Chapter 250: Please Instruct Me

With the death of the Feinan Temple's abbot, all of Bianliu County fell dead silent.

On East Street, those who had just been locked in life-and-death struggles now wore expressions of sheer shock.

As Fourth Tiers, their perception far exceeded that of ordinary people, meaning they had naturally noticed the commotion over at Feinan Temple.

But it had all happened too fast. How much time had passed from the moment the abbot first crashed to the ground to now? Five minutes? Probably not even that.

Tang Lian stared in disbelief at the figure sitting atop the Corpse Buddha. She seemed to recall something, her expression shifting slightly.

"Stop fighting! Deal with that old man first! Otherwise, none of us will make it out alive!" she snapped at the West Street Artisan she had been fighting.

...

The moment she spoke, the West Street Artisan opposite her—surrounded by fluttering strips of wide white cloth—actually stayed his hand.

A few days prior, Bai Qiu had sought him out to strike a deal.

If Bai Qiu's faction won, they would spare his life and let him keep his Third Tier cultivation. Conversely, if his own side won, he would spare Bai Qiu and Tang Lian.

Since Bai Qiu's side clearly had the advantage in numbers and strength, he had naturally agreed to the bargain.

Moreover, he had his own ulterior motives.

If his side managed to win against the odds, he wouldn't stop at merely sparing the two of them; he planned to turn on his own allies at a critical moment.

That way, once the Third Stage ended, if he was the only Fourth Tier left in all of Bianliu County, he would become the undisputed local emperor of this Domain.

The idea had been perfect, but he never expected an accident right out of the gate.

That unassuming Old Man beside Luo Sheng had turned out to be unfathomably strong.

Now, turning on his allies was his only viable path. If he didn't, Bai Qiu would expose the deal, and given County Magistrate Luo's ruthless methods, he wouldn't escape death anyway.

"Attack!"

The mechanic from the Mechanism Alley Entrance also ceased hostilities, ignoring the West Street Artisan he had been battling. Instead, he directed his massive wooden puppet to march straight toward Feinan Temple.

The old agricultural cultivator from the Crop Plains turned to leave as well, but Liu Ye immediately bound him using Weird Energy.

"By military decree, a soldier must never desert the battlefield!"

Liu Ye extended two fingers. Lines of neat text materialized in midair, blocking the old agricultural cultivator's path.

"Don't stir up trouble for no reason, young man!" the old agricultural cultivator roared furiously.

"This is a dispute within our own borders! It's not the place of an outsider like you to interfere!"

He swung his hoe wildly, summoning surges of Earth Qi that slammed into the floating ink characters, causing them to shudder and blur.

He was fighting with ruthless desperation. Biting the tip of his tongue, he spat a mouthful of blood onto the soil before him. The earthy-yellow Earth Qi instantly took on a bloody hue, and its crushing force skyrocketed, violently shaking Liu Ye's entire body.

He was gambling—gambling that Liu Ye wouldn't dare risk his life against him.

After all, having lost his Fourth Tier status, the old cultivator was already a dead man walking. Liu Ye was entirely different; he still had a bright future ahead of him.

On the other side, the eyes on Bi Jie's snake head manifestation had turned entirely blood-red. Drops of fresh blood rolled down from his brow, indicating that this exertion had drained far too much of his vitality. Opposite him, the two marshals were also preparing to lay their lives on the line. They needed to kill Old Master Liu first, or else their defeat in this battle would be absolute.

"Are you insane?!" one of the military cultivators roared at Bi Jie. "You're burning your very origin to stall us! Even if you win, so what? If you lose your cultivation, whether you can even keep your official post will be up in the air!"

"You're an outsider who just got dragged into this by accident! Why are you fighting like a madman? We just told you—once this is all over, you can just walk away! We only want Luo Sheng and that human dead!"

"Heh."

Bloodshot veins had completely overtaken Bi Jie's eyes, and because of his overdrawn origin, trails of bloody tears wept down his face.

"Forget the official post. My very life was saved by that old man."

"I should have repaid this debt back in the Third Lake Prefecture."

"Besides, who says I'm an outsider?"

Who was Bi Jie?

A pure-blooded native of Bianliu County!

Seeking a better livelihood, his father had uprooted the family, taking him and his mother on a train from Bianliu County to the Third Lake Prefecture before he was even a year old.

Once they arrived in the Third Lake Prefecture, his father worked as a porter, pulling boats and unloading cargo, while his mother steamed mantou every day to sell at the market.

But unexpectedly, when he was five, a merchant boss who sailed to the Third Lake Prefecture on business took a fancy to his mother while she was selling mantou, and she ran off with him.

Left without a mother, his father raised him alone. But somewhere along the line, influenced by fellow porters, his father learned to smoke opium, visit brothels, and gamble in casinos.

In the end, his father lost absolutely everything at the gambling tables and was beaten to death.

Who was Bi Jie?

A beggar on the streets since he was seven! He had fought over the rotten cabbage leaves that others threw away. He had gone door to door begging for the worn-out shoes and ragged clothes that others wouldn't wear!

