Chapter 19: Light Rain Returns the Wanderer, Gongs and Drums Bring the Guests

The bandits’ corpses were hastily buried over the next two or three days.

Everyone had experience; they knew leaving too many bodies unburied would only bring harm to the townsfolk, yet still, resentment lingered as they did it.

After all, they were enemies—deadly foes.

Those bandits were wiped out in half a night, but they killed fourteen people and severely wounded seventeen; the lightly wounded weren’t even counted.

In the past, when bandits struck the town, they either negotiated directly with wealthy households, taking hostages for ransom according to green forest rules, or, like refugees, robbed just a few homes before being easily scared off by the militia.

Since the establishment of the Han military government, the town had paid its dues to the city regularly and hadn’t suffered such a devastating loss in many years.

The dozen or so dead were all young, strong men; the severely wounded were each family’s main pillar.

When white funeral banners went up outside these households, the entire town fell under a somber mood; the town’s major families, at least, still knew how to behave.

They themselves provided the compensation for the dead and the funeral supplies, and cared for the severely wounded.

When people spoke of those good young men, they couldn’t help sighing; even past habits—like militia patrols casually snatching food from stalls or taking goods from vendors without paying—now felt warm and nostalgic.

But life still had to go on.

After a few days, every morning at sunrise, the town’s main street was once again packed with vendors, and shops reopened one after another.

Even though a light rain had fallen at dawn, filling the air with autumn’s chill, it didn’t dampen their cries of sale.

A gray-clad man, wearing a conical hat, soaked in the colder rain from the mountains, arrived in town, unaware of what had happened days earlier.

But after stepping onto the street and walking only a dozen paces, he encountered the militia.

“Master Zhong, you’re finally back!”

Beneath the hat, his face bore a broad forehead, large eyes, a high nose bridge, thin cheeks, and a scruffy beard—his features had a certain ferocity, yet he looked lazy and listless.

Hearing the militia’s chatter, his eyebrows lifted and his posture straightened slightly: “So something like this happened—how are the severely wounded doing?”

“The injured are all doing fine,” said the militia. “That Master Chu isn’t just a fighter—he’s some kind of miracle doctor. Those he prescribed for have already regained their color.”

“These past few days, many have wanted to meet him, but he stays inside Master Ma’s inn and rarely comes out.”

“Oh, right, right—Master Ma’s half a immortal, knows magic! Master Zhong, you’re close to Master Ma, didn’t you already know?”

Zhong Jinqiu listened to their questions but said nothing. He pulled a dried radish from his sleeve, bit into it, and said, “Stop asking around. First, let’s go to the households holding funerals—I’ll burn incense for them too.”

He followed the militia down a narrow path.

As the sun grew hotter, over half an hour later, Zhong Jinqiu arrived alone at Old Ma’s Inn, his conical hat now slung over his back.

As soon as he entered, several guests recognized him and greeted him.

Zhong Jinqiu nodded, glanced around—but didn’t see his old friend behind the counter.

The waiter approached: “Uncle Zhong, the boss is in the back courtyard—he hasn’t come out these past few days.”

After revealing his magic, he’d gained reverence—but also trouble.

People came seeking to become his disciples, to invite him home as a household deity, or convinced themselves or their loved ones were possessed.

Master Ma was past the age of craving attention; these past few days, he’d deliberately avoided them.

The curtain between the main hall and the back courtyard, usually rolled up with rope and iron hooks during the day, now hung down.

When Zhong Jinqiu lifted the curtain, he saw Master Ma crouched in the courtyard’s corner, a long bench before him, sitting on a tree-root stool, drinking to ease his fatigue.

“Oh, old ghost, you’re back?”

Master Ma rubbed his nose, didn’t rise, and waved him over: “Come, come, sit down. Perfect timing.”

Zhong Jinqiu walked to the other end of the bench, sat cross-legged directly on the stone slab, grabbed the wine jug, and poured a mouthful straight into his throat.

“I heard about the town’s troubles. Magic injuries aren’t easy to spot. You haven’t fought in years—did you get hurt that day?”

Master Ma chuckled: “I wasn’t sure I’d escape unscathed, but little Chu was too fierce—he charged out of town and killed both bandit leaders in the woods.”

“I just held them off for a bit, then cleaned up afterward.”

Zhong Jinqiu squinted at his old friend: “I heard he’s young, knows medicine and martial arts, arrived in town dressed like a foreigner—his background isn’t simple, is it?”

Someone with a background often brings trouble.

“Didn’t ask.”

Master Ma said plainly, “The young man’s fine. Why ask so much?”

Zhong Jinqiu turned away: “Fine. You’re better at judging people—I won’t bother myself.”

He tasted the wine again. “This wine tastes different today—did you add herbs?”

Master Ma said, “That Master Chu helped revise the recipe.”

“I know his medical skill is good, but your medicinal wine formula isn’t easy to come by—can he even alter it?”

Zhong Jinqiu grew interested, pulled out a dried radish, bit into it to mask the wine’s aftertaste, then drank another mouthful, closed his eyes, savored it briefly, and nodded involuntarily.

“Huh, the medicinal effect is different. With just these second- or third-rate herbs, he’s brewed a flavor like this—he’s got skill.”

