I had no intention of entering the martial world.

Chapter 6 Feng Xin

Lu Jinghong said that spring in Zhongnan Mountain is something that is "endured" through hardship.

This is true. First, the snowmelt at the cliff top melts away, revealing the rugged, dark brown rocks that have been frozen all winter. Then, some fuzzy green sprouts emerge from the crevices of the rocks—not grass, but a kind of extremely hardy moss, growing close to the ground, its color as dark as aged rust. Further on, on the sunny slopes, wild rhododendrons begin to bud. The buds are tightly closed, wrapped in a fuzzy brown coat, revealing no color at all, only trembling slightly in the morning dew, like some kind of sleeping, restless creature.

Lu Chenzhou observed these changes every day. He looked at them when he practiced swordsmanship in the morning, when he did good deeds, and when he washed his wounds by the stream at night. He observed them carefully, as if he were observing a slow-moving ritual that had nothing to do with him.

His sense of taste had completely vanished. Eating became a chore, a mere task to be completed: chewing, swallowing, nothing more. The concepts of sour, sweet, bitter, salty, and umami remained in his memory, but his tongue could no longer perceive them. Once, Lu Jinghong deliberately added half a handful of salt to his porridge, making it bitterly salty. Lu Chenzhou finished it without changing his expression. Lu Jinghong stared at him for a long time, finally just sighing and saying nothing.

The changes in emotions were more subtle. Lu Chenzhou began to forcibly record "the feelings that should be there" in his notebook. For example, when he saw the first blooming wildflowers, he would silently say to himself, "This scene should be pleasing to the eye." Then he would try to force a smile. The smile was stiff, like a puppet being pulled on strings, and his eyes remained as still as a deep pool.

The only difference is when practicing swordsmanship.

The "Seven Killings Style" has been practiced to the sixth level, "Heart-Piercing." The movements are ruthless, targeting the center of the body; it is a desperate fighting style. When Lu Jinghong demonstrated, he struck the chest of the wooden dummy used for training with a palm strike. The inch-thick hardwood dented instantly, and wood chips flew everywhere.

"This move isn't about speed, it's about 'penetration.'" Lu Jinghong withdrew his hand, his palm slightly red. "The force must penetrate, through the skin, flesh, and bones, shattering the heart meridian. So you can't use brute force, you have to use inch-force—twist your waist and hips, push your shoulders and elbows forward, the force travels from your heels to your palms, exhale and make a sound, hey!"

He exhaled and made a sound, then struck again with his palm. This time, a small piece of wood splintered off the back of the wooden figure with a "poof".

Lu Chenzhou observed carefully. He tried to imitate it, but it was always a little off. The force was either scattered or trapped on the surface. Lu Jinghong made him clap five hundred times a day on the wooden dummy, forbidding him from using internal force, only training his power generation.

So every afternoon, a monotonous, dull thud could be heard on the open ground beside the waterfall.

*Slap.* *Slap.* *Slap.*

Like a stubborn heartbeat that defies time.

By the time he struck the three hundredth palm, Lu Chenzhou's hands were already swollen and red, the old wound on his tiger's mouth had reopened, and blood was seeping out, staining the indentation on the wooden dummy's chest. But he didn't stop, his eyes focused as if he were completing a fine sculpture.

When he struck the 450th palm, he suddenly found that "point".

It wasn't about using force, nor was it about not using force; it was about a sudden, sharp tension in all the muscles of the body just before the force was released, then snapping back like a bowstring. The instant the heel of the palm touched the wooden dummy, the force of the twisting of the waist and hips was precisely transmitted to—

"puff!"

With a muffled thud, sawdust sprayed out from behind.

Successful.

Lu Chenzhou withdrew his hand, looking at the glaring red patch on his palm. It didn't hurt, or rather, the pain felt distant, like it was through a thick layer of cotton. But he could feel that, in that instant, something had flowed through his body.

The thing was cold, sharp, and possessed the unsettling quality unique to the Azure Nether Sword Qi.

He stood still and slowly exhaled. White mist dissipated in the chilly spring air.

"good."

Lu Jinghong appeared not far away, holding a gourd of wine. He took a swig, wiped his mouth, and said, "Starting tomorrow, we'll practice the seventh move, 'Spine Breaker.' Once we've mastered it, the Seven Killings Form will be complete."

"And then?" Lu Chenzhou asked.

"And then?" Lu Jinghong smiled, a smile that held something indescribable. "Then you can go down the mountain."

Lu Chenzhou didn't speak. He looked down at his swollen, red palm, then looked up towards the south. Mountains rose one after another, shrouded in mist, obscuring the world beyond.

But some things cannot be contained.

---

The incident occurred in mid-April.

That day, Lu Chenzhou had just returned from doing good deeds in Wangjiazhuang—he had helped repair the collapsed stone bridge in the village and incidentally resolved another usury dispute. He paid the money as usual, burned the IOU, and remained expressionless throughout. On his way back, he calculated the day's "gains and losses": three taels and five mace of silver spent, six hours, and seventeen households helped. He should have felt "gratified," but he merely mechanically wrote down the numbers in his record of good deeds.

By the time we reached the halfway point up the mountain, it was already getting dark. A mist rose from the forest, damp and clinging to our skin, carrying the unique scent of early spring—a mixture of earth and decaying leaves.

Then he heard a sound.

It wasn't birdsong or animal roars, but footsteps. Light yet rapid, at least five or six people were quickly approaching from the other side of the mountain path. Their footsteps were steady and rhythmic, indicating skilled individuals.

Lu Chenzhou stopped and slipped behind a pile of rocks by the roadside.

