Chapter Three: The Ranks of Martial Artists

Su Meng’s boudoir, much like its mistress, was gentle and elegant. The furniture was crafted from sandalwood, adorned with modest decorations. There was no incense burning in the room; only a few pale pink hibiscus blossoms rested in a vase by the window.

Luo Changning stood before Su Meng as she gently applied medicinal powder to his forehead. Her movements were tender and unhurried, her fingertips as delicate as white jade as she carefully dabbed the powder onto his wound, lest she cause him pain.

When she finished, Su Meng offered a soft, warm smile. “All done. Let’s sit in the garden for a while. Tonight, your aunt will make hibiscus blossom porridge for you.”

Luo Changning licked his lips, but did not forget his true purpose.

“Aunt, today I accepted a master. He said he would teach me martial arts.” Luo Changning looked straight at Su Meng, his eyes sincere and unyielding, his determination impossible to dismiss.

Until now, Su Meng had not allowed Luo Changning to practice martial arts, teaching him only poetry, formations, poisons, and medicine. In Yaohua Continent, where strength was revered above all else, martial arts were undoubtedly important. Yet Luo Changning’s identity was unique. Few knew the secrets of his birth; even the servants of the Su Manor had never learned Luo Feng’s true identity. Still, Su Meng was afraid—afraid that Luo Changning would never find peace, for if that scoundrel Dugu Bancheng learned Luo Feng had left a son behind, he would surely eradicate him to the last.

And yet, Ning’er had finally voiced his desire to learn martial arts. In the world of rivers and lakes, once you set foot inside, your fate was no longer your own—especially for someone like him...

“Why?” Su Meng sighed softly.

“Because only by practicing martial arts can I become strong. Only by being strong... can I protect you, Aunt.” His words were heartfelt, not just a perfunctory answer.

“Oh, child. Whatever your reasons, just remember—nothing is more important than your life.” If you were gone, my own existence would lose all meaning.

“Aunt, don’t worry. I will take good care of myself!”

In this world, there were only two women Luo Changning truly cared about: Su Qinqin and Su Meng. From Su Qinqin he received the maternal love he longed for but could only hold briefly, while Su Meng fulfilled his yearning for familial affection—enough to make him determined to protect her at all costs.

As July approached, the days grew warmer. The courtyard was filled with the fragrance of blooming flowers; insects chirped in the grass, and the croaking of frogs drifted from the edge of the fish pond.

Su Meng and Luo Changning sat together in the pavilion. The table was already set; they only waited for Wen Rugong to return before they could begin their meal.

After half a cup of tea’s time, Wen Rugong finally came back to the little Su family courtyard. He carried a medicine box on his shoulder, his fair face glistening with a thin layer of sweat. With sword-shaped brows, starry eyes, and delicate lips, he was the very image of a graceful young gentleman.

Su Meng’s fingers trembled unconsciously as she looked at him, her lips parting as if to speak, but the words turned into a soft sigh.

“Uncle, you’re back.” Luo Changning eagerly picked up his chopsticks, unable to restrain his hunger any longer.

“Yes. The clinic was busy today, so I got back late.” Wen Rugong picked up a piece of lotus root with his chopsticks, his eyes fixed on his bowl, his voice cool and detached, as if indifferent to the world.

Suddenly, Su Meng spoke coldly, “It is right to be busy saving lives, but you must keep your limits—nothing should be taken to excess.”

Wen Rugong’s hand tightened around his chopsticks, but he said nothing.

Luo Changning glanced between them, puzzled, and shook his head before shoveling food into his mouth. He needed to eat well if he wanted the strength to practice martial arts. Soon his cheeks were stuffed, making him look utterly adorable.

...

The next day, at the second quarter past the hour of the rabbit, Luo Changning arrived at the mountainside of Mount Regret Not.

The man in black had arrived even earlier, standing before a stone stele with his hands behind his back. His voice was hoarse as he said, “You’re here.”

“Yes, Master.” Luo Changning’s voice was clear and bright, tinged with anticipation.

The man in black nodded. Without giving him a chance to catch his breath, he began, “Remember, since the ancient times, Yaohua Continent has revered strength above all. The fist is authority; the fist is the only law. Martial practitioners are divided by strength into three realms: Acquired, Innate, and Transcendent. Acquired martial artists are further split into external and internal schools.”

“External martial artists temper their bodies, practicing hard techniques. There are no clear ranks—everything is determined by combat prowess. If your fist is strong enough, you are powerful. Internal martial artists cultivate inner energy and internal techniques. Generally, the stronger the inner energy, the more formidable and enduring one becomes when paired with internal skills.”

“But a practitioner’s weapon, the internal techniques employed, and their battle experience all affect their combat power and the outcome of a fight.”

“There is a Five Elements Ranking for Acquired martial artists, updated monthly. Only internal martial artists make the list; external practitioners are merely cannon fodder. Ordinary people rarely live past a hundred, but internal martial artists can live to a hundred and fifty.”

