Chapter 145: His Might Like an Umbrella

It had been two and a half days since the last snowfall.

According to the weather forecast, the next few days would also be sunny.

The ice on the small river at the martial arts school was the first to melt; many holes of various sizes had formed on its surface, and the remaining ice layer was very thin, revealing the clear water beneath.

Chu Tianshu was on the phone with Second Grandpa in the laboratory corridor.

If the big pharmacy really chooses a location, it definitely can’t be in the Ao District—it must be near our hometown.

Besides Yin Fengxin, we must keep recruiting more people.

This matter hasn’t been formally put on the agenda yet, but Second Grandpa can start inquiring and preparing locally.

After hanging up the phone, Chu Tianshu turned and walked into the classroom of the lab building.

The classroom held only Qi Lianyong, Yuan Zhonglu, and a few recent graduates from the martial arts school who hadn’t yet reported to their assigned posts.

But the focus in the classroom wasn’t these people—it was Bai Mei.

Some patches of fur had been shaved off from all four of the cat’s paws, exposing the skin beneath.

When he transforms into human form, those spots correspond precisely to his wrists and ankles.

Bai Mei sat on a small chair beside a set of old electrical training equipment.

The short-haired girl helped by sticking the circular electrodes onto the shaved patches.

“Master Bai, you’re really going to train like this?”

The short-haired girl muttered, “Sticking electrical pads onto a cat feels weird—like we’re preparing to abuse it.”

Bai Mei’s tail swished behind him, yet his expression was one of anticipation.

Yuan Zhonglu, his forehead wrapped in bandages, chuckled lightly: “Don’t underestimate Master Bai.”

“That night, Master Bai and I worked together—several evil spirits were first located by Master Bai.”

Cats are naturally more sensitive to evil spirits and yin energy.

As a cat with exceptional intelligence who practices fist techniques, that night Bai Mei had struck like a tiger descending the mountain, attacking from all sides.

In several places, residents saw strange handprints on their windows and heard faint wailing.

A cat who knew martial arts leapt forward and drove away the eerie sounds.

Lately, Guangling’s enthusiasm for the Golden Knife Martial Arts School has reached unprecedented heights; many people often gather outside the school gates, inquiring about news and learning the legend of this cat as a teacher.

Some even thought it was too hard to get through official channels, so they bought cat food and grilled fish, gathering outside to bribe this miraculous cat.

“Let’s start at level one—I’ll guide you through the force.”

Chu Tianshu extended a finger and pressed it against Bai Mei’s chest, then suddenly said, “By the way, you’re becoming more human-like—maybe you should start wearing clothes.”

Yuan Zhonglu said, “The principal made clothes for him before, but he refused to wear them—maybe because his fur is too thick and it gets hot?”

“Keep training, and soon he’ll be immune to cold and heat—we can make him a simple vest that’s convenient for both forms.”

Chu Tianshu gently activated his force, and the equipment powered on to level one.

Bai Mei’s fur instantly stood on end, bristling.

As Chu Tianshu’s force vibrated, the long hairs rippled like waves, looking comical.

Bai Mei tilted his head slightly upward, emitting a low, drawn-out “oh—” from his throat.

“Hey! You think I’m giving you a massage?”

Chu Tianshu withdrew his hand and pointed at the kitten’s nose: “Do it yourself—take this seriously.”

“I’m leaving in a few days—if you can’t adapt to feeling the electricity and cultivating force on your own within these days, you’ll go back to how you were before.”

“Feeling your age, growing weaker, stumbling painfully, so pitiful you fall right into the river trying to catch fish…”

Bai Mei shuddered, clamped his mouth shut, and wore an expression of determination.

Strive! Fight!

Qi Lianyong burst out laughing upon seeing this.

Chu Tianshu turned to look.

Qi Lianyong quickly said, “I’ve been training hard, but I need rest and balance—I can’t just train nonstop.”

Chu Tianshu paused, startled: “Master Qi, I never meant to supervise your training.”

