Chapter 2: Chapter Two: Innate Internal Qi

Awesome.

Extremely awesome.

So it wasn’t just the system that got the wrong person.

The system’s quest doesn’t require me to do it myself.

Dou Changsheng only hesitated briefly, astonished by the system—fifteen minutes later, his brother had already completed it.

The key reward went to me.

As Dou Changsheng was marveling, the door was violently pounded.

Bang, bang, bang!!!!!!!!!

The continuous pounding sounds came one after another.

The Ironclad Wild Lion, whose palm was as large as a meditation cushion, slammed against the door furiously while shouting: “We just got fresh news—the convoy transporting military payroll has accelerated its schedule and arrived in Jun County a day early.”

“We don’t have time to prepare—we must act now.”

As if sensing Dou Changsheng’s hesitation, the Ironclad Wild Lion unleashed a burst of inner energy from his palm, like a cannonball—the door instantly exploded into shards and splinters flying everywhere.

The Ironclad Wild Lion strode into the room, grabbed Dou Changsheng by the arm, and began dragging him outside.

No sooner had they stepped past the courtyard gate than they saw people scattered along the street.

At the end of the street appeared a single figure.

Mounted on a towering steed, carrying a bundle on his back, wielding a curved sword like a crescent moon, radiating an aura of deadly menace.

Curved sword. Great horse.

This was the attire of a Northern Steppe swordsman.

Once a figure he had long admired—Jun County was a frontier town, where the vast, flat grasslands of the northern wilderness were the domain of these swordsmen, who roamed like winds and howled like packs of wolves.

Among them were countless outlaws, but also many true heroes.

Seeing this, the Ironclad Wild Lion burst into laughter, his thick beard flaring like a lion’s mane as he sprinted forward, exclaiming excitedly: “With the General of the Northern Pacification imprisoned, many powerful figures from the headquarters have gone to rescue him.”

“They’re so stretched thin they’ve even hired a host of martial artists to transport military payroll!”

“Clearly, the headquarters doesn’t trust the court!”

“And rightly so—if court elites were assigned to escort it, the payroll would vanish, the northern troops would erupt in rage, and with a little provocation, mutiny would break out, leaving the General with no chance of redemption.”

“The Northern Jin court is so unjust, so suspicious of its generals—why not join me and defect to the Southern Chen? Enter the Heavenly Demon Palace and cultivate!”

The swordsman’s eyes flashed with fury as he rebuked: “You were born in the north, raised under the General’s benevolence for years, yet instead of repaying his kindness, you’d betray the headquarters for your own selfish gain!”

“Without the General holding the north, braving arrows and stones to repel the barbarians, they would have long since marched south!”

“You heartless, treacherous wretch!”

His long blade flashed from its scabbard, slicing through the air with a deafening crack like thunder.

This strike was formidable indeed.

The Ironclad Wild Lion charged like a stormwind, as heavy and brutal as a freight truck, unleashing a punch with crushing force, his post-heavenly inner energy exploding like a gale.

A violent collision rang out—the swordsman’s blade shattered, leaving a deep notch, while the Ironclad Wild Lion’s fingers bore a bloody scratch.

Blood slowly seeped out, then stopped.

Barehanded, the Ironclad Wild Lion had clashed with an iron blade—and only broken the skin.

The swordsman’s face turned pale with shock and rage: “Steel bones and iron flesh—you’re Wang Xiong, the Ironclad Wild Lion!”

“You’re a renowned martial artist from this region—how could you, for a single jest by a demonic master, rob official payroll and commit such treason? Don’t you realize that after this, there will be no place for you in the north? You’ll be forced to flee your homeland, abandoning all your friends and ties!”

“All your past relationships will vanish forever.”

Wang Xiong stepped forward again, sneering: “I, Wang Xiong, possess tremendous talent, yet lack divine martial arts or a master—so I’ve been forced to train in crude, brute methods. Even the most inferior Iron Shirt technique, I’ve mastered to perfection, earning the title Ironclad Wild Lion—but beneath this glory,”

“I’ve endured countless hidden injuries. While young, it’s bearable—but when I grow older and my vital energy declines, I’ll end up like several friends I know: bedridden daily, bones aching with piercing pain during rain and damp weather.”

