Chapter 67: Rising to a New Height

Lin Feng spent an entire day mastering the control of the bronze figure. His manipulation of spiritual energy grew more refined; he could direct it east with a thought, expand or shrink it at will, maneuvering the puppet as easily as twirling a pear-blossom spear. The only flaw was the lack of a proper incantation to control it—it required direct contact with his fingers to establish a bridge for spiritual power. In a real fight, this proved rather inconvenient.

“I’ll set it aside for now.” He put away the treasure and picked up a scroll to read. The book, titled “On Martial Arts,” claimed that through ultimate refinement, one could shatter mountains and rivers, stride across sun and moon, contend with the Dao itself, and forge an immortal body, coexisting with heaven and earth. The text divided martial artists into six levels: Warrior, Master, Grandmaster, Martial Emperor, Martial Saint, and Martial God.

“Training the body does have its merits, but without Daoist arts, aiming to become a saint or god must be even harder than transcending tribulation to achieve immortality. Otherwise, why have Daoists always dominated the world while martial arts never flourished enough to replace the Daoist sects?” Engrossed, Lin Feng found himself pondering the insights presented in the book.

“Training flesh, then muscles, bones, organs, bone marrow, and blood... Hmm? There’s nothing about training meridians. Then what does my cultivation count as?”

Continuing, he found another passage: “There is no organ in the human body unworthy of refinement. In truth, Daoist arts are but branches of martial cultivation. Refining Qi to form the Golden Core, refining Spirit to condense True Essence—all can transcend the mortal world, yet are exceedingly fragile. Only by making the physical body into a Buddha or immortal does one follow the orthodox path.”

“Becoming a Buddha in the flesh? Isn’t that like the imperishable golden bodies left behind by great monks in temples?” Lin Feng recalled reading elsewhere of eminent monks whose bodies, after passing into nirvana, remained golden and iron-like, incorruptible and venerated by worshippers seeking blessings.

“But that can’t be right—those golden bodies still remain in the human world, quite different from this notion of physical enlightenment. What a profound and unfathomable concept... Regardless, physical cultivation is indispensable. No matter how powerful Daoist arts are, they’re useless if you can’t withstand a blow.”

Setting the scroll aside, he stepped into the courtyard. This garden had been specially set aside by Lord Rongqing within his mansion for their stay, granting them much-needed privacy.

“My last attempt at the Water Summoning Art failed. I’ll try something else—let’s start with the Wind Summoning Art!”

Feeling the night breeze, Lin Feng closed his eyes and inhaled. “Wind Summoning should be the simplest spell: air currents form wind, and by channeling spiritual energy to guide the flow, it should...”

“Whoosh—” With a casual flick, a gust of wind scattered withered leaves from the branches, sweeping them into a corner.

“How simple, though it’s of little use. No wonder cultivators favor fire arts—when it comes to destructive power and practical value, fire spells are the most cost-effective.”

“That old man’s Daoist arts were profound. The two spells he used were nothing like basic fire or earth control. If he’s only at late-stage Qi Refinement, how could his spells be so advanced?” Lin Feng mused on the arts wielded by Master Qiu. One flame had roared like a dragon, sending Chu Can tumbling into the grass, half-burned and left for dead, his fate still uncertain.

A thought sparked—earthly blue flames flickered from his fingertip, a foot-long azure fire dancing in the wind, eerie as ghostlight in the night. “The wind! Of course! That must be it.” Wind fuels fire, but fusing the two is no small feat.

He carefully manipulated the blue flame with one finger while conjuring a gust with the other, bringing them closer—whoosh! The flame surged three feet high, instantly singeing a lock of his hair.

“Incredible! But this method won’t do. Ah, I’ll try channeling both at once!” Almost simultaneously, blue fire erupted in a massive blaze from his left hand, blazing heat surging forward.

Lin Feng was overjoyed. He experimented repeatedly, reducing the interval between casting spells. Now, when he unleashed the earthly blue flame, its power doubled, and it could shoot out six yards, making the spell even more formidable.

“Controlling the bronze puppet must be a branch of Metal Manipulation. Both Earth and Metal arts require direct touch...” Resting on a stone bench in the courtyard, he delved deeper. “The Five Elements Arts Brother Nie taught me are all fundamental. Yet when Fang Xiaotian and the others refine pills, they summon fire across the air and control its intensity at will. The old man, too—he killed a thousand-pound horse with a slab of stone, using spells that work at a distance. Clearly, a proper incantation is essential...”

Lord Rongqing’s library was vast, though notably lacking a systematic collection on Daoist arts. Sorting useful texts from among nearly ten thousand miscellaneous volumes consumed much of Lin Feng’s time, but he unearthed treasures: a three-century-old tome, “Essentials of Artifact Refinement,” secret recipes from master alchemists, and even some surviving spell scrolls.

