Chapter Fifty-Two: An Equal Exchange

“Indeed, this is a death blade produced in Shiyi. The blade is tempered with scattered spiral threads, both sides finished, three layers fused as one. Even the sheath is remarkable, made from tanned crocodile skin and inlaid with water opal cat’s eye stones—its worth rivals that of a thousand fine blades! Old man, I’ll trade with you.” Situ Fengyang caressed the three-foot-long black blade, unable to part with it.

Lin Feng laughed with delight. Getting rid of the assassin’s relic brought him a sense of security; keeping it around always left him uneasy.

Situ Fengyang’s gaze couldn’t tear itself away from Mu Hong’s golden armor and broken halberd, “Brother, is this the gear of General Mu Hong from the Tiger Gate?”

“You have sharp eyes, old brother. How about it? If you like it, perhaps you could offer something for an exchange.” Lin Feng’s smile widened. He could tell that Situ Fengyang truly coveted these items—now, it was his turn to raise the stakes.

The old ‘Centenarian Situ’ hesitated, picking up and setting down the items, his eyes flickering indecisively, so much so that even Liu Yun at his side grew impatient.

“Sir, do you actually have anything to trade? Master Lin isn’t short of money. If you’ve nothing worthy, you’d best leave. I need to get back to training.”

Liu Yun shot a disdainful glance at Situ Fengyang. The old man sneered, lifting his chin, “You dare look down on me? Let me tell you, besides the name Centenarian Situ, I’m also known as the Keeper of Artifacts—collector of all the famed blades and rare treasures under heaven. If not for my reluctance to part with my own collection, I could easily trade a few pieces for your pile of scrap metal.”

“What? Scrap metal? Forget it! Master, let’s go! No need to waste words with this old man.” Liu Yun flew into a rage, snatching the golden armor from Situ Fengyang and stuffing it into his pack.

“Hey, young man, have you no respect for elders? Never mind, never mind. For brother Lin’s sake, I’ll trade this.” Situ Fengyang drew out a silk cloth from his sleeve, unveiling layer upon layer until at last a thin, silvery sheet appeared.

Judging by his demeanor, Lin Feng knew the item must be valuable—could it be a secret manual? He waited expectantly as Situ Fengyang spoke.

“Brother, what’s engraved on this silver foil is not a cultivation manual, but a treasure map I happened upon overseas years ago. The path to that place is perilous, haunted by demons and evil cultivators; a single misstep could cost one’s life. But now, having met you, brother, this item has found its rightful master—I can finally rest easy and live in peace.” Situ Fengyang unfolded the silver foil and handed it to Lin Feng.

Lin Feng accepted it and saw that it was a nautical chart, islands and routes marked in gold thread, with clusters of tiny script. The starting point was ‘Frog Island’, and near the end were four words: ‘The End of Erhai’.

Erhai! Lin Feng’s heart trembled. The Four Seas—Danhai, Erhai, Lihai, Beihai—of them, Erhai was the largest, yet he had never heard of a sea with an end. The myriad islands of Erhai were occupied by countless demon cultivators and strangers; ocean beasts roamed the waters. Someone like Situ Fengyang would never dare to cross the sea in search of treasure, and even masters of the Golden Core or Nascent Soul stage would have to travel together, lest they become prey in the abyssal depths.

Judging by the craftsmanship of the map, its creator was surely no ordinary person. But after so many years, would the treasure still exist? Even if untouched, to find a trove in the vast ocean would require risking everything. Yet the greater the danger, the greater the reward—the adventure in the Emerald Cavern was proof enough. Lin Feng pondered and tucked the item safely away.

“Old brother Situ, our transaction is complete. Now, will you teach me the Stepping Rain, Catching Stars footwork?” Lin Feng suppressed his excitement, gesturing for Liu Yun to hand over the goods.

