Chapter 87: Medicated Sand, Listening Blade

Chu Tianshu checked into this tavern.

Every morning, he spent an hour selecting visibly ill guests for treatment.

In just five days, word spread that the tavern had a skilled physician.

For the rest of the morning, he mostly searched for unperformed Dao Baishu, gathering news about this world.

He paid them to strip away the theatrical parts and relay only the most reliable information they knew.

Chu Tianshu listened and questioned, gradually grasping the differences between this world and his homeland’s history, as well as the current political landscape.

First, the differences from his homeland.

Here, during the Sui-Tang period, Li Yuanba truly existed—a man of bronze skin and iron bones, with coiled sinews, impervious even to crossbow bolts.

He wielded an eight-hundred-pound hammer as if it were a feather, his arms possessing strength surpassing the Four Symbols.

This made the Li family’s uprising far smoother than in his homeland’s history.

Only when Li Yuanba hurled his hammer at the sky from a cliff and was struck by lightning—sending the hammer crashing back onto his head—did the Tang army’s fortunes grow difficult.

Before that, Li Shimin was so reckless he’d venture alone with just a few men to scout enemy camps.

After that, Li Shimin was forced to demonstrate true generalship and responsibility.

Even so, the chaos of the Sui-Tang transition lasted two years less than in his homeland.

But after that, no one as absurd as Li Yuanba appeared again.

Some events of the An Lushan Rebellion were largely the same.

In present-day Tang, after the famed Emperor Xuanzong, the throne passed to Emperor Suzong, then Emperor Daizong.

The current emperor is Daizong’s eldest son.

As the eldest, he secured the crown prince position and ascended smoothly—a rarity in Tang history.

After taking the throne, he followed his ministers’ advice and implemented the Two-Tax System, attempting to replace “tax per capita” with “tax based on assets.” It initially caused uproar in court and significant turmoil, but eventually succeeded.

Yet regional military governors had established a hereditary tradition; many openly defied imperial orders, ignoring court directives on taxation and other matters.

When the emperor issued harsh decrees, some governors seized the opportunity to rebel under pretext.

Fortunately, this emperor was shrewd, with capable ministers and generals like Wei Gao, and the Tang Imperial Secret Service, a vast network of spies spread across the land, providing intelligence that quelled the rebellions.

Thus, the Tang now shows signs of revival.

Yet after the Imperial Secret Service’s repeated victories, court scholars turned against it, condemning it bitterly.

Because the “Secret Service” was founded during Wu Zetian’s reign, when it functioned as the twin face of cruel officials, already tasked with monitoring officials and despised by them.

After several rises and falls, it was abolished under Emperor Xuanzong, then revived during the An Lushan Rebellion, merged with the Liang Bu Ren, and expanded by recruiting martial artists.

It is said that the Nanzhao king Yixumou, after his defeat, not only broke ties with Tubo and sought Tang’s favor, but also insisted on relocating his capital here.

He feared not only the Tang army, but also the Imperial Secret Service.

The current Military Governor of Jiannan Xichuan, General Wei Gao, is said to come from a scholarly family; though he commands all of Sichuan, he is remarkably refined and amiable.

Yixumou has exchanged letters with him and publicly stated that had the governor of Sichuan been a man like General Wei, clear-eyed and just, Nanzhao would never have rebelled.

The close father-son bond between Tang and Nanzhao was ruined by those treacherous ministers.

Since he says this, his relocation of the capital cannot be due to fear of Wei Gao—it must be fear of something else.

After listening to all this, Chu Tianshu felt Nanzhao was currently stable; to fill his Qi reservoir, he’d need to stay alert and seek opportunities himself.

But there was no rush yet.

These days, he spent mornings on these tasks and afternoons primarily on cultivation.

The Shaolin Heartfire Fist set had reached such depth it felt both utterly fierce and yet perfectly circular within the smallest space.

To practice this fist set, Chu Tianshu placed a large tub in his room.

But the tub held no water—only sand.

Nanzhao had no deserts, but it had sand mines.

When building city walls or the mansions of noble families, they mixed glutinous rice paste, slaked lime, and sand to fill gaps.

Some artisans crafting jade or bronze mirrors used sand in their multi-layer polishing processes.

Chu Tianshu bought half a tub of sand, then purchased several herbs, crushed them, and mixed them in.

According to the Shaolin Fist Manual, beginners needed far less sand and had to first heat the medicated sand in an iron pot until slightly warm.

Then they’d hang it in a sack and pour it slowly down the back of the neck, scrubbing the entire body.

But Chu Tianshu used a massive quantity of sand and herbs, and did not heat them.

Each day, he entered his room, stripped naked, and stood atop the tub.

“Huuu!!”

Chu Tianshu exhaled a long breath, arms spread, palms rotating as he lightly pressed them between chest and abdomen.

The sand trembled slightly, and his entire body began sinking, soon reaching his waist.

