Chapter 134: Burn Through Fertile Soil, the Yellow Sprout Spontaneously Grows

Feng Jianhua blinked in surprise: “You want to learn internal cultivation now?”

“Not necessarily now—just taking a look first.”

Chu Tianshu said, “After fighting Li Guangzong, and today with Wang Bo, and the troubles I ran into during interrogations—I’ve developed a stronger curiosity about internal cultivation.”

He spread his hands. “Besides, I’m already tangled in this matter and want to see it through, but I have no local connections—I might as well focus on what I’m good at.”

Yuan Chongxiao said, “That’s easy…”

“Wait.”

Feng Jianhua interrupted the vice-principal, his gaze sweeping the surrounding walls.

Those paintings still hung on the walls.

“Little Chu, I’ve watched you train these past few days, but just observing isn’t enough.”

Feng Jianhua extended a hand. “Shake hands, how about it?”

Chu Tianshu had no objection—he summoned three-tenths of his strength and reached out.

As their palms met, he felt the other’s grip tighten slightly, so he added more force.

Their palms slowly tensed from relaxed to taut.

Feng Jianhua’s palm slowly emitted a faint green glow.

Chu Tianshu’s palm, originally turning a steel-like blue-black, gradually reddened, and faint hums echoed between his finger bones.

“Hah!”

Feng Jianhua laughed. “I’ve got decent resilience, Little Chu—don’t hold back.”

Chu Tianshu raised his eyebrows. “Alright, then, Principal, watch out.”

His five finger joints suddenly expanded; half his body vibrated with a deep hum as he gripped hard.

BOOM!!!

A detonation rang out where their hands met; the air around their palms visibly warped.

Feng Jianhua’s white hair lifted, his eyes brimming with dense green light, his whole body radiating brilliant luminescence, ethereal and otherworldly.

Chu Tianshu felt his grip sink into a tangle of countless ox-hide tendons, all pulling and straining.

After a fleeting moment of warm softness, resistance surged violently.

SNAP!!

His fierce grip had barely dented the other’s skin—and now he was being thrown back.

“Not bad!”

Chu Tianshu beamed, stepping half a pace forward instinctively.

Feng Jianhua, like a repelling magnet, slid back half a step, maintaining the original distance.

“Enough, enough.”

The principal raised his hand. “I’ve tested enough.”

“Your brute strength—ah, your cultivation of force—is nearly reaching the realm of pure essence and hardened qi, where fullness transforms.”

Chu Tianshu frowned. “What does that mean?”

“Ancients believed internal cultivation was the process of using one’s own essence and qi to harmonize external energies and make them one’s own.”

“The purer your essence, the higher the quality of your internal force.”

Feng Jianhua said, “Many today cultivate internal force, but first train strength until they hit a bottleneck, then switch to internal cultivation. Yet strength training is mostly dynamic, while internal cultivation leans toward stillness.”

“This shift between dynamic and stillness can take anywhere from ten days to five years.”

“But there are those who achieve such mastery in strength training that their essence becomes utterly pure—even dynamic methods become as refined as stillness.”

“Such people, the moment they encounter an internal cultivation method, can produce internal force the same day.”

Chu Tianshu smiled. “So you’re testing whether I’ve reached that level.”

“Yes.”

Feng Jianhua sighed. “You’ve already stepped onto that tier—and precisely because of that, I think you shouldn’t be looking at other internal cultivation manuals right now.”

Chu Tianshu frowned. “Why?”

“Because your fist technique already carries traces of internal cultivation.”

Feng Jianhua said, “If I’m not mistaken, the fist method you practice is from the age of the Qi-Refiners.”

Chu Tianshu blinked. “Huh?”

But my fist form was compiled by Ming Dynasty people from another world.

How could refining and improving it make it older?

“It seems you don’t know the full story.”

Feng Jianhua smiled smugly. “But I won’t be wrong.”

“Most believe internal cultivation descended from the Qi-Refiners—but that’s not entirely true.”

