Chapter 66

Li Guanyi wore a black robe with subtle patterns today, a satchel slung diagonally across his back, utterly enamored with this battle spear.

He found his fondness for heavy blades diminishing day by day.

Take this battle spear of his, for example.

As long as the opponent wielding sword or knife has not reached the level where internal Qi can be projected to form blade energy.

Li Guanyi could strike down their forehead with a single move: Phoenix Nods.

Even if you use blade energy, my battle spear has a natural advantage of seven or eight chi in reach—it strikes first despite acting later. But once you reach a certain level, weapons no longer matter. Li Guanyi recalled the day Yue Qianfeng and Xue Daoyong fought, shaking the land for dozens of li.

The old man drew his bow and fired—one shot sent hundreds of golden rays crashing to the ground.

Xue Shen shot an arrow over three hundred li, piercing through Mount Sheng.

At that level, battle spear and sword are indistinguishable—it’s all about the martial artist’s strength.

Strength…

A quiet flame burned within Li Guanyi’s heart; though he had come to terms with his past, his thirst for power had grown daily, unbeknownst to himself. The old man brought him and Xue Shuangtao to a small courtyard near Tingfeng Pavilion.

The courtyard was modest, only two stories tall.

An old man with white hair, white eyebrows, and a face full of wrinkles sat in the doorway basking in the sun. He rose to bow upon seeing Xue Daoyong.

Xue Daoyong waved his hand. “Today I’ve brought these children to select a few entry-level cultivation arts.”

“Go prepare.”

The old man bowed and left.

Xue Daoyong, dressed in loose robes, looked at Li Guanyi and said:

“Since you’re seeking entry-level arts, you should also understand the realms beyond entry. Martial artists forge their bodies to enter, and once inside, they can roam the Jianghu without fearing some random bandits will scatter them.”

“They can serve as guest protectors for minor clan households.”

“Even in border armies, they hold the rank of squad leader—you should know, Guanyi.”

Li Guanyi nodded.

Xue Daoyong continued: “In a small place, an entry-level martial artist is already a respected figure—a one-in-a-hundred cultivator, enough to guarantee a lifetime of food and shelter. For many, this is their life’s goal.”

But look across the world, heroes are plentiful; look back through history, great champions are countless.

“This is merely the beginning of the martial path.”

The old man pointed to a nearby stone tablet, one fist thick, solid and unyielding. “For example, an entry-level martial artist cannot break this stone.”

“Don’t believe me? Try it. Use your entry-level art to shatter this stone.”

He wanted the boy to understand the absolute limit of an entry-level martial artist.

Li Guanyi nodded.

He shifted his shoulder—the weapon satchel fell. He reached out, seized the battle spear, and with both hands merged it into a single seven- or eight-chi-long weapon, gripping it firmly, then swung it violently. Internal Qi erupted. Though he still couldn’t unleash a technique like Rolling Waves, the basic forms were intact.

This was the essence of staff technique, blended into the battle spear.

Leveraging the resilience and elasticity of purple sandalwood, he channeled force perfectly into the spear’s tip.

A technique of brief, concentrated explosive power.

The stone tablet split cleanly down the middle.

Li Guanyi swept his wrist, using the heavy blade technique of Cloud Sweep to arc the spear upward, then flipped the blade and brought the crescent blade down in a heavy chop—finally, the stone tablet was shattered, severed, leaving only half of it split from the center.

Li Guanyi swept his wrist, his battle halberd striking like a heavy blade, carving through the air in an arc before rising high, rotating the blade to deliver a mighty crescent slash that shattered, severed, and split the stone stele down the middle, leaving only a small portion intact.

Xue Daoyong was speechless.

Xue Shuangtao couldn’t help laughing.

The old man grinned. “...You brat.”

“I meant—use your fist!”

He walked to another stone tablet.

Li Guanyi stared at it—the stone was standard granite. Punching it would surely shatter his knuckles. He knew his own strength well—he couldn’t break it, and would injure his metacarpals. For a martial artist, finger bones would fracture; breaking them wasn’t out of the question.

The old man finally regained some dignity, speaking coolly: “Can’t break it, can you?”

“You’ll even hurt yourself.”

He placed his palm on the stone. “Before entry, martial artists forge their bodies with Qi.”

