Chapter 69: Uninvited Guest

Fang Jun noticed that although Chu Tianshu had closed his eyes at first, his eyeballs were clearly moving, unable to settle.

His breath was fast and sharp as an arrow, revealing great physical strength, yet also revealing haste.

After about three minutes, his eyelids grew still, no longer twitching.

Each breath was drawn long and thick, the sound still distinctly audible.

But it was not the kind of frantic panting—it was more like…

Fang Jun thought for a moment.

Yes, like a draft through a corridor!

Even wind, to pass through a massive, solid hall, requires time.

When the wind flowed through Chu Tianshu’s body, it was as if passing through a great palace.

The sound of the wind was held back by this palace, delayed by over two minutes.

The breathing method of “Urgent Seeking Power” demands the calm mind of one seated stably in a golden hall.

Chu Tianshu began again to sense the writhing of his internal organs, the movement of his muscles.

His heartbeat was like a slow, solemn war drum; his intestines, like distant, trembling horns; his lungs, spleen, and kidneys all seemed to hum with the sound of mist-laden clouds.

Previously, whether his stomach rumbled like thunder or his heart pounded like thunder, both were vastly different from true thunder.

It was not merely a difference in volume—it was a difference in timbre.

Whether it was a growling belly or a pounding heart, both were far too monotonous.

The sound of thunder, when recorded in words, usually seemed only a brief, sharp boom.

But the connection between thunderclouds and earth, the premonitions before the electricity surged, the aftermath after it passed—

Together, these formed the single thunderclap that ancient people experienced in nature.

Thunder also had sharp thunder and muffled thunder.

Sharp thunder shook all eight directions; muffled thunder, with its rushing winds and darkened skies, carried its own vast, majestic grandeur.

On typhoon days, before the rain fell, the sky had already darkened.

Dark clouds hung far in the distance, thunder rumbling.

As Chu Tianshu listened to the sounds within his body, scenes like these rose in his mind.

He was there—in the scene, and the scene was within him!

He stirred his internal organs; each exertion was like summoning a storm of wind and thunder inside his body.

Compared to the true wind and thunder of heaven and earth, it was humble and tiny—but the shock it delivered to his spirit was nearly identical.

The path of Food as Immortality, the martial art that trains the internal organs, is a process far more focused on emotion than the other two paths.

Some martial artists who reach great mastery on this path achieve only physical success, not emotional or volitional mastery—and thus have not truly grasped its essence.

Human emotions shift endlessly, changing with time and circumstance, hard to reproduce; yet after reaching mastery in Food as Immortality, one must be able to recreate one’s own emotions.

Use a fixed set of internal changes to influence mood, transforming this complex emotional aggregate into the driving force behind punches and kicks.

This complex, yet intensely powerful, emotional aggregate that can be repeatedly summoned is called “Fist Intent.”

At this moment, Chu Tianshu could no longer tell whether he was practicing the breathing technique of martial arts or the visualization technique of spellcraft.

He could not even recall to distinguish them—he was fully immersed, body and soul, in this sensation.

Wherever the wind and thunder passed, his body was filled with a fresh, lively energy; electricity purified his blood and spurred vitality.

Wind and thunder of heaven and earth! Against the typhoon!

Opposing yet equally fierce, majestic emotions brewed within him.

Fang Jun did not know what Chu Tianshu was experiencing.

But hearing the sounds within Chu Tianshu’s body, his own ears seemed to shift from listening to wind to listening to thunder.

The faint thunder, distant by over ten kilometers, reached here as a low, soft murmur.

But the timbre was unmistakably that of thunder.

“Has he entered the state already?”

Fang Jun thought silently, feeling a touch of awe.

He had long seen Chu Tianshu was a genius of simultaneous cultivation of nature and life—mental arts were nature, martial arts were life.

Such people were rare, but Fang Jun was not overly surprised.

Throughout history, many great figures had profound cultivation without simultaneous cultivation of nature and life.

Simultaneous cultivation merely made daily life and combat more convenient.

It was Chu Tianshu’s current state of cultivation that truly astonished Fang Jun.

In just these few days, they had endured so much; their minds were inevitably still turbulent, needing calm—hardly suitable for cultivation.

Yet Chu Tianshu, while moved by Yin Fengxin’s plight and diligently treating him,

could also quickly clear his mind and fully devote himself to practice.

New and old matters, even multiple events occurring at once, did not feel chaotic to him.

When he needed to delve deep, he delved; when he shifted to other matters, he was not bound by what came before.

This was the demeanor of one capable of great deeds.