“Where is he? Don’t you want to introduce me?”

Master Ma picked up a few peanuts from the dish on the bench, slowly peeled them, and chewed them leisurely.

“He’s in his room practicing. He truly loves fistwork—after that bloody battle last night, he didn’t rest the next morning. Right away, he started training again.”

“But don’t rush. He’ll come out near lunchtime. Let’s drink first.”

Master Ma held his cup low and murmured, “I’ve been thinking these past few days about that thing we got back then...”

Zhong Jinqiu waited for him to continue. After a long silence, he frowned: “What thing? Say it clearly.”

“No rush.”

Master Ma considered, sipped his wine, then changed the subject: “Let’s wait until you two get to know each other first.”

Inside Chu Tianshu’s room, he was indeed practicing.

Unlike his usual dynamic, leaping, twisting forms of fist training.

Now he stood on his left foot, right foot bent and resting on his left knee, hands clasped high above his head. Every joint—from ankles and knees to hips, shoulders, back, neck, and arms—twisted tightly in one direction.

His skin tightened like steel wire, trembling faintly with each breath.

Dust motes drifted in the sunlight. Chu Tianshu changed posture only after long intervals, moving slowly, each motion like the dance of temple guardian spirits.

Toes gripped the ground, body arched backward, palms of hands and feet pressed flat against the floor. Muscle tension cycled from soles to crown, endlessly repeating.

Fingers spread wide, arms hovering as if pressing against air—force surged so violently, repeatedly, that his knuckles swelled like bamboo joints.

Each stretch and contraction seemed to challenge the limits of his muscles.

Like a wild beast, half-man, half-ape, stretching its form in slow, solemn prayer—thick, powerful, its shadow stamped on stone, quiet yet profoundly fierce.

Though it appeared less intense than his old methods, his muscles now twisted and compressed like bronze blocks, activating every part of his body. Heat surged through him, yet his pores remained tightly sealed, skin continuously reddening and burning.

This was the product of his second refinement using demonic essence.

“Mountain Ape Eight-Sided Tiger Stance”!

The demonic essence gained from the bandit battle proved useful, especially “Worm-Belly Leopard Cat” and “Crocodile Kid.” The former clearly enhanced muscular strength.

The latter’s prolonged underwater swimming and breath-holding might relate to lung and heart function—or perhaps it was merely a water ghost’s special ability to breathe underwater.

At the time, Chu Tianshu hesitated slightly, but the next day chose to refine using the Leopard Cat as the core.

The martial art material used was the “Gluttonous Back-Punching Fist” manual.

After refinement, the manual’s title remained unchanged, but within its footwork, a new stance emerged.

After days of practice, he felt this stance’s effect was exceptional—his strength grew increasingly condensed.

Externally, his muscles hadn’t thickened further, yet with the same range of motion, his explosive power had noticeably increased.

However, according to the token’s prompt, the “Qi Family Old Back-Punching” manual, after two refinements, had nearly exhausted its potential.

He could continue refining it with demonic essence—but it would be wasteful.

So, for the next refinement, he’d need to gather new martial art materials.

Chu Tianshu had inquired from Wang Fu and learned that Master Zhong of the militia was also a formidable martial artist, trained in an advanced fist art, and well-acquainted with Master Ma.

If the chance arose, perhaps he could exchange arts—or even take him as a master.

He’d also heard someone had arrived in the courtyard today—Master Ma’s acquaintance—but he didn’t rush out. He patiently trained until his stomach loudly protested, then finally ended his practice.

A dense shower of sweat, pea-sized beads, burst from his skin as he exhaled. He wiped them with a towel—only for more to immediately form.

Fortunately, in recent days, he’d kept eight towels and two buckets of water ready in his room; washing up had become second nature. Soon, he’d dressed.

Creak!

As the door opened, the two old men in the courtyard turned to look.

Master Ma had been sipping his small pot of wine slowly, and even at midday, it wasn’t finished. He smiled: “You’re out? Lunch will be served right here in the courtyard—perfect. We can eat and chat. This is Old Zhong!”

Chu Tianshu smiled: “So this is Master Zhong. I should call you elder.”

He bowed slightly as he clasped his fists—but Zhong Jinqiu’s expression changed instantly. He rose, reached out, and forced Chu Tianshu upright, then bowed deeply himself, performing a full, formal salute.

Chu Tianshu froze, bewildered.

“I was hired for a hefty sum as the militia’s weapons instructor. When the bandits attacked, I was away. Thanks to you.”

Zhong Jinqiu said solemnly, “You shouldn’t bow to me—I should bow to you.”

Chu Tianshu said, “I’ve been living well in this town. Of course I couldn’t let the bandits run rampant...”

Zhong Jinqiu was about to speak again when a clamor of gongs and drums erupted outside.

Soon, the rush of footsteps and shouting voices drowned out even the gongs and drums.

The waiter pulled back the curtain, face alight with astonishment and delight: “Boss, Master Chu, come out quickly!”

“Word’s come from the city—they’re sending officials to honor us for crushing the bandits and defending the town! Especially you two! The county magistrate requests you come at once!”

(End of Chapter)