Chapter 9: What Is Martial Arts?

In the rain-soaked night, under the moonlight, a youth held a short sword, fresh blood slowly tracing down his still slightly childish face—a scene of stark impact. Yue Qianfeng’s eyes widened slightly, while Li Guanyi still gripped the short sword, his gaze fixed on Yue Qianfeng.

Only the patter of rain broke the silence.

Li Guanyi’s breathing was steady.

He had never imagined he would find himself in such a situation.

He had come at midnight to find the beggar for the antidote and the bronze cauldron, yet never expected to stumble upon the Cloud Pattern cavalry’s nighttime ambush on Yue Qianfeng—or Yue Qianfeng’s counter-killing—and least of all had he anticipated the cavalrymen revealing Yue Qianfeng’s conspiracy.

Though he had killed the Cloud Pattern cavalryman and now stood on the same side as this giant,

Li Guanyi still had no full confidence in his own safety.

Yet his expression remained calm as he stared at the giant; the air grew cold, nearly frozen, rain pelting his body—until a booming laugh shattered the tension.

Yue Qianfeng regarded the youth like a tense, young tiger, flipped his long blade into the ground, and burst into laughter, his eyes brimming with approval.

“Good lad! Good killing aura! Good decisiveness! Good ferocity!”

“A true accomplice!”

“I underestimated you!”

He praised him repeatedly, then opened his palm—Li Guanyi’s short sword suddenly appeared in Yue Qianfeng’s grip. Li Guanyi had wrapped a layer of cloth around the hilt and blade, concealing the four inscriptions on both sides, leaving only a blade shimmering like blue mist.

It was this very blade that had pierced through the Cloud Pattern cavalry’s famed Night-Run armor, armor so tough even a tiger’s claws could not scratch it—yet it had yielded like tofu beneath its edge.

Yue Qianfeng lowered his internal Qi defense and brushed his thumb along the blade’s edge.

No pain, only a tickle—but when he lifted his thumb, a drop of crimson blood fell. Yue Qianfeng sighed: “Truly a top-tier treasure. No wonder it pierced the Night-Run armor.”

“It rivals even the ninety-seven famed swords of the Murong family.”

He flipped the short sword back into Li Guanyi’s scabbard and laughed: “I won’t ask where you got this sword. It’s your secret. Everyone has secrets. Nothing unusual.”

“But such a short blade isn’t meant for men to kill enemies with.”

“Its blade is too thin, its edge too narrow. It’s not a weapon for combat—it’s for noblewomen to kill themselves in final desperation, to avoid dishonor. The one who gave you this blade must have valued you more than herself.”

Li Guanyi’s fingers gently traced the blade’s length; his sharp brows softened slightly.

In his eyes, the crimson dragon, once blazing red, now had its blood-red hue slowly fading.

Yue Qianfeng’s killing intent had vanished. He laughed loudly: “Then, fellow accomplice, let’s do what accomplices must do.” He pointed at the fallen cavalryman; rain fell, yet the stench of blood remained thick. Li Guanyi exhaled a heavy breath and nodded.

Destroy the bodies.

Li Guanyi sheathed his sword at his waist, then dragged the corpse of the cavalryman who had discovered his identity—eyes still wide with disbelief—and piled the bodies together. The feel of flesh and blood reminded him again: he was a fugitive who had survived the Night-Run cavalry’s pursuit ten years ago, and carried a deadly poison.

He was still just a child, poisoned, his life hanging by a thread, his strength insufficient.

He could barely drag one corpse before gasping for breath.

Only now did his wrist suddenly ache with dull, swollen pain—he must have twisted it from overexertion when stabbing the cavalryman.

The cold night rain washed over him, sapping his warmth bit by bit. After moving a while, his head spun.

Suddenly, the corpse grew light—Yue Qianfeng had casually lifted it and tossed it onto the pile. The sight was horrifying. Li Guanyi felt a primal urge to vomit, his right hand clawing at his thigh as he forced the nausea down.

Yue Qianfeng had been watching Li Guanyi all along. He grinned: “First kill always feels like this.”

“Vomiting helps.”

After a long pause, Li Guanyi replied: “No.”

Yue Qianfeng asked: “Why hold it in?”

Li Guanyi thought of what he’d seen since arriving in this world, and whispered: “I must get used to it. Compared to me—or those I care about—being killed and left here like this, this is far better. So I must learn true supreme martial arts.”

