Chapter Sixteen: The Deadly Hall of Harmony and Joy

Luo Changning heard the sound in a daze, halted his internal energy circulation, took a few steady breaths, and opened his eyes to ask, “What just happened? I felt as if the energy within me was beyond my control, as if it all wanted to surge out at once, to leave me from countless points on my body.”

“You did well. For this to happen the very first time, and to withstand it for a full cup of tea’s time—it's impressive. You must know, this is a fixed…” Ma Qingyun paused, then quickly collected himself and continued, “The Unity Heart Method comprises ten layers, but only the first four have survived to the present day; the remaining six layers’ manuals have vanished. Thousand Changes, Myriad Transformations, Mirror of Illusion, True Word—what I just taught you was the first layer: ‘Thousand Changes.’ The internal force erupts from a thousand points across your body, from angles so cunning that enemies are caught entirely off guard—it’s perfect for fighting alone against many.”

“However, precisely because of that, there is a fatal flaw. If you’re not adept, once the energy leaves your body, it’s difficult to control its path or the direction of your attacks. So you must practice diligently and become proficient as soon as possible.”

Luo Changning nodded. That much was clear—he would not only practice but also find someone to test its real combat effectiveness. Perhaps he should deliberately provoke someone…

Ma Qingyun was unaware of Luo Changning’s little schemes and went on, “Thousand Changes is explosive and wide-ranged, but it consumes enormous amounts of energy. Without energy-restoring pills, you’ll soon be depleted. Therefore, it requires the practitioner to have either deep reserves or to end fights swiftly—defeating the enemy in a short burst.”

“It’s said that although the Unity Heart Method is an internal martial art, it’s not only effective for postnatal practitioners. For those who have achieved the innate level, its power is limitless. It’s a pity the remaining six layers are lost to history…”

“In the meantime, focus on mastering Thousand Changes. Once you have, I’ll teach you the next layer, Myriad Transformations.” Ma Qingyun’s voice paused, then he added, “But I didn’t expect your energy would be so abundant, even before you’ve opened the Ren and Du channels—far beyond others at your stage.”

Luo Changning nodded again and clasped his fists in thanks. With a broad smile, he said, “Thank you, Brother Ma. We’re friends—no need for such formality. But martial cultivation means a great deal to me; I can’t help but express my gratitude.”

Ma Qingyun said nothing, his face impassive as if Luo Changning’s words meant little to him, but the flush on his cheeks betrayed his feelings.

Perhaps, no matter how cold or indifferent a person is, they still yearn for affection and connection—family, love, and friendship. Ma Qingyun was no exception; perhaps he longed for these things even more than most, driven by childhood hardship, vengeance, and years of solitude atop Regretless Mountain.

And what of Ma Xue’e—so unlike her brother, always smiling and lively? Did she yearn for true affection even more than he did?

“Young Master, Master Ma. My lady knows you’re here and asked me to bring you breakfast,” Aunt Qing said with a smile, setting dishes out on the stone table, paying no mind to the chaos in the courtyard.

Of course, all this destruction was Luo Changning’s doing. His swordplay and energy bursts had laid waste to the flowers and plants, even covering the stone table and benches with cracks.

Ma Qingyun’s Adam’s apple bobbed, an unreadable look flickering in his eyes. “Is… Aunt Su not joining us?”

Aunt Qing glanced at him. “My lady dislikes sharing a table with others.”

“Is that so…” he murmured.

Luo Changning paused, chopsticks halfway to his hand. He was about to speak, then recalled something and held his tongue. His aunt rarely associated with outsiders, only speaking with merchants when procuring goods and never visiting the medical hall, leaving everything to Wen Rugong and Old Zhong.

He’d always thought Su Meng simply disliked company, never realizing she was deliberately avoiding Ma Qingyun.

Though the continent of Yaohua was patriarchal, with men taking multiple wives, customs were not overly restrictive for women. With so many martial artists, society was open—there were no taboos about men and women dining together. Women didn’t need to veil their faces outside, couldn’t hold official posts but could attend academies and join martial sects.

The Five Elements Ranking, the Earthly Ranking, and the Pure Sun Ranking all featured heroines from the martial world.

And on the Ding River, which divided the northern and southern territories of the Qianwu Kingdom, there was a notorious den of thieves known as the Hall of Ecstasy.

No one knew its exact location; all that was known was that on every full moon, a lavish, palace-like painted barge would dock at the riverbank.

Upon the balustrade would appear seven young, stunning women, each enchanting in her own unique way. Veiled in silks as light as cicada wings, their snowy skin barely hidden, their long, shapely legs stirring the blood of men everywhere—calling them peerless beauties was no exaggeration.

But fate was cruel; every one of these enchantresses was blind, their eyes devoid of light, a tragic allure.

These women favored only the strong, handsome, and wealthy young men. Each month, they would pick seven to their liking from the crowds on the riverbank, inviting them to seek pleasure at the Hall of Ecstasy.

It was a strange affair—just by hearing a man’s voice, they could discern his age, looks, height, and build, and every time, the chosen were all strikingly handsome young men.

When the next full moon arrived, the youths would be seen again, disembarking from the painted barge at the river’s edge, stripped of all but coarse linen garments, pale and ethereal, their previous splendor utterly gone—drained utterly.

They claimed that every day, they were summoned to pleasure the women, and if they failed to satisfy them, something would be taken as compensation.

In time, all their treasures and fine clothes remained behind in the Hall of Ecstasy. At least they were returned to shore with enough coarse cloth to cover their shame, spared public humiliation.

Some may ask: why not try to reclaim your possessions? Couldn’t a few weak women be bested?

But, in truth, not a one could prevail. The seven wicked beauties were all masters of martial arts, far beyond the reach of those pleasure-seeking young gentlemen.

And with such beauty before them, who could control their baser instincts? What was wealth in the face of such allure—even heirloom jade pendants were offered up without a thought!

Of course, not every young man was returned to the riverbank. Should any fail to satisfy the women, and have nothing left to give, their life would be forfeit in the Hall of Ecstasy.

Yet, even so, nothing could stop the stream of young heroes who came from all corners, eager for the touch of beauty, to prove their virility. Young hearts were bold—what sweeter death than to perish beneath a peony’s bloom?

Besides, none believed themselves incapable of withstanding these beauties’ charms; it was commonplace for the brash to boast that they would surely conquer all seven, make the women yield beneath them, utterly obedient to their every whim.