“We’re lowborn—we can’t afford medicine or renowned healers. Every day, we massage ourselves, train in external arts, relying only on enduring beatings, relentless discipline, rising before dawn and training until deep into the night.”

“I’ve made countless enemies along the way—even those who pretend to be friendly harbor malicious intentions, waiting for the day I collapse.”

“Then they’ll swarm me, torment my broken body, and steal my wealth.”

“I need the official payroll as my credential—I must join the Heavenly Demon Palace—I must rise above others!”

“I’m sick of this poverty. Whether the General of the North lives or dies—what does it matter to me?”

“As long as I feast on fine food, drink fine wine, live in luxury, and enjoy myself—that’s all I need.”

Wang Xiong laughed wildly, his voice brimming with arrogance and contempt: “Do you really think I don’t know? You’re just a decoy—while you draw attention, the Black Eagle Elder is secretly following you.”

“The Black Eagle Elder is a legendary martial elder within a hundred li of Jun County—a righteous senior with immense inner energy, nothing like me, who’s only just transitioned from external to internal cultivation.”

“I, Wang Xiong, have my connections—don’t bother hoping. The Black Eagle Elder won’t come.”

Wang Xiong’s broad, palm-like hand seized the horse’s neck, veins bulging like serpents, grotesque and terrifying, yanking the beast down with sheer force.

The horse screamed in agony, one leg twisted and rendered useless.

The swordsman leapt upward—not to fight Wang Xiong, but like a great bird, hurtling toward the high wall beside the street, already planning to flee.

After disabling the horse, Wang Xiong sneered, straightening his towering frame like an iron tower, radiating overwhelming pressure, tearing off the cloth covering his back to reveal what lay beneath.

It was a longbow.

Wang Xiong seized it and drew it fully taut.

Three arrows shot out in an instant.

The arrows tore through the air, the airflow around their tips shrieking like whistles. After firing, Wang Xiong immediately drew three more arrows and pulled the bow fully again.

This wasn’t an ordinary bow—each time the string vibrated, it emitted a peculiar sound.

Three more arrows flew—this time, every escape route for the swordsman was sealed.

Clang!

The swordsman’s notched blade struck one arrow.

The blade trembled; his palms went numb from the force, and he gasped in disbelief: “Three Stars Piercing the Sun—that’s a military secret technique! Only those who master it can command a hundred soldiers!”

“You have steel bones and iron flesh, are impervious to blades and spears, and wield archery with perfect mastery—if you’d joined the army, you’d surely be a top general. With barbarians growing stronger, you could win glory, seize banners, and even become a marquis—why become a criminal?”

Wang Xiong looked down at the wounded swordsman, whose leg had been pierced by an arrow—its tip protruding through flesh and bone, dripping blood.

Wang Xiong tossed aside his bow and stepped forward, growling: “I joined the army as a youth, fought countless battles, earned countless merits—but never received credit. I nearly died many times—so I fled.”

“I took the name Wang Xiong and became famous across counties—but still saw no opportunity.”

“I no longer believe in glory or rewards for valor.”

“To rise, you need either connections or someone who recognizes your worth.”

“If I get this chance—join the Southern Chen’s Heavenly Demon Palace—I’ll rise above all others.”

“The demonic path—survival of the fittest—is the only path suited for me.”

“I’ve said all this to honor this day.”

“Farewell, my weakness.”

Wang Xiong loomed over the swordsman, holding an arrow, driving it down toward his chest.

The swordsman, of course, refused to die quietly—he fought back, but it was futile. Wang Xiong’s storm of arrows had spared his vital organs, but crippled one leg and one arm.

Especially the arm—the one holding his sword. The damage was devastating.

Weaponless and immobile, he was a lamb awaiting slaughter. Wang Xiong stared intently, his fierce eyes scanning every corner, wary of hidden reinforcements.

The swordsman’s eyes filled with despair—there was no hope of resistance—but in his final moments, he had already unstrapped his bundle and gripped it firmly with his good hand.

As Wang Xiong’s arrow descended, the swordsman used his last strength to hurl the bundle away.

The arrow pierced the swordsman’s heart. Wang Xiong ignored the dying man spitting blood, his gaze fixed on the bundle—clearly landing in the hands of a swordsman wearing a wide-brimmed hat and carrying a long sword at his waist.