He had done all the menial jobs no one else wanted—begging for lucky money at weddings, scattering paper money, and crying as a professional mourner at funerals. He had also done the labor that people fought over—printing, tailoring, carpentry, dyeing, and shoemaking!

But eventually, he caught a disease.

By the time he was ten, he suffered from frequent abdominal pain and bloody stools. His eyesight deteriorated rapidly; by eleven or twelve, his vision was perpetually blurry, and he was constantly wracked with coughs.

One morning, when he was fifteen or sixteen, he tried to stretch his arms and legs on his wooden board, only to realize he couldn't get out of bed. He knew then that he was completely finished.

He couldn't do heavy labor anymore, and his hands shook too much for fine detail work. He couldn't even work the weddings or funerals; before, he could at least force a smile for the hosts, but now, with his face as pale as paper, nobody would hire him.

Less than a month after his condition worsened, he was on death's door.

Who was Bi Jie?

Someone who should have died at fifteen or sixteen!

That day, he lay on a bluestone slab by the side of the road. The sun-baked stone scorched his chest, but all he could do was cough. He knew his end had come.

If a burly man in his thirties hadn't happened to pass by and spot him that day, he would have been a corpse long ago.

"I usually see folks in their forties or fifties lying here. How come you're here at thirteen or fourteen?"

the man had asked. Then, nodding to himself, he answered his own question:

"Ah, I get it. You're dying."

"Dying people like to lie on these roadside stone slabs, hoping someone who isn't dying yet will reach out and save them. I know how this works. I understand. I get it."

With that, the man scooped him up in his arms and carried him to a medical clinic.

They couldn't afford a proper hospital; those were far too expensive.

But even at the clinic, the man's money wasn't enough. Scratching his head, he proposed:

"How about I do some street performances in front of your clinic for a few days? I'll earn the money and pay you the difference. Does that work for you?"

Then, regardless of whether the physician agreed or not, the man truly proceeded to perform outside the clinic doors for three or four days straight.

He didn't perform anything elaborate—just smashing boulders on his chest.

He would balance a slab of rock two palms thick on his chest, and with a single hammer strike, the stone would shatter like brittle glass.

Whoever paid the most money got to swing the hammer.

The only rule was that the person swinging couldn't use cultivation, and the man didn't use any to protect himself, either.

The man earned the money and saved his life. Later, when Bi Jie visited the courtyard where the man lived and saw him practicing, he realized the man was actually a highly skilled martial artist. Driven by curiosity, he asked:

"Old Liu, Old Liu, why didn't you perform with your blade back then?"

The blade was the man's strongest discipline.

"Until I formally complete my apprenticeship, I can't show my real skills in public."

When would he be able to show his real skills, then?

He didn't know. All he knew was that from that day onward, he had been granted a true second chance at life.

He began picking up some martial arts himself. His frail bones and body grew progressively tougher, allowing him to take on more work. As his days improved, he even started learning how to read and write.

Who was Bi Jie?

He became a man with a respectable job, eventually opening a shop to sell medicinal herbs.

Relying on his street smarts and wit, he managed to court a section chief's daughter in his early twenties. A few years later, they were married.

Originally, her family hadn't approved of the match. But the man told him to invite the section chief over to his courtyard. After performing a single set of fist forms for the official, he stated:

"I will conquer the Thirty-Seven Martial Arts Gyms. Bi Jie is my little brother, and practically half a son to me."

The section chief believed him.

Anyone who had seen the man throw a punch would have no choice but to believe.

Thus, he got married. His father-in-law pulled some strings to help him step into the tiers, officially becoming an official cultivator.

Over the next few years, riding on incredible luck, he steadily climbed the ranks, swiftly reaching a position nearly equal to his father-in-law's.

And then, the day finally arrived when the man formally completed his apprenticeship.

On that momentous day, the sect behind the man spent a fortune to build immense hype, drawing an audience from all across the Third Lake Prefecture.

That was the day the man finally showed his real skills in public. He watched the man draw his peerless blade, followed by his masterful fists. None of his opponents even stood a chance; even the most seasoned martial artists fell in a single exchange.

On the very first day, the man crushed three martial arts gyms!

On the second day, another three.

On the third day, three more.

...

It continued like that until the evening of the fourth day. Heavy-hearted, the now twenty-five or twenty-six-year-old Bi Jie sought out the man.

He told the man what he had just uncovered.

"Old Liu, don't fight anymore. They've arranged to have absolute masters waiting for you at the final two gyms."

"Are they highly skilled?" asked the man, who was now in his early forties.

He nodded. "If you defeat eighteen gyms single-handedly, the Third Lake Prefecture's reputation as a martial capital will be utterly shattered. The thirty-six gyms simply won't allow that to happen."

"Then I have even more of a reason to fight."

The man took a swig of wine. "If I don't fight, how will I ever know the true standard of the Third Lake Prefecture's current Martial Guild? Only by fighting can we find out. If my skills fall short, I'll accept my defeat. But if their skills fall short, my challenge will serve as a wake-up call, instilling a sense of crisis in the Martial Guild. Over time, this will forge a virtuous cycle, and only then will true martial cultivators emerge."