“Haha, very well! Let’s go outside the manor and talk as we walk.” Situ Fengyang, carrying his enormous bundle, was beside himself with joy, oblivious to fatigue.

Liu Yun muttered behind, “Greedy old cheat!” He grabbed his steel blade, snorted coldly, and strode toward the training ground, convinced the treasure map was worth less than the steel blade.

But true connoisseurs see differently. Lin Feng and Situ Fengyang led their horses out of the manor, trotting along the path to the right.

“Brother, my residence is forty li ahead—let’s see who gets there first!” Situ Fengyang laughed, cracking his whip. His steed neighed and shot east like an arrow.

Lin Feng shook his head and urged Red Wind forward; in a blink, horse and rider vanished over the horizon.

Situ Fengyang’s homestead was a vast pasture blending into the blue of the sky, sketching a picture of soaring eagles and lush grass—a scene of boundless grandeur. A row of villas nestled among the mountains, facing the grasslands, imparting a sense of surveying all creation.

“Brother, this is my ‘Hundred Mile Residence’. What do you think?” Situ Fengyang waved his whip, pointing at the row of estates, pride written all over his face.

“It’s nice,” Lin Feng replied simply, spurring his horse past Situ Fengyang, flashing a mischievous smile over his shoulder.

“Ah, you’ve overtaken me!” Situ Fengyang cried, whipping his mount. Within moments, the two thousand-li steeds ran neck and neck, neither conceding an inch.

In terms of stamina and performance, Red Wind far outmatched Situ’s mount, but Lin Feng’s riding skills were lacking, unable to fully harness the horse’s abilities, allowing Situ Fengyang to catch up easily. The villas were only a hundred yards ahead.

“Heh, brother, you’ve lost!” Situ Fengyang laughed, suddenly leaping from his horse. Amid a blur of motion, his figure shot forth like an arrow, outpacing Red Wind by several times. In a blink, he stood at the manor gate, a lingering shadow and laughter hanging in the air.

Stepping Rain, Catching Stars!

The thought echoed in Lin Feng’s mind. The two horses stopped steadily before the manor, and servants promptly led them away.

“Brother, as you saw, my Stepping Rain, Catching Stars footwork is even faster than Red Wind. That’s the limit of my skill—if you master it, no steed under heaven could catch you, not even the legendary dragon horse.”

Since ancient times, dragons have been notorious for their promiscuity, mixing with humans, monsters, and beasts, giving rise to dragon horses. Though none have seen one, the legend claims the dragon horse is the fastest creature on land, able to cover ten thousand li in a day, rivaling the speed of immortal swords.

Lin Feng’s heart stirred. Situ’s footwork surpassed Xia Bozhu’s by far, and both were merely high-level martial artists, top warriors of the mundane world. If a cultivator used this technique, aided by spiritual power, perhaps it could truly reach the realm Situ described.

Such a skill could rank among cultivation secrets, its practical value immeasurable; Lin Feng wondered how Situ Fengyang acquired it.

“This footwork was originally created by Master Huiwu, a divine monk of Futu Temple. What’s left to me is but half a fragment—enough to make a living at Zhu Yuan Manor, and I’ve lived a carefree life ever since.” Situ Fengyang walked a few steps, shaking his head with a thoughtful expression.

A fragment from Futu Temple! It seemed all martial arts under heaven had ties, however slight, to the orthodox sects. Was martial arts born first, or was it Daoist secret lore? Lin Feng recalled that Xuancang Pavilion held many sword and fist manuals, all requiring spiritual power. Once these secrets spread, after decades or centuries, would they become folk martial arts? Or, if adopted by other cultivators and infused with their insights, might they evolve into new classics?

Passed down again and again, after millennia, could a unified technique emerge? Suddenly, Lin Feng understood: all true laws may indeed trace back to one source. The myriad paths of the Dao, all lead to the same destination—this was the principle.