When his hands and torso touched the sand, his descent accelerated abruptly, like sinking into mud—plop—he plunged straight down.

Until the sand reached his shoulders.

Chu Tianshu used Immortal Qi to displace the sand, aiding his descent, but with such minimal vibration it was barely visible.

Now, except for his head, his whole body was buried in sand; the effects of his force became clearer.

Fine grains of sand kept trembling.

Chu Tianshu’s breath was fine, so sand did not enter his lungs.

But each inhalation was long, silent, and sustained for over three minutes.

After inhaling, he held his breath for nearly half a minute before exhaling.

His body appeared motionless, yet within the sand, his muscles constantly swelled and contracted, his internal organs’ force and heartbeat perfectly synchronized with the muscle rhythms.

Shhh-chak! Shhh-chak!

The sound of sand came in continuous waves.

Though it was sand, it behaved like tides—rising high, then receding.

Chu Tianshu’s force set every grain in motion.

As they rubbed against each other, heat generated; pressed tightly together within the thick wooden tub, the heat could not escape.

The sand’s temperature rose steadily, gradually exceeding body heat.

That was why Chu Tianshu did not use an iron pot to heat the sand.

His cultivation had reached such a level that practicing the Shaolin Fist Manual meant skipping beginner stages entirely—he could begin at an advanced level.

Fourteen hearts, fourteen furnaces.

This fist set aimed to turn the body into fourteen furnaces—though referring only to Ming-era blacksmith’s forges, not modern steel furnaces.

Yet to truly walk the right path and grasp its essence, one must achieve “flesh burning sand.”

The sand grew hotter.

Air surged upward through the sand’s gaps, heated and expanded, causing faint bubbling at the surface.

This state was too hot.

Other areas were manageable, but the lower yin region was still too weak to sustain such heat.

Chu Tianshu slowed his force frequency, waited a while, then resumed.

He trained until nightfall, when a servant approached his door.

Through the paper-covered door, the servant sensed the room’s heat, utterly unlike the outside temperature.

But after days of this, the servant had grown accustomed; he wiped his forehead with his shoulder towel and said, “Master, Cheng the Blind has returned.”

A reply came from inside.

Chu Tianshu had asked them to notify him whenever Cheng the Blind returned.

Moments later, Chu Tianshu emerged, face flushed, wearing a blue brocade robe.

His hairstyle had changed—he’d adopted the local style, tying his hair into a topknot centered on his head.

But he tied it poorly; strands constantly hung loose from his temples and nape.

When he reached the main hall, he saw Cheng the Blind drinking as usual.

“Same as always—two steamed fish, the rest is up to you.”

Chu Tianshu smiled. “I’ll dine with Brother Cheng.”

These days, he’d also been paying attention to the Blood Refining Art; his first thought was the headless swordsman.

Since the swordsman was dead, perhaps he could buy his former martial art from his family.

But after inquiring, Chu Tianshu learned the swordsman had once been a retainer of a high official, and had obtained the Blood Refining Art from him—it could never be transmitted outside, nor could any written record exist.

Even the swordsman’s son knew only the “Strengthening Method,” a fist technique similar to opening meridians, and understood nothing of the Blood Refining Art.

Thus, to obtain the Blood Refining Art, Chu Tianshu’s other target was Cheng the Blind.

But unfortunately, his eyes were completely ruined.

Even Chu Tianshu’s medical skill could not cure him.

He could only think of other ways—how to buy it, or how to trade for it.

“Oh! Why are you only halfway through your bottle today?”

Chu Tianshu sat across from him, poured himself a cup, drank two sips, then stopped.

This was the perfect amount—sweet with a hint of spice, nothing bitter on the tongue.

Cheng the Blind was clearly off today—he hadn’t even finished his first bottle.

He faced Chu Tianshu, as if he could see him.

“You keep treating me to dinner every day—I’m starting to worry you’ll slip me some sleeping powder one day and sell me off.”

The blind man said casually, “So now when I drink, I sip slowly—better to taste if there’s any sleeping potion in it.”

Chu Tianshu laughed, “You’ve seen these past few days—my medical skills make earning money easy. Why would I sell a friend as interesting as you? Are you really that valuable?”

The blind man snorted, “Maybe I am.”

Chu Tianshu raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Did you suddenly discover some wealthy relative sent someone to invite you to inherit an estate?”

“You’re talking nonsense again.”

The blind man shook his head, then suddenly grabbed his blade and thrust it horizontally forward.

Chu Tianshu lifted his brow but didn’t move, watching the blade stop less than five inches from his face.

Ting!

The blind man pressed his thumb, revealing a sliver of the blade’s edge from the scabbard.

“You’re just curious about the blade’s soul? Here, take a look.”

“This blade’s name is Ting Feng.”

As soon as he spoke, he let go of it.

(End of Chapter)