You’re the master, after all.

The others nearby now wore half-smirks.

Qi Lianyong coughed twice, wondering how he’d blurted out such a thing.

“I meant to say—”

Chu Tianshu smiled faintly: “Master Qi, you’re quite skilled in tendon and bone expansion—afterward, observe Master Bai’s training closely.”

“Based on my current judgment, he maintains his human form using bone-shrinking techniques to train more effectively—but once he grows stronger, there may come a phase where he needs to revert to his cat form to train.”

“Watch him—let me know when he reaches that stage. If he doesn’t sense it himself, remind him.”

Qi Lianyong immediately replied: “Rest assured—I’ll handle it.”

Chu Tianshu observed Bai Mei for a while longer, nodded slightly, and turned to leave.

He didn’t cross the small bridge back to the principal’s quiet chamber—he went to the large training ground.

Recently, he’s been studying the bodily functions of the Martial Kitchen God, inevitably activating and channeling force.

But since reaching this realm, whenever he vigorously stirs his blood and qi, he emits a powerful aura of pressure.

It causes nearby humans, animals, and insects to involuntarily feel anxious and oppressed.

This differs from the effect of pure psychic spells—psychic spells are resisted by yang energy; to disrupt so many people at once, one must bear the backlash.

Chu Tianshu’s pressure, however, feels like a natural, inherent aura.

He himself feels no extra drain.

Even if a group of experts withstand his pressure, he won’t feel any spell disruption—he can fight normally.

No wonder, in ancient times of the Republic era, this realm was called “Martial Power Creates a God.”

On ancient battlefields, those who reached this level, upon charging into formation, caused chaos within dozens of meters—men and horses alike became dizzy, their legs weak, unable to control themselves.

By the time such a warrior charged across the entire battlefield, the enemy’s morale suffered a devastating blow.

If his troops were elite enough to strike the moment he had charged past, while the enemy still hadn’t recovered—

Victory would be assured in every battle.

If Chu Tianshu trained in the quiet chamber, the injured in nearby buildings would be affected.

Coming here to the large training ground reduces the impact significantly.

He stood atop the sandpit, where days of his training had melted vast stretches of snow, revealing its original surface.

Chu Tianshu stood with feet shoulder-width apart, hands gently raised and pressed downward, slowly closing his eyes.

A heavy, distant drumbeat slowly resonated within him.

The blood and qi, once uniformly felt as merely “hot” throughout his body, now in his perception carried distinct flavors—sour, sweet, bitter, spicy, salty—and textures—tender, crisp, resilient.

He harmonized these sensations: the sour, which corrodes, he strengthened with three parts toughness; the crisp, which shatters, he reinforced with three parts resilience.

Humans may enjoy a hundred flavors in food, but in self-cultivation, one seeks flavorlessness.

The Martial Kitchen God achieves satiety within flavorlessness.

The Golden Stillness settles all mixed flavors into stillness.

With flavorless blood and qi, he gradually elevates it toward the brain.

The fine threads of sensation within his brain, through this harmonization and fermentation, grew strong, enduring, calm, and comfortable.

The pressure also unfolded here.

Everyone these past few days had learned that Chu Tianshu’s training was not to be approached lightly.

Yet some deliberately came closer during this time.

Uncle Nan and several injured, along with a group of martial arts school students, hurried over now.

They had long understood the unspoken rule—no words spoken, just each stepping forward until their legs gave out, then stopping, struggling to control their breath, and practicing fist forms under these conditions.

A fist form that normally took ten seconds to complete, full of vigor and wind.

Here, after just the first few strikes, their forms collapsed—they had to start over.

Feng Jianhua also arrived at the training ground, watching this scene.

No matter how many times he’d experienced it, this pressure still left him marveling.

Chu Tianshu’s pressure bore strong resemblance to a martial artist’s aura.

A martial artist’s aura also requires little personal expenditure.

When Hai Donglai was severely wounded, he still emitted an aura as potent as in his prime.

