gotten out of the vehicle and rushed over.

Chu Tianshu took a few steps toward them, then sensed something odd and glanced up at the roof.

The old campus building was only one story; there was little room to hide anyone on the roof.

Chu Tianshu’s gaze swept past the ridge, toward the three-story building farther away.

On the edge of the third-floor rooftop stood an old man, standing in the wind and snow.

He had shoulder-length white hair, a slanted fringe brushing his thick eyebrows, wrinkles around his forehead and eyes, and a full beard.

His eyes had a hint of phoenix-eye shape—smoothly tapered, slightly upturned—and he was smiling at them.

“Rushed and hurried, still missed the show.”

The old man’s voice reached them directly, as if speaking beside them—clearly enunciated, but not loud.

Qi Lianyong and the others turned and exclaimed in surprise: “Principal!”

The old man waved at them, stepping off the rooftop, his entire body tilting ninety degrees outward.

His shoe soles seemed to stick directly to the outer wall, descending vertically as if walking on flat ground.

By the time Chu Tianshu and the others rounded the building and arrived, the old man had just stepped down from the wall.

“This is Feng Jianhua, our Principal Feng.”

Qi Lianyong introduced them, “This is one of my former students, Chu Tianshu.”

“He’s a hereditary spirit medium, and now his martial skill has surpassed mine—he’s far better than I am.”

Chu Tianshu looked at the building’s outer wall—no damage at all.

The principal must have used internal force to permeate his soles and stick to the wall as he descended.

“Principal, hello.”

Chu Tianshu extended his hand.

Principal Feng shook it, slightly surprised: “I saw just the end of it—excellent skill. You’re even practicing both life and destiny cultivation…”

The old man raised a thumb. “Impressive.”

“Here, have a Coke.”

In his left hand he still held a large plastic bag filled with canned Coca-Cola.

Chu Tianshu took one can.

In this weather, a canned Coke left outside would have frozen solid.

Yet this can remained at the temperature of chilled Coke—no ice formed.

Chu Tianshu pulled the tab, took a sip—the taste was excellent.

In this freezing cold, drinking a chilled Coke had a unique flavor.

Principal Feng was distributing Cokes to the others.

The gatekeeper, who had just seen Principal Feng descending the outer wall with a face of utter shock, now received a can and automatically took it.

“Huh?”

The gatekeeper muttered, “Why is it still warm?”

Chu Tianshu glanced over, thinking: Another application of internal force.

Over the years, when film and TV productions made wuxia films, some more meticulous directors probably really interviewed real internal energy masters.

Heating and cooling are among the most common uses of internal force.

This is also frequently depicted in wuxia films.

“Young brother, at your age, don’t drink anything too cold.”

Principal Feng said to the gatekeeper, “I see you’re distracted, weary, and even sleepwalking—this is very bad for your health.”

“Tell me, didn’t you just have a strange dream and don’t even remember when you woke up?”

The gatekeeper stared, stunned: “I was dreaming just now?”

“Yes, go back and sleep some more.”

Principal Feng patted his shoulder.

The gatekeeper’s gaze grew distant, and he truly turned and walked back, ignoring Li Laoda, who Chu Tianshu had thrown onto the snow.

Chu Tianshu said: “Mind-seizing technique?”

“Mind-seizing is a spell. What I used is just a minor application of internal force—adjusting sound waves to a frequency conducive to hypnosis.”

Principal Feng said, “I’m not trained in sound-wave arts, and this trick won’t work on anyone with even a little foundation.”

Qi Lianyong chuckled: “Our principal has seen it all. Whether someone practices strength-based martial arts or internal cultivation, as soon as they demonstrate it before him, he can usually identify its origin.”

But Principal Feng sighed.

“Yes, my eyesight is still sharp. Just from a glance, I recognized this tomb raider’s cultivation: the Snow Rations Art.”

Principal Feng recited softly: “Grind bricks into mirrors, pile snow as rations—how many young hearts have been lost?”

Bricks cannot become mirrors; snow cannot serve as food—this is illusion.