“I originally only wanted to guard against a petty antique thief—never thought I’d meet such a friend.”

Fang Jun found it amusing, smiled, and went out to make a phone call.

Chu Tianshu practiced for over four hours before turning off the machine.

After being subjected to such electrical stimulation, his body had not broken a sweat—his clothes remained dry, yet his skin was hot and flushed red.

“This is the time of cultivation.”

Chu Tianshu tore off the patches; hot steam rose from his mouth. He remained seated, fingers extended like a sword, tracing invisible characters in the air.

Four verticals, five horizontals—the Nine Character Mantra!

For ordinary sorcerers, the Vertical-Horizontal Secret Chant was primarily valued for its spell effects; bodily benefits were merely incidental, a side benefit for health.

But for one who, like its founder, cultivates both nature and life—

the more his vitality surges, the stronger his body, the better the Vertical-Horizontal Secret Chant restores his mental power.

Chu Tianshu focused intently, merging his surging life force and vigorous intent with the movements of his hands. His body temperature began to drop; his flushed skin slowly returned to normal.

He went upstairs and found Yin Fengxin reading.

He kept the TV on as background noise; when something interesting came on, he’d glance at it.

“Where is that painting?”

Chu Tianshu called out, “Let me see it again.”

Yin Fengxin agreed readily, returned to his bedroom, and quickly brought out the painting.

Chu Tianshu took the scroll, pretending to admire it, but once again poured his mental power into it.

The scroll remained unresponsive; no characters emerged as he had expected.

This time he poured his power for five full minutes, estimating his depletion, before stopping.

Seeing Chu Tianshu remain silent for so long, Yin Fengxin suddenly said, “Brother Chu, do you really like this painting?”

Chu Tianshu snapped back, smiling, “Yes, it has great spirit.”

Yin Fengxin lowered his eyes, thought for a moment, then said, “Then I’ll give it to you.”

Chu Tianshu was startled: “But this was your mother’s.”

“My mother truly cherished the jade.”

Yin Fengxin shook his head, smiling, “I don’t understand paintings. This thing just sat under my bed collecting dust. Better to give it to someone who truly loves it.”

Chu Tianshu felt that despite resting a full day, Yin Fengxin seemed even more pessimistic.

“Paintings and calligraphy are the easiest things to share.”

Chu Tianshu said, “Keep it with you—I can still come see it anytime.”

Yin Fengxin smiled, “Then you take it for now. I’m staying here for the foreseeable future—we’ll decide later.”

Chu Tianshu set down the scroll and rolled up his sleeves.

“Alright, come on—I’ll give you another acupuncture session.”

Yin Fengxin’s eyes flickered; he swallowed hard and stiffly sat down on the sofa.

In fact, over the past half-month, he’d noticed he seemed to feel less pain—sometimes bumping into desk corners at work, the sensation was barely noticeable.

But Chu Tianshu’s needles…

“AHHH!!”

Fang Jun returned from outside just as he heard Yin Fengxin’s scream.

He listened closely.

Hmm, the rhythm was familiar—it wasn’t anything wrong, just acupuncture.

The next week,

Chu Tianshu’s routine was simple: prescribe medicine, practice, administer acupuncture.

But at meals, all three would gather to watch TV.

Chu Tianshu liked wuxia dramas; Fang Jun preferred fashion dramas; Yin Fengxin watched everything, treating any show as a workplace drama.

The three grew increasingly close; Yin Fengxin gradually began sleeping eight hours a night.

Chu Tianshu grew more confident in his prescription, estimating that in another ten days or so, he could pull Yin Fengxin back from the brink of death; afterward, regular medication should keep him well.

But that painting—

He had once placed hope in it, yet daily infusion of mental power yielded no response.

Li Shizhen wrote books and spread his teachings; if this were merely a medical text, even if it touched on some cultivation techniques, it shouldn't be hidden so carefully.

Chu Tianshu now suspected.

Could there be some particularly potent and easily transmissible poison arts hidden within?

Over the past few days, Fang Jun had taken on two small tasks, and only today did he bring up the matter of the spirit-raising playing cards again to Chu Tianshu.

"The paper pulp made from black locust bark will take seven days to arrive, mainly because the quantity I requested is so small."

Fang Jun looked at the sunset and said, "I'll go get it soon; I should be back before the sun fully sets."

Chu Tianshu paid no mind, only saying, "Don't bring glutinous rice dumplings for dinner tonight; change it up."

But half an hour after Fang Jun left, Chu Tianshu sensed a subtle shift in the air within the house.

It was strange, like the scent of a broken willow branch.

(End of Chapter)