“But after entry, how do you proceed? Those who came before experimented endlessly, eventually discovering the Three Gates.”

“Body Casting, Qi Condensation, Meridian Penetration.”

“A Body-Casting martial artist has flesh like cast iron. Even if this stone won’t shatter, it won’t hurt him…” He raised his fist and struck with entry-level force. The stone trembled slightly, shedding fine rock fragments—his fist remained unharmed.

“At this level, the body is pushed to its absolute limit—not just for protection, but to contain greater bursts of internal Qi.”

"Wu practitioners at this level refine their bodies to their absolute limit to protect themselves and to contain greater bursts of internal Qi."

“After entry, Qi exits the body—but what you release now is scattered and useless. It can strike an enemy, but weakly. Condense it, like forging iron into a blade, and you achieve this.”

The old man punched again—same force, same Qi signature.

But the stone tablet, one fist thick, shattered completely. The expelled Qi had hardened into a blade-like edge, exquisitely condensed.

Xue Daoyong said: “The third gate is called [Meridian Penetration].”

“When Qi and strength are consolidated, and the body is forged, power can be channeled through the finest meridians.”

He extended his hand and pressed lightly against the stone.

When he lifted it, a clear handprint remained on the stone’s surface.

The old man demonstrated to Li Guanyi the cultivation after entry.

“After entry, first cultivate Body Casting. Once body is forged, you condense Qi. With the body hardened like iron and Qi refined, you penetrate the meridians. At that stage, all meridians flow freely, internal Qi condensed like swords and knives. When Qi exits the body at this level, it is so refined it can shatter ordinary armor barehanded.”

“If after entry you break all three gates, you advance to the Second Tower.”

“You can serve as a Captain in the army, or as a senior steward in ordinary martial sects—the strongest martial artist in most cities reaches this level.”

The old man smiled, encouraging: “Guanyi, you’re only thirteen, still two months from fourteen.”

“With your talent, you’ll reach this level before eighteen.”

“An eighteen-year-old Captain.”

Xue Shuangtao scolded: “Grandpa, he’s already a Captain.”

The old man laughed heartily: “Hahahaha, yes, yes—he’s a Captain. But this seventh-rank Zhenwei Captain? Only a martial artist of this level can command respect. A seventh-rank officer commands three to five hundred soldiers on the battlefield—five per squad, meaning dozens of entry-level squad leaders, thirty squad chiefs.”

The elder chuckled, "Ha ha ha, yes, yes, yes—you're a Captain now. But this Seventh-Rank Zhenwei Captain? Only a martial cultivator of this tier can command respect. A Seventh-Rank officer commands three to five hundred soldiers in battle, five per squad—so dozens of squad leaders who’ve entered the realm, and thirty company leaders."

Body Casting. Qi Condensation. Meridian Penetration.

Li Guanyi stared at the handprint on the stone.

He suddenly understood.

He knew now why, despite mastering the techniques, he couldn’t unleash Rolling Waves or Mountain Crushing.

He hadn’t forged his body.

His body couldn’t withstand the force required for such techniques.

His Qi wasn’t condensed enough to generate the surging momentum of waves.

This was the flaw of learning advanced martial arts at a low level—you learn them, but can’t use them.

Li Guanyi exhaled. He seemed to glimpse a far vaster horizon. “Xue Lao, what lies beyond this?”

The old man replied: “At the Third Tower, you command elite units of a thousand, riding the battlefield in this chaotic age. Others may call you General. The heads of ordinary martial sects are merely at this level—Qi is vast and overwhelming, strength enough to crush mountains.”

“And every generation of my Xue family must reach the Third Tower to be recognized.”

Li Guanyi frowned. The old man smiled and asked: “Do you remember the day I fought Yue Qianfeng? How many arrows did I fire?”

"Every generation of my Xue family’s heir must reach the Third Story before being recognized."

Li Guanyi frowned. The elder smiled and asked, "Do you remember that day when I fought Yue Qianfeng the soldier? How many arrows did I fire?"

The old man hadn’t brought any arrows that day.

The old man’s eyes glowed with approval. He raised his hand, casually clenching it—Qi coalesced into an arrow.

Clear, piercing, he placed it gently in Li Guanyi’s palm. “This is the Third Tower.”

