Chapter Thirty-Five: True Intent

“This Jin Tai really knows how to make friends,” Qi Xiu murmured, his gaze lingering on the two large crates in the courtyard containing the jade Bodhisattva statues that had been delivered early that morning.

It had been three days since the execution of Wu Changqing. In that time, Qian Yuchuan had taken full control of the Qian family. Qian Yuze, who’d been imprisoned by Wu Changqing, had sunk into a withdrawn state from prolonged fear and depression, showing hardly any emotion except when eating or drinking.

To curry favor with Qi Xiu, who was still impersonating Ye Wen, Jin Tai had instructed Qian Yuchuan to send all of Wu Changqing’s belongings to Qi Xiu—including the jade Bodhisattva. Since the Taibao Sect didn’t practice sorcery, Wu Changqing’s possessions held little value for them; at best, they could be pawned off at the ghost market for a pittance. But with the Qian family’s vast assets now at their disposal, money was of no immediate concern. Thus, gifting the items to Qi Xiu was a convenient gesture of goodwill.

There was another matter that pleased Qi Xiu greatly: Jin Tai had proactively offered to exchange fragments of the “Cold Waterfall True Art” manuscript with him. However, Jin Tai’s portion was still incomplete; combined with Qi Xiu’s, they were still a third short of a complete text. Jin Tai assured him, though, that they already had clues about the whereabouts of the final portion, and that he would likely invite Qi Xiu to join in acquiring it, so they could share the completed art together.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve felt so at ease,” Qi Xiu mused, stretching contentedly under the clear sky and brilliant sunlight in the courtyard. With Wu Changqing executed, the bounty rescinded, and the Taibao Sect extending olive branches, relations between the two sides had entered a honeymoon phase. All that remained unresolved was the elusive demon lurking somewhere beyond. Every other uncertainty that had troubled him was now settled.

Now, it was time to focus on honing my skills, he thought.

Seated on a stone bench, tea cup in hand, Qi Xiu glanced at his proficiency panel.

[Calligraphy (Second Realm): 35.3%]
[Black Sand Palm (Second Realm): 13.2%]
[Swallow Flight (First Realm): 39%]
[Sun-Gazing Spirit-Strengthening Method (First Realm): 15.7%]
[Culinary Arts: 66.2%]
[Alchemy (First Realm): 27.1%]
[Striking Acupoints from Afar (First Realm): 76%]
…

“With the Black Sand Palm breaking through to the Second Realm and reaching Qi Condensation, the next layer must be the ultimate limit for all martial skills except the true arts—the True Intent.”

His gaze softened as he looked at the teacup in his palm; a faint black mist began to seep from his right hand. Under the corrosive force of the Black Sand Palm’s poison, the cup was reduced to a heap of fine black sand in an instant, the grains trickling with the leftover tea onto the ground.

As he watched the black sand at his feet, Qi Xiu slowly opened his right hand. Deep within his mind, a vague and mysterious outline began to surface.

At the same time, a subtle, obscure power emanated from his palm. Under its influence, the black sand on the ground seemed to be summoned by some unseen force, lifting gently off the earth as if to fly into Qi Xiu’s hand.

He exhaled, his breath loosening. Weariness flickered across his face as the obscure force in his palm dissipated. The floating black sand settled once more to the ground.

The True Martial Diagram!

So this was the barrier separating third-rate, second-rate, and first-rate martial skills. The indistinct, enigmatic shape hovered at the edge of his awareness, its mystery tantalizingly close. After breaking through to the Second Realm of the Black Sand Palm, this vague diagram had emerged in his mind. Following his fierce battle with Wu Changqing, he’d thoroughly digested his accumulated foundation, and the Black Sand Palm’s proficiency had surged by ten percent. Only then did the veil over the diagram begin to lift, just a sliver.

Every martial artist knew the hierarchy: third-rate arts were the weakest, capping out at the Strength-Tempering Realm, lacking the vital breathing techniques needed for Qi Condensation. Second-rate arts were better, enabling Qi Condensation; the higher their quality, the faster one could recover. With his Black Sand Palm, after a fully-powered strike, the black sand Qi needed ten breaths to recover, whereas Jin Tai’s Mixed Essence Monument-Smashing Hand took only seven. What second-rate arts lacked was precisely the core essence called the True Martial Diagram. With it, one could grasp True Intent, and only then did martial skills begin to manifest supernatural powers.