Yue Qianfeng grinned, more pleased with the boy than ever. He nodded. He’d originally planned to dispose of the bodies without involving the child—but now he saw no need. Then he remembered something, stepped forward, and rummaged through the corpses, soon pulling out a pile of trinkets.

He pointed at the bodies: “Remember—search the inner pockets of sleeves, the satchels. Look everywhere.”

“You never know what might be useful.”

He tossed a pouch to Li Guanyi—it was heavy. Inside were healing herbs and pills. Yue Qianfeng said casually: “Bury these somewhere. Wait a few months, when the heat dies down, dig them up. Then you can use them slowly.”

Yue Qianfeng casually tore a waterskin from a dead Night-Run cavalryman, wiped it roughly, leaned against the great pillar of the mountain shrine, and drank deeply under the moonlight. Beside him lay piled corpses, swords and blades stuck upright, crimson blood trickling down the road, slowly seeping into the mud.

The moonlight bathed the earth, cold and stark as a forest of bones.

The giant sat cross-legged, drinking heartily. Seeing the boy sorting and identifying the herbs, he tossed the waterskin his way without hesitation, speaking plainly: “My name is Yue Qianfeng. Thirty days ago, I was a fourth-rank Zhenwei General of Chen Guo. What’s your name, boy?”

Li Guanyi tilted his head and drank deeply.

Moonlight like bone. Two drinkers.

After a pause, he answered: “I’m Li Guanyi. Just an apprentice in an apothecary.”

The giant laughed: “Good courage!”

“You want to learn martial arts from me—not just to protect yourself, but to ease your poison?”

“Hah, easy to guess. I don’t understand medicine, but I know this: arsenic in small doses is medicine, in large doses, poison. There’s also wind-oil ointment—deadly to mosquitoes, harmless to humans—because the human body is far stronger than a mosquito’s.”

“The poison that kills you has no effect on me.”

“Because my blood and Qi are vast, my physique robust—far beyond yours. If you cultivate martial arts and refine Qi, your body and blood will naturally strengthen. That poison now lethal to you will then be easily suppressed—or even expelled by powerful internal Qi.”

“I promised you. A true man’s word is worth a thousand gold. Come here.”

Yue Qianfeng motioned Li Guanyi forward, then pulled out a heavy bracer he’d taken from the Night-Run cavalry captain and placed it in Li Guanyi’s hands. It felt like iron. Yue Qianfeng smiled: “Hold it steady.”

Then he slapped the bracer with his palm.

A dull click sounded. The recoil nearly shattered Li Guanyi’s arm. Raindrops shattered into mist as a shadow pierced through the mountain shrine’s thick wooden pillar, drove deep into the hall, then a muffled groan—and a man in black clothing tumbled down.

Beneath his black robe lay a black soft-armor, now pierced through. Blood seeped out, staining the fabric dark red. He stared at the two men in disbelief.

The rain mist slowly cleared. Yue Qianfeng stood beside Li Guanyi, his hand pressing on his shoulder:

“Remember this: the world’s spies are never just the ones you see.”

“There’s always a second layer, waiting for the target to lower their guard—or to pass on intelligence.”

Li Guanyi stared at the kneeling black-clad man. Yue Qianfeng had been sitting with his back turned—nothing had happened. He asked: “Why didn’t he ambush you?”

Yue Qianfeng replied calmly: “Because he’s afraid.”

“Because he knows he’s not worthy to be my opponent.”

“Li Guanyi, pick up the sword.”

Beneath the rain and night, the sword Yue Qianfeng had plunged into the ground hummed. Li Guanyi loosened his fingers and gripped the hilt. Yue Qianfeng’s large hand closed over Li Guanyi’s, forcing his grip tight, then helped him draw the long battle blade.

In a daze, the hand on Li Guanyi’s shoulder sprouted scales and claws, radiating fierce blood-Qi—clearly a hand shaped like a Azure Dragon. Yue Qianfeng’s voice was serious, teaching—but laced with chilling killing intent: “Martial arts are the art of killing. You cannot learn them in a classroom.”

“To learn killing martial arts, you must begin with killing.”

“His sinews are already ruined by that crossbow. He’s the perfect opponent. Come, accomplice—hold the blade.”

“I’ll teach you—what martial arts truly are!”

(End of Chapter)