Situ Fengyang glanced at Lin Feng and smiled, “When first practicing this footwork, you must master the posture. Place your left big toe forward, step down and use the recoil, then press down the other toes. Use the force of these four toes, and repeat with the right foot. Try out its rhythm, brother.”

Lin Feng responded, “Alright!” He walked a few steps as instructed, but looked awkward, like an old woman climbing into a sedan chair.

“Haha, brother, are your calves cramped?” Situ Fengyang doubled over with laughter. Lin Feng paused, realizing he’d been tricked.

“Old brother, you’re teasing me?” Lin Feng smiled wryly at the old man.

“Haha, no more teasing. Come closer, I’ll tell you the real secret.” Situ Fengyang straightened, glanced around, and spoke.

The lesson lasted half a stick of incense; Lin Feng’s neck almost twisted off, but he listened intently, not daring to miss a single word.

The Stepping Rain, Catching Stars footwork was even more complex than the Tyrant’s Force! Both were fragments—one focused on rhythm and movement, the other on intent and insight. The two arts were worlds apart, even contradictory at times.

When cultivating the Tyrant’s Force, one’s energy must be ample, the force heavy, gathering all spiritual power into the fists—breaking mountains and rivers, pursuing supreme masculine might.

But the Stepping Rain, Catching Stars footwork was agile and flexible, requiring coordination of waist, steps, and arms. The mind must be empty, borrowing the wind, air currents, even turning resistance into propulsion, achieving the ease of a thread through a needle—only then could one reach proficiency.

Under Situ Fengyang’s guidance, Lin Feng practiced for half a day, gradually blending the movements, barely able to dash seven or eight yards in an instant.

“Brother, your comprehension surpasses mine. Why not stay at my manor tonight?” After a busy day, dusk had fallen; Situ Fengyang ordered servants to prepare food and wine.

“Good! Tonight, let’s talk the night away.” The two entered the manor side by side.

…

“What! The prince wants Lin Feng to rush to Quhuai and appoint him as Left Vanguard Cavalry Captain? Has the plan been moved ahead? No, with the prince’s temperament, he’d never act early. Could he truly value this man’s talent and want to entrust him with an important task?” As Lin Feng and Situ Fengyang drank and chatted, Xia Bozhu in Zhu Yuan Manor wore an expression of doubt, clutching the secret letter Wei San had delivered, pacing the hall, anxious.

“Master, how should we reply to the prince?” Wei San waited for a long time, seeing Xia Bozhu indecisive, growing impatient.

Xia Bozhu halted, his eyes twitching, and said coldly, “Go back and say the checkpoints are strict lately. Lin Feng and his people can only enter during the next routine inspection in half a month.”

“Yes!” Wei San clasped his hands and left the hall.

Xia Bozhu tossed the letter into the brazier, snorted coldly, walked to the corner, and slowly rotated a large porcelain vase three times. With a series of clicks, a secret passage opened behind the wall. He glanced around, slipped into the darkness.

“Has the master made up his mind?” In the underground chamber, a gaunt man in black robes sat cross-legged, poisonous snakes, centipedes, and scorpions crawling over him. Before him was an incense burner, pale smoke rising; the oil lamps on the walls flickered dimly, casting a ghostly chill.

“Yes! Please help me, sir!” Xia Bozhu stood at the entrance, bowing slightly.

“Very well. Since you insist, I’ll settle old scores with the master—tonight, I’ll retrieve his secret art. Afterwards, we’ll owe each other nothing.” The man’s tone was slow and low; as he spoke, poisons slithered from his body, yet he remained unfazed.

Xia Bozhu hurriedly said, “Please wait, sir—better to act tomorrow, after Lin Feng returns from Centenarian Situ.”

“As you wish.” The man in black softly replied, then fell silent.

A sinister smile curled Xia Bozhu’s lips. He slipped out of the chamber, picked up a teacup from the table and drank, took a sage’s book from the shelf, and lounged in a bamboo chair to read.