Luo Changning nodded. Dugu Bancheng was a Transcendent martial artist, so naturally his lifespan was even longer.

His eyes darkened: No matter how powerful you are—even in ten, twenty, or a hundred years—someday, I will have my revenge. I hope you live long enough to see me personally reclaim the Fengyan Kingdom you stole, piece by piece!

“Innate martial artists comprehend the laws governing heaven and earth, drawing inexhaustible spiritual energy into their bodies and transforming it into true qi, until they can project it outward. Transcendent practitioners go further, converting the power of heaven and earth into their own soul force. So long as the soul endures, so does life! As for other matters, you’re not yet qualified to know.”

“The purer and richer the spiritual energy, the better for a martial artist’s cultivation. Unfortunately, here in Southern An, the energy is not only scarce but also impure. As for me, though I’m an internal martial artist, the inner energy techniques I practice are the most basic on this continent. If you want revenge, it will be hard!”

“Heh, but diligence can make up for deficiency. If you sweat and bleed ten, a hundred times more than others, perhaps you might succeed.”

Although Luo Changning was clever and carried memories from a past life, he had never encountered martial arts before. Inner energy and spiritual energy were still mysteries to him. He only knew one thing: to seek vengeance, one must endure hardship.

As a man, he bore not only the bloodline of the former royal family, but also that of the greatest swordsman alive. How could he fear blood or sweat?

Still, Luo Changning had a question: “It’s said that all things possess vital energy. Why, then, do martial artists not cultivate it? Isn’t seeking from without rather than within both foolish and troublesome?”

The man scoffed. “So-called vital energy exists in everyone, but for martial artists, it’s useless—even inner energy is superior, let alone innate true qi or transcendent soul force. Only the beast races, whose bodies are rich in vital energy, bother to cultivate it. Don’t waste your time thinking about such things.”

Luo Changning nodded and let the thought go. For countless generations, no martial artist had cultivated vital energy—it must truly be pointless.

“Master, I’m not afraid of hardship. Let’s begin training now.”

“Haha! As expected of Luo Feng’s son.” The man laughed strangely, his laughter grating like a shovel scraping iron.

He pointed to several sandbags and a double-headed meteor hammer on the ground. “Strap these sandbags to your wrists and ankles, hang the meteor hammer around your neck, and run quickly along the mountain path. You’re not allowed to stop until noon.”

Luo Changning asked no questions. He bent down, picked up the sandbags, and fastened them to his joints. Then he hung the meteor hammer around his neck and began to run.

The sandbags weren’t heavy—just two catties each, for a total of eight. But for an eight-year-old boy, running at speed around a mountain trail with these weights was no simple task.

Far from it—there were still two and a half hours until noon. Running continuously with such a burden would strip a layer of skin from even an adult, let alone a child. Dehydration was inevitable.

What’s more, the meteor hammer weighed a full ten catties, and it wasn’t a conventional one—the rope was only two zhang long. As he ran, it pressed heavily on his neck. Uphill, it battered his abdomen with every step; downhill, momentum threatened to drag him headlong, risking a tumble at any moment.

Luo Changning’s figure soon disappeared into the woods. The man in black also departed the mountain with light-footed skill, seemingly unconcerned for Luo Changning’s survival.

As the sun climbed higher, Luo Changning forgot how long he’d been running. His limbs were swollen and aching, his belly felt bruised through, and his neck was raw and bloody from the chain biting into his flesh.

Fortunately, although few lived on Mount Regret Not, it served as the public burial ground for the people of Qingyang County, so the paths were at least passable. There were no large beasts in the outer woods—certainly no spirit beasts, which only inhabited mountains rich in pure spiritual energy.

Even so, dizziness washed over Luo Changning in waves. The pain and exhaustion were almost secondary; hunger and thirst were what truly tormented him. His throat burned, his sweat had dried up beneath the blazing sun, and not a drop more would come.

Any ordinary child would have reached their limit long ago. But within him flowed the blood of a consummate innate martial artist—he would not collapse from exhaustion. With the memory of his previous life, he cherished all the more the chance to run free in this world with a whole and healthy body.

With a thud, he fell hard to the ground. The meteor hammer struck his chest so forcefully it felt as though his organs would burst. Luo Changning pushed himself up with trembling hands and started running again.

A true man must not fear hardship or pain! If a single fall is enough to make you give up, you might as well cut off a few ounces of flesh and enter the palace to serve the emperor.

His father had never guided him in person on how to be a man, but some things are innate—like the blood that runs in a man’s veins.

Su Meng treated Luo Changning well, but never spoiled him. Though she forbade martial arts, she was strict in all other things. Luo Changning understood that if he wanted revenge, if he wished to keep those he cared for, he could only be ruthless with himself.

Only by being hard on oneself can you deny others the chance to be cruel to you.

How could a man be soft and spineless? A man must stand strong—no matter the hardship, he must grit his teeth and endure!