Wang Xiong smiled—a cold, hollow smile—and said: “Good brother.”

“Bring it here—let me check it.”

Dou Changsheng held the bundle in one hand.

He stared expressionlessly at Wang Xiong. The events that just unfolded weren’t fast, nor slow.

This Ironclad Wild Lion, Wang Xiong, was even more formidable than I imagined—steel bones and iron flesh, impervious to blades and spears, and mastery of the Three Stars Piercing the Sun archery technique.

Men like him, with ideals and justice, are destined to be crushed—but if they abandon all morality, become ruthless and vile, they’re destined to rise.

The Ironclad Wild Lion already possesses every condition for success—only one thing is missing: an opportunity.

And now, that opportunity lies in my hands.

The bundle contains part of the northern frontier’s military payroll—only about ten catties in weight, not heavy, but precisely because of that, it proves its value.

Frontier payroll is astronomical—even a fraction of it is wealth no ordinary person will ever see in a lifetime.

Seeing Dou Changsheng refuse to hand it over, Wang Xiong’s smile vanished. His face turned grim, his thick beard bristling like spikes. Anger surged in him, radiating crushing pressure—his murderous intent solidified into tangible force.

His ferocious eyes locked onto Dou Changsheng, as if ready to tear him apart in the next instant.

Just as Wang Xiong, in his full fury, took a step forward, a sigh echoed.

Dou Changsheng sighed softly, lowered his head slightly to adjust his hat, slung the bundle onto his back, and slowly drew his longsword.

A three-foot blade, rusted and clearly neglected, its edge dulled. He lifted his palm slightly, releasing inner energy that surged along the blade’s length.

At the tip, the energy pulsed rhythmically, forming a radiant aura.

The aura extended three inches beyond the blade.

Three inches of pure white energy—unrivaled, supreme.

A light laugh rang out: “You managed to transcend the external, cultivate post-heavenly inner energy, and forge this iron body through crude external arts.”

“Your talent is decent—if you’d trained since childhood like me, you might now be a worthy opponent.”

“But…”

“These are all hypotheticals. Imaginations.”

"I wonder, can you withstand one sword or two against my primordial qi?"

"Let’s see if you can surprise me."

Dou Changsheng walked slowly toward Wang Xiong, his posture relaxed, his sword casually gesturing, every part of his body exposed as a vulnerability—yet his expression remained calm, his words confident, revealing his extraordinary nature.

Wang Xiong took one step forward, then halted, his eyes filled with shock, brimming with disbelief.

Primordial qi.

Such a thing is rare enough, yet the man before him looked young, almost childish—clearly under twenty.

At such an age, possessing primordial qi, he was a rarity among men, a dragon among mortals, destined to one day challenge the Human Rankings.

Either he came from a prestigious lineage, or he had taken a renowned master.

Otherwise, no matter how gifted, without cultivation techniques or resources, no one could break through the Afterheaven realm before twenty and become a Primordial qi cultivator.

Wang Xiong’s face turned grim, his tone harsh: "I thought I was kidnapping some ordinary martial artist, but I never expected a scion of a great house."

"This time, I, Wang Xiong, failed to recognize a hero."

"I wonder, my lord, if you might spare me?"

It was a test.

Dou Changsheng heard it clearly: pretending to be a disciple of a great sect made him a child of heaven—if he simply agreed to spare him, the man would sense something was wrong.

Dou Changsheng smiled lightly: "This time, the official silver wasn’t lost, only one blade-wielder died—this isn’t a major matter."

"Kneel down, destroy your own qi, prove your sincerity, and I may take you as my servant."

"Aren’t you asking for an opportunity?"

"Serve me, and opportunities will never be lacking."

Wang Xiong suddenly lifted his head and growled: "Martial strength is the foundation of one’s existence."

"I don’t trust men like you, nobles."

"Besides, when I ambushed you, your face was pale, your hands bore calluses from labor—you’re no lifelong noble. You’re just bluffing."

"This primordial qi of yours is fake."

Wang Xiong reached out, yanked the arrow from the blade-wielder’s chest, and with a powerful swing of his thick arm, the arrow shot through the air straight toward Dou Changsheng.

Then he fled, glancing back to watch.

This was his final test.

He lunged for the longbow—if it was a lie, he would immediately turn and kill him with it.