“Later internal cultivation barely improves the body permanently, but the Qi-Refiners’ power nourished the flesh from the start—the stronger their power, the stronger their bodies.”

“Though still not matching divine generals or mighty warriors, they didn’t need to gorge on spiritual resources like those warriors did…”

Through Feng Jianhua’s explanation, Chu Tianshu finally understood the nature of the Qi-Refiners.

The Qi-Refiners, after pushing strength training to its limit, ceased relying on spiritual resources, instead relying solely on a fleeting insight—that dynamic extremes reverse into stillness—to break through.

That tiny, half-intentional insight required no deeper knowledge of how internal force flowed.

If they could break through, internal force would arise naturally; learning the internal cultivation path afterward was no problem.

In ancient times, the primal was pure, the body perfect—burn through fertile soil, and the yellow sprout grows on its own!

The flesh was that fertile soil; the will to advance, that blazing fire.

Hence, later generations called this quality of power “Yellow Sprout True Qi.”

The stronger the Yellow Sprout True Qi, the stronger the body—and even the spirit.

There was once a saying: “When the Yellow Sprout finally matures, the Three Flowers of Essence, Qi, and Spirit will bloom.”

The Three Flowers gathering at the crown, like an immortal—but even in the Qi-Refiners’ age, this was rare, known only through legend.

Chu Tianshu recalled the contents of the *Luohan Heartfire Fist Scripture*.

The Luohan's foundation is solid, the mortal body enters Vajra Stasis; light and heavy, effortless, condensing the true essence—wondrously, a single point of Samadhi power arises!

So this Samadhi power… is the Yellow Sprout True Qi?

The martial arts of that Ming world all pursued “Threefold Unity”—a path strangely akin to the Qi-Refiners’.

Knowing this, Chu Tianshu now understood—he truly shouldn’t be reading internal cultivation manuals yet.

He was one step away from Samadhi power; what he needed was that unintentional, true insight.

If he studied internal cultivation manuals now, even without actively practicing, he’d risk distraction.

If he produced internal force before breaking through that threshold,

purifying it into Yellow Sprout True Qi later would be far harder.

Seeing Chu Tianshu still had the urge to train, Feng Jianhua and the others left him undisturbed.

The old principal stepped out, walked to the side of the building, and stared at his bedroom window.

SHHH!

Feng Jianhua leapt upward, his toe tapping the third-floor window, then ducked inside.

Not bad.

Aside from some cracks in the floor tiles, the bed was messy, and the TV screen was embedded with alloy shards.

A human-shaped dent was sunken into the wall.

Overall, the room was intact!

Feng Jianhua walked to the wardrobe, moved aside a few hanging clothes, and reached into a hidden compartment.

Inside lay a book, five or six red-and-blue porcelain medicine bottles, and a knife.

“*Hate Heaven Art*.”

Feng Jianhua ran his fingers over the book’s cover.

It was the most powerful internal cultivation manual in their martial school.

“The great roc spreads its wings, hating the sky’s low height, soaring nine thousand miles straight up.”

If Chu Tianshu’s talent were average or above-average, passing this manual would be fine—but his talent was too exceptional.

“Better not harm him.”

Feng Jianhua thought, “I’ll use my authority to let him buy a high-grade manual from the Special Capture Bureau.”

“But first, I need to survive the Ghost Market.”

The old principal wondered whether to write a recommendation letter now, as a safeguard.

Huh—isn’t that bad luck? Like cursing myself to fail.

Feng Jianhua fell silent for a moment.

Forget it—the paintings’ killing aura is nearly spent. Better go downstairs and clean the knife; it hasn’t been used in years.

He set down the manual and picked up the knife.

Half the blade drawn, casting the old man’s face in dark golden light.

The sun neared setting, the western sky faintly yellow.

Du Chen shaved his beard, wearing a white lab coat over a light blue shirt, standing before the floor-to-ceiling window, basking in the sunlight.

Even on snowy days, the sunset’s hue still painted faces a warm golden hue.

Voices came from behind him.

Wang Bo is dead...

(End of chapter)