It was more like pressure drawn from life experience, environmental dynamics, and subtle omens—all linked together.

But because the self is merely a trigger, this aura is easily scattered by external changes.

Only within special fengshui arrangements, or through repeated micro-adjustments to rekindle it, can it be sustained longer.

Yet when facing a strong opponent, it’s easily mixed into their aura, becoming chaotic and unable to target many at once.

For any martial artist, the aura of friend and foe is like mist—upon meeting, they naturally blend.

Chu Tianshu’s pressure, however, turns aura into a great umbrella, a magnificent canopy.

Once raised, the canopy’s shadow naturally covers the entire area.

Merely rising mist—even if it makes one more visible—cannot pollute this canopy.

This is a difference in quality.

Chu Tianshu stood as if utterly oblivious, forgetting time’s passage—yet in truth, he was intensely focused inward, indifferent to time.

By dusk, those who had been practicing around him could no longer endure—even after two shifts had rotated—they collapsed from exhaustion and returned to rest.

Chu Tianshu slowly opened his eyes; golden sunlight glinted on his eyelashes, gradually rising beyond his field of vision.

Various scenes, apart from the setting sun, flooded into his sight.

He heard footsteps approaching from behind and suddenly felt playful, stepping forward twice.

First step: the ground trembled like a drum, droplets spraying upward.

Second step: his hand shot out like wind, gathering all dewdrops.

Chu Tianshu spun his body, sleeves whipping the air; between his palms hovered a water sphere the size of a fist.

Feng Jianhua stopped ten meters away, smiling over.

He didn’t know whether Chu Tianshu had practiced internal energy these past days, but he could tell this trick used no internal force.

To gather water into a sphere using sheer physical strength alone was already remarkable.

Could he launch that water sphere beyond ten meters?

Chu Tianshu’s eyes gleamed; he didn’t close the distance, even slowly drawing his left hand away.

Merely with a faintly blurred flick of his right hand, the crystal-clear water sphere rested atop his palm, neither dispersing nor falling.

Chu Tianshu shook his palm—the water sphere shot through the air.

Feng Jianhua’s eyes widened in surprise; he raised a hand to block.

Plop!

The water sphere was nearly shattered; the instant his palm touched it, it burst into a splash, spraying in all directions.

Though the sphere carried little force, it had truly flown beyond ten meters.

Chu Tianshu was satisfied, exhaling slowly—he had thoroughly sensed every bodily function the Wu Zao Spirit could perceive.

“Even if I use internal force to strike, my palm energy loses nearly half its effect by the time it reaches ten meters—the farther it flies, the faster it dissipates.”

Feng Jianhua said, “You controlled a water sphere with pure physical strength—and it flew ten meters before breaking?”

Yes.

Now I can begin practicing internal energy.

Chu Tianshu thought this inwardly, but aloud said: “These past days, I’ve been pondering Huangya True Qi, and cross-referencing internal energy teachings with the strengths and weaknesses of my physical body—I’ve gained some insights.”

“Most importantly, I’ve had flashes of inspiration regarding the deficiencies in Hentian Gong.”

He began chatting with Feng Jianhua beneath the setting sun.

Feng Jianhua had originally intended to answer his questions, but the more he listened, the tighter his frown became.

After several attempts to speak, only to fall silent, the old principal’s expression shifted from confusion to stunned contemplation.

“This could actually work…”

Feng Jianhua sank into deep thought, muttering incantations unconsciously; after a long while, he snapped back, face alight with sudden understanding.

“If we pursue this direction and refine it, it might truly be feasible.”

The old man stared blankly at Chu Tianshu, then suddenly said, “My benefactor.”

Chu Tianshu hurriedly replied, “There’s no need to call me that.”

“Hah!”

Feng Jianhua burst into laughter, “Whether you allow it or not, I won’t be calling ‘benefactor’ to some fool who worships sorcery above all else.”

“Hahahaha!”

Beneath the setting sun, the old man laughed with unrestrained joy, washing away his weary gloom.

(End of Chapter)