The fog thickened, like a flowing gray veil, obscuring the mountains and forests. He held his breath, peering through the cracks in the rocks towards the source of the sound.

The first to appear were two men dressed in black. Their bodies were tightly bound, their faces covered with black cloths, revealing only their eyes. They held short knives, the blades gleaming eerily in the twilight. Their movements were swift, their landings silent, like two ghostly shadows gliding along the ground.

Then came three more. They were dressed similarly, but taller and larger, with bulging waists as if concealing other weapons.

Finally, a man dressed in a dark blue outfit appeared.

He wasn't wearing a mask, was around thirty years old, and had an ordinary face—the kind of person you'd easily lose in a crowd. But Lu Chenzhou's gaze lingered on him the longest—this man walked in a peculiar way, landing on the balls of his feet first, his heels barely touching the ground, like a cat. His back was ramrod straight, but his shoulders and neck were relaxed, his hands hanging naturally at his sides, his fingertips slightly curled inward.

This is a stance that suggests you can draw your sword or throw a punch at any time.

Lu Chenzhou quickly assessed the situation in his mind: the five men in black were skilled, but still within the "handling" range. The man in blue was unfathomable. Danger.

They stopped about twenty paces in front of Lu Chenzhou's hiding place.

The man in blue raised his hand and made a few gestures. The men in black immediately scattered; two went forward to scout ahead, while the other three remained in place to keep watch. Their movements were practiced, clearly those of seasoned veterans.

The man in blue then walked to a protruding rock by the roadside, squatted down, and carefully examined the ground.

Lu Chenzhou followed his gaze—it was a patch of moss he had accidentally stepped on when he passed by, leaving a half-blurred footprint.

The man in blue ran his finger along the edge of the footprint, then brought it to his nose and smelled it. He then stood up and slowly scanned his surroundings.

Lu Chenzhou remained motionless.

The man in blue glanced at the pile of rocks where he was hiding several times, lingering, moving away, and then looking back. Finally, he shook his head, seemingly having found nothing, and turned to gesture to the man in black.

"Withdraw," he said in a low voice, hoarse, like sandpaper scraping against a stone.

Just as they had arrived, the six people vanished silently into the depths of the fog.

Lu Chenzhou waited behind the pile of stones for the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, making sure they were really gone, before slowly standing up. His knees were a little stiff—he had been squatting for too long.

He walked to the spot where the man in blue had examined, squatted down, and looked at the footprint. It was very shallow, almost invisible; only the flattened moss proved its existence.

What did the man in blue smell?

Lu Chenzhou lifted the sole of his shoe and looked at it. It was a coarse cloth shoe, stained with mud from Wangjiazhuang, as well as grass juice, moss, and maybe... blood? That's right, when he was carrying stones to repair the bridge, his palms were blistered, and blood might have gotten on his shoes.

A very faint smell of blood, yet you could still smell it from that distance in the damp air.

He frowned.

When they returned to the cabin in Zhongnan Mountain, it was already completely dark. The light was on in Lu Jinghong's room, and his hunched back was reflected in the window paper as he read by the light of an oil lamp.

Lu Chenzhou knocked on the door.

"Enter."

Pushing open the door, Lu Jinghong sat at the table, holding a yellowed book in his hands, with several sheets of paper covered in writing spread out on the table. He looked up at Lu Chenzhou: "You're back?"

"Hmm." Lu Chenzhou walked to the table, poured himself a bowl of water, and said, "I met a few people on the way."

He recounted what had happened, including the actions of the man in blue, the cooperation of the man in black, and the footprint.

After listening, Lu Jinghong put down his book and tapped his fingers lightly on the table. The candlelight flickered, casting swaying shadows on his face.

"Green clothes, cat-like steps, smell of blood..." he muttered to himself, "They're from 'Shadow Hall'."

"Shadow Hall?"

"Jin spies," Lu Jinghong said calmly, "who specialize in dirty work like spying, assassination, and kidnapping. The Southern Song court has been rotten to the core these past few years, and they've infiltrated it extensively; their shadows are everywhere in Jiangnan."

Lu Chenzhou thought of Wangjiazhuang, of the emaciated villagers, of usury, of the elderly forced to sell their daughters. What were the Jin spies doing in Zhongnan Mountain?

"They're here to see you," Lu Jinghong suddenly said.

Lu Chenzhou was taken aback.

"Or rather, they've come looking for the 'Azure Destiny Sword'." Lu Jinghong looked at him. "A year ago, the news of my stay in Jiangling was kept secret, but it couldn't escape the notice of those who were interested. They probably thought the sword was still in my hands, or... in yours."

Lu Chenzhou remained silent. He remembered the jade pendant his mother had given him, and how it shone faintly after being stained with blood.

"They didn't find it today, but they'll come back." Lu Jinghong stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the thick, impenetrable night outside. "The Shadow Hall never gives up until they achieve their goal. Next time, there will only be more and stronger people coming."

The room fell silent, save for the soft crackling of the burning candle wick.

After a long silence, Lu Chenzhou spoke up: "Master, can I learn the seventh move, 'Spine Breaker,' tomorrow?"

Lu Jinghong turned around and looked at him. In the candlelight, the boy's face was pale and calm, his eyes unfathomable, with only a few dark red lines at the corners of his eyes glowing faintly.

"You want to learn?"

"think."

"Once you learn it, you might have to use it," Lu Jinghong said. "Once you use it, there's no going back."

Lu Chenzhou didn't speak. He just looked at his palm—the swelling hadn't subsided, and a thin scab had formed on the crack between his thumb and forefinger.

Then he nodded.

It's light, but firm.

Lu Jinghong stared at him for a long time before finally sighing.

"Okay," he said. "Tomorrow at dawn, by the waterfall."