Immersed in study and cultivation, a month passed swiftly. Yet the one who changed most was not Lin Feng, nor Ye Ziyin and the others, but the ever more imposing Black Steed. Now he devoured twenty pounds of roast beef in a meal, matched any champion horse in stature, his coat gleaming jet-black, weighing a thousand pounds, exuding the aura of a lion whether lying or standing. At this point, even a fool could see he was a wolf in horse’s clothing...

“Fire of Separation!” In the courtyard, a row of straw dummies stood upright. With a great shout, Lin Feng sent a blue blaze shooting forth, igniting a dummy in a burst of flames, reducing it to ash.

“Earth Spikes!” Suddenly, a row of bamboo shoot-shaped spikes erupted from the ground, six yards long, as sharp as swords and as thick as barrels.

These two spells cost him great effort to glean from the myriad books and long hours of practice to master. Both could strike at a distance, capable of seriously injuring or even killing cultivators of equal rank—especially the Fire of Separation, which, paired with his earthly blue flame, was nearly unstoppable.

“Haha, Brother Lin, your spells are so refined, they’re no less than that old man’s. Look at this—this morning, Lord Rongqing had these sent for you.” Nie Xuan held two pairs of silver-white gloves, handing one to Lin Feng.

“These seem to be made from Luster Gold and Crystal Silver. I can’t believe Lord Rongqing would part with such fine things.” Pinching the fabric, Lin Feng found it supple yet tough, gold threads woven with silver crystal, shimmering in the light.

“Not bad, right? Come, let’s spar a bit! But no spiritual energy—these gloves can’t withstand your fierce aura.” Nie Xuan grinned, pulling on a pair and taking his stance.

“Alright, on guard!” Lin Feng donned his gloves and struck straight at Nie Xuan’s face.

“So that’s how it is! Sneak attack!” Nie Xuan parried with a Da Luo Grip, then countered with a punch.

“If I didn’t, how could I beat a boxing master like you? Take this!” Lin Feng laughed heartily.

“White Rainbow Piercing the Sun!”

“Mountain Crossing the Dao!”

...

Lin Feng and his companions remained at the Rongqing estate for over a month. During this time, Grand Preceptor Qin Mi made no move—neither sending anyone to hold them to account nor whispering intrigues before the emperor. This left Lord Rongqing ever more uneasy, doubling the guards around his residence.

The calm before the storm is always eerily silent. When war finally erupted on the border between Mengliang and Qiuchi, Lin Feng and his friends had been in Quhuai for two months. That very day, after a long lull, the capital was thrown into chaos as hundreds of thousands of cavalry troops marched from three counties toward Quhuai in a massive offensive.

Upon learning of this, Lin Feng knew the time had come to depart from the Rongqing estate. No pretext could serve better than this opportunity. All that remained was to escort Ye Ziyin safely to Changhao City in Qiuchi, and their journey would be complete. It was already mid-summer; in another two months, the Outer Sect Martial Tournament would begin, leaving him no time to delay.

“Are you all returning to Qiuchi now?” In the mansion, Lord Rongqing squinted as he spoke in his unhurried manner.

“Yes, with war at its height, Ziyin must return home and seek aid as soon as possible. If General Zeng Yi can be persuaded, and other wise commanders rallied, there is still hope to restore the rightful house of Qiuchi. Then we may join forces with Your Lordship to strike at Qin Mi’s army and seize the power of Mengliang,” replied Ye Ziyin, bowing slightly.

“Very well. I will send a company of a hundred light cavalry to escort you to Qiuchi. The border is perilous now—you must take a detour of a thousand miles, enter Qiuchi via the Araki Plains to ensure your safety. Someone, summon Captain Yan!”

Luodanwen, seated serenely, offered a faint smile.

“Thank you, my lord,” Ye Ziyin said, rising to bow.

Soon, an armored officer strode into the hall—a man of bear-like build, leopard-headed and round-eyed, standing over eight feet tall, exuding immense strength.

“Yan Jun reports to my lord!” The captain knelt on one knee, hand on sword.

“Arise. Captain Yan, tomorrow you will lead two hundred cavalrymen to escort Lord Ye to Qiuchi. You must be vigilant—the task is grave and there must be no negligence!” Lord Rongqing straightened, his tone stern.

“Your orders will be obeyed!” Yan Jun’s eyes widened, his voice thunderous as he glanced at everyone in attendance before standing tall.

“Good. This evening, I will host a farewell banquet for you all. With war breaking out, you must make your preparations. I have other matters to attend to, so I shall take my leave for now,” said Lord Rongqing.

Everyone rose and took their leave. As they departed, Lord Rongqing sneered to himself, muttering, “You really think you can carve a slice of power from Mengliang and Qiuchi? What a fool’s dream!”