“So far, whenever I ascend a realm, the missing breathing method and True Martial Diagram are filled in as I comprehend them. If I push the Black Sand Palm to the Fourth Realm, could I perhaps break through the limits of martial skills and complete it as a true art?”

Examining the True Martial Diagram in his mind, Qi Xiu felt increasingly certain of this possibility.

“If that’s the case, maybe I should focus all my efforts on the Black Sand Palm for now,” he mused, running his fingers along the edge of the stone table.

He pondered for a long while, lost in thought until the kitchen’s decoction had boiled dry and the medicine stove cracked with a sharp pop. Only then did Qi Xiu snap out of his reverie.

Enough of this endless deliberation. Since the answer in my heart is clear, why not pursue it boldly? Timidity and hesitation—those are not my way.

In the days that followed, Qi Xiu threw himself wholly into the cultivation of the Black Sand Palm, rising at the first crow of the rooster and not resting until the hush of midnight. The days were monotonous, yet he found joy in their simplicity. Still, after breaking into the Second Realm, the skill’s progress slowed dramatically. Even with the aid of Crimson Blood Medicinal Wine, the results were mediocre.

So, during breaks in his Black Sand Palm training, Qi Xiu began purchasing vast quantities of medical texts, secret remedies, and pills from the ghost market, feverishly working to increase both his Black Sand Palm and alchemy proficiencies. As his alchemy skill rose, he started concocting his own secret medicines to assist in the training of the Black Sand Palm, advancing both skills in tandem.

Before he knew it, more than twenty days had passed in a blur. The kitchen was filled with a dozen or more medicine stoves, smoke and steam billowing. Herbs piled up, taking over nearly half the courtyard, while heaps of medicinal dregs were stuffed into burlap sacks, their acrid stench enough to make anyone roll their eyes from a single whiff.

“No, no, this Southern Bamboo Sky is gentle in nature, but its root is toxic and irritable. No wonder I broke out in rashes and was constipated for two days after taking it. This formula is too cold. If Southern Bamboo Sky won’t do… North River Flower? Yes! That’s it, North River Flower! It’s cold on the outside, warm within, harmonizing Yin and Yang. It can both strengthen the main medicine and neutralize the toxins of the Flower Toad Skin.”

Amid scattered drafts, a disheveled, unshaven man in ragged clothes lay sprawled on the floor, collar loose. For all his beggarly appearance, his eyes shone with the brilliance of a clear moon. Inspired by a sudden idea, he moistened his brush with his tongue and swiftly scribbled out a new prescription, the calligraphy strikingly beautiful despite his sorry state.

Springing to his feet, he marched into the kitchen, prescription in hand. But after rummaging through the chaos for a long while, he smacked his forehead in sudden realization: he’d used up all the herbs just yesterday.

Returning to the inner room, Qi Xiu grabbed his purse and prepared to go out for supplies. As he passed the bronze mirror, he caught a glimpse of his own reflection and paused, stunned by his haggard, almost vagrant-like appearance. He burst out laughing—when had he turned into such a sight? Shaking his head, Qi Xiu tied his hair back, shaved, changed into clean clothes, and finally stepped out the door.

“Have you heard? That undefeated Golden Flower Matriarch Cult, which took over Yuanrong Prefecture, actually suffered a defeat at Qingliu County. They besieged the city for twenty days, couldn’t take it, and were chased for hundreds of miles in retreat—utterly crushed.”

“I heard Old Liu say so this morning. Apparently, Magistrate Li Jiufang performed miracles, summoning the wrathful waters of the Nujiang River out of nowhere to flood the Golden Flower Cult’s army. Tens of thousands wiped out in an instant—only a few hundred managed to escape; the rest became corpses floating downstream.”

“Good heavens, to drown tens of thousands—Magistrate Li must be an immortal in disguise!”

Qi Xiu, standing in the pharmacy, overheard two young assistants whispering and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

Li Jiufang? Flooding an entire army?

…