Chapter Nine: Brotherhood

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Xiang Yinglong was the young master of Luoyang Martial Hall, the largest martial arts academy in Qingyang County. He was two years older than Luo Changning, tall and powerfully built. The Luoyang Martial Hall and the Su family’s medical clinic naturally had much business together. Over time, the two families became well acquainted, and Xiang Yinglong and Luo Changning, growing up side by side, were particularly close.

The hall master, Xiang Ao, had once been a lay disciple at Chixia Temple in the Eastern Route, but later he returned to his hometown to establish a martial hall, taking on students and teaching them Buddhist hard-body techniques such as the Vajra Invulnerability Art. However, as a lay disciple rather than an ordained one, the techniques he passed on lacked the essential inner methods and were merely superficial—a form of external martial arts.

At the stage of external cultivation, one could rely on sheer physical strength to face a hundred opponents, even becoming impervious to blades and spears, yet would be helpless against attacks of internal force. Buddhist martial arts without the inner method were simply more powerful forms of external arts, so the monastic order did not interfere with lay disciples accepting students. In fact, they often encouraged it, as it did not threaten the orthodox status of monastic disciples.

On the surface, the sects and noble families of Yaohua Continent maintained an appearance of harmony, united in denouncing the demonic cults. In truth, however, internecine strife and friction were constant behind the scenes. The Buddhist sects, being powerful and mysterious, were both envied and feared by martial circles. Their martial arts were profound, unmatched by any other, but their numbers were few. After all, how many martial artists, gifted with peerless skills and the chance to live centuries beyond ordinary men, would willingly spend their days abstaining from meat, wine, and other pleasures?

Thus, the existence of lay disciples became meaningful: the core teachings of Buddhism were strictly forbidden to them—they could only learn the outer shell. They were free to eat meat, drink wine, and marry, but owed absolute obedience to the Buddhist order, carrying out any command without hesitation. In daily life, they donated gold and resources to the temples; those with status and influence in the secular world worked for the benefit of the Buddhist order. Should a day come when enemies attacked, these lay disciples and their followers would serve as a wall of flesh, dying as was deemed their due.

In the Kingdom of Qianwu, the Zen tradition was led by the Dingbei Temple of National Defense, which presided over four branch temples: Luoyun, Fushou, Chixia, and Yuanshan. Dingbei Temple’s status was unshakable, with a legacy spanning ten thousand years—it was the only martial power in the capital region of Dingbei. The four branch temples beneath it, however, were in constant rivalry, vying for supremacy.

Luo Changning donned his outer garments and found Xiang Yinglong looking at him with an expression of severe constipation, which left him speechless. “What nonsense have you been daydreaming about this time?”

At twelve years old, and with memories of a previous life, Luo Changning easily understood the underlying meaning in his friend’s words. Despite his oafish appearance, Xiang Yinglong was sly and cunning beneath the surface—a true wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“Heh, I just haven’t seen you in so long—got a bit excited, so I teased you a little!”

Putting away his silly grin, Xiang Yinglong turned serious. “I just heard that Skinny Monkey Gao Haitian from Divine Hand Martial Hall beat you up pretty badly. Are you alright?”

“Hmph, do I look like I’m not? If anything, I should thank him for turning misfortune into a blessing.”

“That bastard dares bully my brother, thinking that just because his father’s a congenital-level martial artist, he can lord it over Qiuhua Prefecture! Bah! Just wait—three months from now, I’ll beat him to a pulp!”

Every leap year, Qiuhua Prefecture held a martial hall ranking tournament. All the academies gathered at Blackwater County, and disciples under fifteen competed for supremacy. The next tournament would be in three months, and the hall that took first place would attract a flood of new students and grow even stronger.

“Well then, let me wish you an early victory, brother,” Luo Changning said, knowing full well what his friend was capable of.

“Of course!” Xiang Yinglong had trained in the Vajra Invulnerability Art since childhood, mastering it to the sixth level—blades and spears could not pierce his skin; unless facing an internal cultivator, a knife would leave only a white mark on the surface.

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Yet that was the extent of it. In terms of rank alone, he was not even a match for Luo Changning, who had only practiced martial arts for two years. Once Luo Changning learned an inner energy method and could project his power outward, even Xiang Yinglong’s combat ability would not compare.

Su Meng invited Xiang Yinglong to dinner; the two close friends both had formidable appetites, devouring meat by the mouthful and leaving the table in disarray. After the meal, Xiang Yinglong wished to stay the night but was dragged out of the Su family’s courtyard by Aunt Qing, who seized him by the collar.

Luo Changning found this amusing and ignored his friend’s pleas for help, returning to his room to meditate and cultivate.

The saber, pitch-black and ancient, sat by the bedside, almost invisible. Although Luo Changning had decided to train in saber techniques, he did not carry it everywhere as other martial artists did—so long as it was within his sight, it sufficed. Weapons, after all, were but tools and must not become the master.