...

He didn't know what to say to that.

He was twenty-five or twenty-six now and understood some politics.

He knew the Martial Guild wouldn't gain a sense of crisis. The Martial Guild in the Third Lake Prefecture was already an arrow at the end of its flight, utterly incapable of turning the tide. All they wanted now was to desperately maintain an illusion of glory. The so-called pursuit of Martial Cultivation was nothing but a load of bullshit.

But he couldn't discuss politics with the man sitting across from him. The man understood nothing but martial arts and wine.

Seeing his torn expression, the man continued with a smile, "Moreover, Little Jie, this is no longer a question of whether I want to fight or not. If I don't fight, according to the rules, I will be banished from the Third Lake Prefecture. I will lose my sect, lose my family, and forfeit my life."

Hearing this, his eyes lit up. Believing there was still room for compromise, he immediately offered his own solution:

"You don't need to worry about that, Old Liu! I have someone behind me who can protect you. I've already made the arrangements. Afterward, you'll just need to serve as his son's martial arts instructor. You'll definitely be set for life, completely free of worries. You'll definitely—"

"Bang!"

A cup slammed heavily onto the table.

That was the first time he had ever seen the man get angry.

He couldn't clearly remember what happened after that.

He only recalled getting into a massive argument with the man. Looking up to the man like a father, he ended up weeping bitterly in the streets. The man's scolding had been viciously harsh—he had said he didn't want to see him become just another lapdog for those elites in the Third Lake Prefecture.

The reason the Third Lake Prefecture had grown increasingly pathetic over the past few decades was simply because there were too many dogs.

He wept because he knew that much of what the man said was absolutely right—yet he himself had no other choice.

On the fifth day of the man's challenge against the gyms, he locked himself in his house and refused to go watch the martial bouts.

Then, on the sixth day, he received the news that the man had been defeated.

He ran out of his house in a frenzy, desperately seeking out the contact he had reached out to, begging for the man's life. He finally found the official, and the man even agreed. But by the time he rushed to the gates of the Third Lake Prefecture, he was already too late.

The man had died. That was what everyone told him.

He ventured outside the prefecture to search for the man's remains, but after searching for five grueling days, he found nothing.

Five days was the absolute limit. Any longer, and he would be charged with dereliction of duty and stripped of his position.

Later, when he eventually regained contact with the man, "Old Liu" had become "Master Liu". His personality had changed quite a bit, seemingly influenced by the cynical, playboy young master who accompanied him.

The two of them met up once. They had a simple chat, catching up on recent events.

But they didn't delve much deeper than that.

Certain deeper, heavier subjects simply couldn't be spoken aloud face-to-face anymore.

Instead, they communicated far more openly through their exchanged letters.

In one of his letters, he had asked the man:

"Old Liu, do you still practice martial arts?"

"No. I gave that up a long time ago."

"Why did you stop?"

"Since I no longer have a master's lineage, I naturally can't continue practicing. Otherwise, I'd just be ruining my sect's reputation, haha."

"Old Liu, you should really practice your martial arts."

But he hadn't written that last sentence in the letter.

He had absolutely no right to write it in the letter.

So, after revising his response again and again, he ultimately wrote down a different sentence:

"I hope that one day, I might be able to see you practice your martial arts again."

...

...

The two trails of bloody tears streaming from Bi Jie's eyes seemed to fade slightly.

"None of you are walking away today!"

He let out a laugh and clenched his hand into a tight fist. The crushing pressure left the two marshals opposite him completely breathless. A metallic sweetness rose in his throat; he felt as though the very inside of his skull had started to hemorrhage.

'Old Liu, you really should have kept practicing your martial arts.'

But right at that moment, a voice echoed in his ear:

"Let them go, Little Jie."

"Old Liu..."

Bi Jie froze, his grip subconsciously relaxing.

Freed from the pressure, the two marshals instantly broke away like beasts escaping a cage, sprinting frantically toward Feinan Temple.

He slowly turned his head to look in the Old Man's direction.

He saw the Old Man rise to his feet.

All around him.

Grasping her massive Paintbrush and treating the very sky as her canvas, Tang Lian raised her brush, conjuring the towering silhouettes of the Dragon Thrones one by one.

A fully armored, insanely violent marshal threw a devastating punch, his Weird Energy morphing into a raging, tidal shockwave.

A coal cultivator covered in chunks of raw coal and billowing thick black smoke summoned a massive smoke dragon that roared with heaven-shaking fury.

The gaunt old man in the woven bamboo hat and straw raincoat swung his hoe, causing gigantic vines to erupt from the soil.

The enormous wooden puppet, manipulated by countless silk threads, deployed a terrifying array of blood-drenched hidden mechanisms.

The West Street Artisan's wide strips of white cloth violently whipped around his body, churning the winds and clouds.

In the center of it all, the Old Man's expression was as calm as a gentle breeze. Dark golden runes flowed around his body as he slowly, fluidly settled into a stance—a martial punch so ancient and unadorned that it couldn't possibly be simpler.

"I, Liu Fu, invite you all to test my fists."