“Condense Qi into weapons. Condense Qi into armor. Countless esoteric arts emerge. You’re no longer merely a martial artist. At this level, you gain other close-combat options. The three teachings—cultivating spirit and Qi—also possess bodies rivaling Second Tower martial artists, and can wield swords to kill.”

“It’s a level where all paths converge.”

“Daoists call them True Ones. The military calls them Generals. Thirteen years ago, when Marshal Yue first rose to fame, he was at this level.”

“Even in the world at large, he was no longer a minor figure.”

“Guanyi, strive.”

Li Guanyi gripped the arrow. It shattered in his hand. He thought of the Night Gallop cavalry who had hunted him, and said casually: “I’ve heard each nation has elite troops—Chen Guo’s Night Gallop cavalry, Ying Guo’s Tiger Savages, the Turkic Iron Tread, the Western Regions’ Golden Crescent cavalry. What are their strengths?”

The old man laughed. “And Ying Guo’s Duke’s Black Armor Army. Yue Qianfeng’s Great Spear Soldiers.”

“Each numbering fewer than a thousand, yet capable of turning the tide in battles of tens of thousands.”

“All elite. Each soldier must possess the strength of an ordinary Captain.”

“They’re usually assembled from the entire army’s best—wearing the finest armor, riding swift steeds, armed with weapons and crossbows, capable of surrounding and killing Third Tower martial artists. Under a great general’s command, even Masters can be slain.”

Night Gallop cavalry… Second Tower…

Li Guanyi clenched his lips. The casual ease he’d felt since entry vanished completely.

Then he recalled the Night Gallop cavalry sent to hunt Yue Qianfeng.

Those dispatched for such a mission must have been elite among elites—yet Yue Qianfeng, wounded, had easily slaughtered them. And now, my strength? Even one-on-one, I’m weaker than a single cavalryman who hunted me that year.

Li Guanyi pressed his lips together, and the effortless calm that had automatically arisen upon entering the realm vanished completely.

Then he remembered the night-riding cavalry sent to hunt down Yue Qianfeng.

Those dispatched to carry out such a mission must have been elite among the night-riding cavalry, yet they were easily slain by the severely wounded Yue Qianfeng; and now, in a one-on-one fight, his own strength was inferior to that of a single cavalryman who had once hunted him.

But the boy looked up at the sky and relaxed slightly.

He was only thirteen; there was plenty of time ahead—he would surely surpass them one day.

Why panic over this every single day?

It was his aunt who knew no martial arts… probably lying to him.

He wondered what realm the old man before him, and that Yue Qianfeng who had roared a crimson dragon and shattered a mountain with a single punch, had reached.

At that moment, the white-haired guard stepped out of the courtyard and said softly, “All is prepared.”

Xue Daoyong nodded.

Leading Li Guanyi and Xue Shuangtao forward, he pushed open the door and said casually, “The method for entering the realm requires spiritual transmission; the most crucial part is the cultivation technique that forges the [Body of Cultivation], the core of everything.”

“Different Body of Cultivation types have their own inclinations—essentially body, qi, and spirit.”

“The orthodox Confucian, Daoist, and Buddhist schools emphasize qi and spirit; while outside sects—music, chess, calligraphy, painting—focus purely on [spirit].”

“Martial cultivators?”

“Hahahaha, how childish! We martial cultivators rely on qi and body; spirit is cultivated only after reaching the third story. With robust physiques and mighty qi, a martial cultivator in armor is untouchable within thirty-three steps—something neither Buddhist nor Daoist can match.”

The inclination of the Body of Cultivation had clearly separated the crude martial cultivators from the pretentious scholars.

The old man stopped and pointed to the bookshelf before them. Each shelf held a single scroll, each uniquely potent, radiating shimmering, colorful auras. Incense burned nearby, sharpening the mind. He warned, “After entering the realm, all cultivation methods require spiritual transmission—you cannot simply read them.”

“You must comprehend their spiritual resonance, achieve harmony with them, before you can grasp their true meaning.”

The old man said calmly, “Here are the Xue family’s post-entry cultivation methods, including our secret transmissions; seven out of ten are gathered from outside—Confucian, Daoist, Buddhist, military, Yin-Yang, and Mohist methods are all here.”