Only by opening the meridians could one channel inner energy freely; the stronger the meridians, the greater the explosive force of one’s energy. The meridians were vessels—wider ones meant more capacity, allowing for further growth of inner power.

There were many ways to increase inner energy—absorbing it from others, receiving instruction from masters, meditating, taking elixirs, and so on. Good methods and strong comprehension could accelerate growth.

The Xuanhuang Method that Master had taught Luo Changning was the lowest-level inner method on the entire Yaohua Continent. Fortunately, Luo Changning was gifted and diligent; his future achievements would surely be extraordinary.

Inner energy could never compare to the endless flow of true energy drawn directly from heaven and earth, yet the deeper one’s reserves, the faster the breakthrough to the innate realm. No martial artist would ever neglect the cultivation of inner power.

Two hours later, Luo Changning exhaled a stream of turbid breath and opened his eyes.

He reflected inwardly: there was still a long road ahead before reaching the innate realm. Once he opened the Conception and Governor Meridians, he would need to find a proper inner method to cultivate. What a pity—the Su family, being masters of poison, had no martial manuals or energy techniques among their collection...

Though the main Su lineage was small in number, it was a mid-tier noble family with nearly a thousand years of history and many treasures, among them a spatial jade toad. When they relocated from the Southern Miao Route, all their valuables and heirlooms were packed into the jade toad and brought along. Their collection was extensive, but lacked what Luo Changning sought.

He left his bed, pushed open the door, and crossed two corridors to reach the wine cellar.

It was not large, but every jar inside was a fine or strong liquor. Su Meng did not drink, but loved to brew, and most of her recipes were obtained from Luo Feng.

Luo Feng, though of imperial blood, had no court duties and was not close to Luo Fu, who favored the civil over the martial. Only in the Qingxue Domain could he go wherever he pleased.

A wanderer of the martial world, Luo Feng traveled far and wide, befriending many. He had tasted countless fine wines and gathered many brewing recipes.

Usually, Wen Rugong, Aunt Qing, and Uncle Zhong would each enjoy a few cups of Su Meng’s fine brews; on festive days, they drank even more, never leaving the table until three or five pots were empty.

Luo Changning, naturally, partook as well, though always in secret. When he first started drinking two years ago, he could barely endure the taste, forcing it down. But after treating wine as water atop Mount Mokui, he eventually came to savor it.

Thus he became something of a little drunkard, sneaking into the cellar every night to steal Su Meng’s strong liquor—one large bowl at a time, yet never once truly drunk.

Why, then, had no one discovered his nightly theft?

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Luo Changning found it puzzling, but did not withdraw the hand reaching for the wine jar. He knocked off the sealing clay, and immediately a clear, crisp fragrance filled the air.

To keep the scent from drifting to Su Meng and the others’ rooms, he quickly snatched the porcelain lid aside, pulled away the thick red cloth, took out a coarse earthenware bowl from his robe, and scooped a brimming bowlful.

A few gulps and the bowl was empty—drained to the last drop. Luo Changning believed a true man drank strong wine boldly, emptying it in one go. Tasting was for those sipping weaker spirits.

He set the bowl down, resealed the jar, and wrapped the porcelain lid with several layers of cowhide paper. After tidying up the scattered clay, he carried the jar with one hand back to his room, hid it, and sat on the soft couch to resume his cultivation.

...

In the courtyard garden, Su Meng reclined half-lying in a bamboo chair, sipping wine from a goblet.

This was only the second time she had ever drunk. Her first was the night news of Luo Feng’s death reached the Su family’s little courtyard. No one knew about it then, and no one would know about it now. The wine she drank was called “Pure Chant Brew”—no one in the Su family had tasted it except Su Qinqin.

Su Meng gazed blankly at the full moon overhead, its light silver as a plate, the scent of flowers drifting by. She felt as if she were already drunk; why else would Luo Feng’s face appear on the moon?

She recalled her first meeting with Luo Feng, when she was twelve.

That day, she sat on the courtyard swing in Su Qinqin’s quarters, bored, chatting with Aunt Qing while waiting for her sister’s return.

Her sister had promised to bring back honey-sweet fruit. When would she return? Su Meng pouted, feeling glum.

“Second Miss, the young mistress is bringing you something delicious again, I see how greedy you are,” Aunt Qing teased, her peach-blossom eyes full of mirth.

“Aunt Qing, you’re making fun of me again!” Su Meng replied, feigning annoyance.

A commotion sounded beyond the courtyard, the clatter of hooves.

Su Meng leapt from the swing and ran toward the gate, laughing. “The honey-sweet fruit must be here—no, it’s sister...”

Before she reached the gate, a carriage rolled in, driven by Uncle Zhong, with Wen Rugong following behind, his face dark as iron.

“Uncle Zhong, is sister in the carriage?” Su Meng asked, peering inside.

The horses neighed, and the carriage came to a stop.

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