Yet the Snow Rations Art demands total mental and physical focus, transforming the rotten into the miraculous.

It allows even the most dull-witted to gain an inch of progress through a thousandfold effort.

This art is among the easiest to enter in all the world.

But “easiest” is only relative—and practicing this heart method naturally sacrifices other benefits.

The vice-principal of Golden Knife Martial School is the authority on this internal art.

Yet since the school’s founding, no more than one in five graduates who chose the path of internal cultivation selected this art.

“The Snow Rations Art is best at purifying internal force, but your energy is impure—you still have cold poison stagnating in your body. You must have trained using the yin energy of ancient tombs and consumed many tonics. Your progress was fast, but your path has gone astray.”

Principal Feng took two steps forward.

These words were spoken directly to Li Laoda; each syllable vibrated the snowflakes beside him, jolting Li Laoda awake.

He saw Principal Feng and turned pale, whispering: “Principal.”

“You truly graduated from our school—if your surname is Li, and given your age and cultivation…”

Principal Feng shook his head. “You’re from the class of ’83, Li Guangzong, aren’t you?”

“I remember, you were recommended to State Security back then.”

Li Guangzong lay limp, collapsed on the snow.

“State Security pays a few hundred a month! In ’87, my first tomb raid—I sold the artifacts to some fake foreigners. By the time the money was in my hands, I was a ten-thousand-yuan household.”

“After making quick money, I couldn’t bear the boredom of saving day after day. Over the years, I’ve spent like water—houses, cars, women, pills, reagents—I could buy anything.”

Li Guangzong looked at Chu Tianshu.

“But I never imagined that just for my little affairs, such experts would be sent—even the principal came himself.”

Feng Jianhua raised an eyebrow: “Old men sleep a lot. I slept for days straight before—so much so, they didn’t even wake me when my cat went missing.”

“But the moment I woke up today and heard about this, I came right over. Do you know why?”

Li Guangzong fell silent for a moment, then said: “The Ghost Market.”

“Exactly!”

Feng Jianhua’s voice sharpened by three degrees.

“Over the past few years, I’ve heard rumors of a Ghost Market beyond the southeastern border. The Zhuang family may operate frequently within the country, secretly managing affairs and specializing in collecting domestic goods.”

“When you supply the Ghost Market, do you have any leads on the Zhuang family?”

Li Guangzong fell silent, then suddenly smiled.

“I’ve got a traitor in my ranks—he must have confessed everything. So no matter what I do, I’m dead anyway.”

“I might as well tell you: I do have a channel to contact the Zhuang family. I brought the goods here precisely to reach them and sell them off quickly.”

“But why should I tell you?”

Chu Tianshu smiled: “Come on, you think your bones are that tough?”

“My bones aren’t that hard—but I’ve cultivated the Snow Rations Heart Method. Cold poison has hardened my bones and invaded my brain. Whether you break my tendons, twist my joints, use spirit-disturbing techniques, or drug me for interrogation—how effective do you think any of that would be?”

Li Guangzong said, “Principal, I won’t lie—I’ve picked up many bad habits over the years, one of which is enjoying the sight of others’ defeated faces…”

He spoke halfway when Feng Jianhua suddenly seized his chest, fingers sinking into flesh.

“Trying to sever your heart meridian?”

Feng Jianhua’s expression remained calm, gripping his chest, lifting him flat off the ground.

“You know I’m principal, but you don’t know what some of us used to do.”

“I’ll take you back to the martial school and see how many days you can last!”

After Feng Jianhua locked his grip on Li Guangzong’s chest, the man became as still as a wooden statue, his face frozen in expression.

Feng Jianhua seemed to remember something, turned his face, and smiled warmly.

“Little Chu, I heard you’re coming to Golden Knife Martial School to discuss business. Welcome, welcome!”

“Little Qi, go start the car. Let’s head out now?”

Chu Tianshu silently sipped his cola, exhaled the gas, and nodded.

Principal, no need to put on a friendly face—your earlier killing aura was… quite comforting!

(End of Chapter)