Travel ten thousand miles

After leaving the academy, Zhang Ling understood that once certain choices are made, there is no turning back. Thus, on his way back to the clan residence, he kept searching for a pretext—or rather, a lie to avoid disaster—for he had no idea how he would explain things to Zhong Chentian otherwise.

The journey from the academy to the clan residence was barely three miles, yet Zhang Ling concocted more than a dozen lies to evade trouble, rehearsing each in turn. He found, to his surprise, that he could now lie without so much as a blush or a flutter in his heart. Pleased, Zhang Ling nodded to himself, “Not bad, my courage has grown on this trip.”

When he reached the gates of the clan residence, he was puzzled to find a stone table set up outside, with a pot of tea atop it. Zhong Chentian sat beside it on a stone bench, holding a cup as if he were waiting for Zhang Ling.

Uncertain, Zhang Ling approached and called out, “Uncle Zhong.”

Zhong Chentian remained unmoved, sitting there deep in thought. After a long silence, he spoke calmly, “Why do you want to learn martial arts?”

“Huh?” Zhang Ling was caught off guard and, after a moment’s thought, finally understood. “Uncle Zhong, how did you do it? I only just said those words, and you already know?”

Zhong Chentian did not answer, but repeated his question, “Why do you wish to learn martial arts? What is your reason?”

Zhang Ling realized there was no way to dodge it now. He steadied his gaze and looked at Zhong Chentian, “To travel ten thousand miles.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“If it’s merely out of curiosity, you’ll never truly enter the martial path,” Zhong Chentian explained.

To enter the martial path meant becoming a first-rank practitioner of the Profound Realm. As for how one actually achieved this, Zhang Ling truly had no idea, but he feigned knowledge, “Isn’t it just the Profound Realm? I can’t do it now, but that doesn’t mean I never will.”

Zhong Chentian’s brow furrowed at once. He set down his cup and shouted, “Who told you that?”

“I read it in a book.”

“Who gave you the book?”

Zhang Ling made no attempt to hide it—there was no need. He produced the book from his breast.

After reading it, Zhong Chentian seemed to relax. “Good. Since you wish to learn martial arts, let’s see if you have the heart to endure hardship.”

He drained his cup in one gulp. Then, with a light step and a touch of force, he leapt onto a tree and broke off a branch, descending gently to the ground.

Before Zhang Ling could react, Zhong Chentian struck his knee with the branch, forcing him to bend his legs.

“Raise your hands,” Zhong Chentian ordered.

Zhang Ling had thought it was merely a squat, but he watched as Zhong Chentian laid the branch across his outstretched hands. With a finger pressed to its center, he applied a slight force. To an onlooker, it seemed effortless, but Zhang Ling alone felt the weight—a hundred pounds, at least.

By rights, the branch should not bear such weight. Yet the pressure was not solely upon his hands; Zhong Chentian expertly distributed it throughout Zhang Ling’s body.

“If you can endure this for one hour, I’ll allow you to learn martial arts,” Zhong Chentian said.

Zhang Ling agreed readily, “Alright.”

It was midday, the sun blazing fiercely. For an ordinary person, to squat under two hundred pounds of pressure, exposed to the heat, would be unbearable for more than half an hour.

Not because the body would fail, but because willpower would. In unconsciousness, one might endure for several hours without danger, but to remain fully awake for an hour under such strain was a testament to extraordinary resolve.

Willpower was crucial for any martial artist. Even a person of rare talent would fall behind if his resolve was lacking, while an average talent with indomitable will would surpass him. Such cases were common in the martial world.

One minute. Two minutes… Ten minutes…

Half an hour in, Zhang Ling felt his will begin to fade; his vision blurred.

Suddenly, a thought sparked within him.

As time passed, his resolve began to strengthen, his vision clearing, though the pressure remained undiminished.

He realized that after half an hour of intense strain, he could somehow consciously control his willpower. Perhaps this was the wonder of the Heart’s Eye.

Using this newfound ability, Zhang Ling forced himself to remain clear-headed.

His eyes widened in fury, his body nearly crushed, yet he would not yield.

At last, after an hour, Zhong Chentian lifted the pressure from the branch. Zhang Ling dropped to the ground, feeling an unprecedented lightness, though sweat drenched him from head to toe. Looking up, he saw Zhong Chentian as composed and energetic as ever, though inwardly he was moved by Zhang Ling’s display of will.

Zhang Ling took a deep breath and laughed, “Well, Uncle Zhong, can I learn martial arts now?”

Zhong Chentian snorted, “You may, but if you fail to open your first meridian within half a year, don’t even think about leaving Luochuan County.”

With that, Zhong Chentian turned to leave, calling back, “Come to the back mountain tomorrow.”

At that moment, Zhang Ling understood what was meant. To fail to open a meridian was to be barred from the first rank—an impossible feat. He wanted to curse, but had no strength left. To open a meridian in half a year meant cultivating internal force within that time. Some people train for years from childhood to fill their dantian; to cultivate internal force depends on either talent or luck. The thought chilled Zhang Ling’s heart, and he lay flat on the ground.

…

The next day, heading north to the back mountain of Luochuan County, Zhang Ling walked with a conflicted expression.

Clear spring streams flowed quietly; Zhang Ling had always loved such sounds, soothing all worries whenever he heard them. “Forget it, my legs are my own—at worst, I’ll sneak away someday.” With that, he felt relieved.

Beneath the waterfall, waves surged. Zhong Chentian stood several meters from the falls, balanced on the water’s surface, holding a short sword and practicing his technique. Suddenly, with one slash, he cut the waterfall clean in two, though the mountain behind remained unscathed. Moments later, the falls resumed their cascade.

Zhang Ling, standing aside, stared in awe, “Cutting water with a blade.”

He looked instinctively to Zhong Chentian, who shook his head.

“No,” Zhang Ling said, puzzled. Suddenly, he recalled Zhong Chentian’s words from yesterday. “It’s true energy!”

“Residual true energy,” Zhong Chentian replied, finally speaking from atop the water. With a light leap, he landed beside Zhang Ling. “There was once a man who refused to accept fate. He had no true energy, so he trained his swordsmanship bitterly. Eventually, no one below fourth rank could stand against him, but once he faced those above first rank, he faltered. Then he mastered all weapons, defeating every second-rank expert in the land. Yet, when confronted by a true martial artist, he was powerless—not because the Profound Realm was vastly superior to the second rank, but because those who entered the martial path could wield true energy directly. His sword techniques, blade arts, all martial movements were countered.”

Zhong Chentian paused, a look of regret crossing his face.

“What happened then?” Zhang Ling asked.

Zhong Chentian continued, “Though his mastery of all weapons surpassed even the grandmasters, he lacked internal force and was, at best, a peculiar butterfly beneath the mountains. In time, he faded from the martial world’s view. Those he defeated, many of whom had entered the first rank, searched for him to settle scores, but all in vain.”

Zhang Ling retorted, “Uncle Zhong, what does this have to do with your demand that I open a meridian within half a year?”