“Though they’re not the pinnacle transmissions of each school, they’re more than sufficient for entering the realm.”

Li Guanyi said instinctively, “Pinnacle transmissions…?”

The old man nodded. “They’re the Ten Supreme Arts of the Central Plains.”

“For qi cultivation, the strongest is the Confucian [Vast Righteous Qi].”

“For body refinement, nothing surpasses the Buddhist [Golden Vajra Elephant] or the Daoist [Taiji Soft Cloud].”

“For killing arts, nothing exceeds the military’s core transmission [Hundred Battles], but it lies in the Central Plains.”

“Common or even high-grade spirit cultivation methods are exceedingly rare.”

“Yet the pinnacle transmissions are the most numerous.”

“The Daoist [Supreme Forgetting Emotion Treatise], the Buddhist [Zen], the Confucian [Heaven’s Mandate]; but the most secretive, even unrecorded in writing, is the Jiangnan Divine Weapon Murong Mansion’s [Twelve Layers of Jiangnan Mist and Rain], superior even to the Divine Sword Art—yet it has no actual technique.”

“Passed down, one person per generation.”

“The previous inheritor vanished without trace.”

“The Murong family no longer possesses this technique.”

The old man said, “The last two famed transmissions are the imperial family’s ancestral method of the Great Emperor of the Central Plains, left behind by the heroic emperor eight hundred years ago—no one has mastered it in many years.”

Li Guanyi asked, “What about the Xue family’s?”

The old man sighed.

“We once had a transmission equal to these, but our ancestor split it into two parts; the Xue family received only the upper volume. The lower volume and the battle halberd were separated—each was a top-tier technique; together, they would rival the divine art used by the Chen dynasty’s founding prince.”

“But alas, that technique and the halberd have long vanished.”

“No one knows when they might reunite and restore our ancestor’s glory.”

“Enough of that. Guanyi, try them out. Among so many techniques, one must resonate with your spirit.” The old man gestured ahead. Li Guanyi nodded and stepped forward with hope. Xue Daoyong smiled faintly, and the old servant beside him asked:

“Master, is this the Qilin child?”

“Yes.”

Xue Daoyong asked, “How many do you think he can resonate with?”

The old servant thought for a moment, then replied, “Most techniques require only insight, physical strength, and internal qi. With his solid foundation, he should be able to master high-grade martial arts—at least achieving spiritual resonance with five techniques.”

“Perhaps even an omen will appear—precious scrolls ringing out in harmony.”

Xue Daoyong laughed heartily, shaking his head in pride.

“It’ll be more than that!”

“I’ll say ten.”

“There’ll be an omen of towering mountains and flowing rivers, brilliant literary radiance.”

These are the transformations that occur when a martial cultivator resonates with a transmission.

Li Guanyi stepped inside. The high-grade incense calmed his spirit. He reached out and grasped one scroll. Its luminous aura stretched endlessly. In this place, he truly felt the faint spiritual resonance—this was what the post-entry transmission meant?

Li Guanyi lifted his head.

The library was filled with swirling spiritual auras.

Martial cultivators chose one, stirred its resonance, and received its transmission; those who achieved high-grade resonance received high-grade martial teachings. Every martial cultivator here gave their all to resonate with these techniques. Li Guanyi quieted his spirit and did the same—yet he frowned slightly. He couldn’t read the books.

It was too noisy.

Around him, the spiritual auras and radiant light flowed—but in his perception, they sounded like strings.

The many spiritual auras clashed, their radiance shifting, sounding in his ears like discordant strings.

Accustomed to playing the qin, Li Guanyi reached out and plucked idly.

How could one play the qin with spiritual auras in empty air?

Li Guanyi answered within himself: the qin is the voice of the heart—it can be played regardless.

His idle pluck was the melody his aunt taught him—the one he’d practiced most over the past decade.

His spirit became the qin’s sound—not seeking to resonate with the auras here.

Rather, he led with himself—his spirit played the qin.

Xue Daoyong was arguing with the old servant when he suddenly froze, lifting his head.

A faint, clear qin note seemed to sweep through the air. All the cultivation auras froze.

Every precious scroll in the library.

Their spiritual resonance fell silent.

Then, like a gathering tide, the entire library—three hundred and eighty-seven post-entry cultivation techniques—

All ignited.