24: Chapter 24 I Will Teach You My Last Lesson

A-Fei's words landed heavily on the ground, and the air in the courtyard suddenly froze.

The veins on the back of He Shan's hand gripping his blade bulged, Yan Meng's pupils contracted, and Han Meng stood up straight with a "whoosh," tugging at his wounds and letting out a muffled groan, but he paid it no mind.

Lu Zhao's face remained expressionless as he simply asked, "How many?"

"More than thirty riders," A-Fei panted, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead. "They're all in black armor, carrying the Liu Family's black iron flag. The one leading... is that blue-canopied carriage belonging to Liu Three-Knives!"

Liu Three-Knives had come in person, bringing thirty black-armored private soldiers with him. It was a full day earlier than expected.

He Shan's face turned ashen. "Our pits are only half-dug, the arrow towers have only just had their frames set up, and the rolling logs and boulders aren't even prepared yet..."

"There's no time," Lu Zhao interrupted, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Pass the order: all able-bodied men must withdraw to the village immediately and abandon the outer defenses. The elderly, weak, women, and children are to withdraw to Wild Wolf Slope according to the original plan, with Master Wen leading the team, assisted by Granny Xue and Qin Wan."

He spoke at a breakneck speed, yet every word was as clear and sharp as a nail. "He Shan, take the hunter squad to the wooden wall at the village entrance and get all bows and crossbows into position. Yan Meng, lead the blade-and-spear men to guard the alleyways; form groups of three and set up defenses according to the triangular formation practiced yesterday. Han Meng—"

Han Meng took a step forward.

"Your wounds haven't healed, so I shouldn't have you on the front lines," Lu Zhao said, staring at him. "But you are the most familiar with the Liu Family's tactics, so I need you to guard the ancestral hall—this place is the hub of the entire village and the final line of defense."

Han Meng grinned, revealing his stark white teeth. "As long as I live, the hall stands."

"No," Lu Zhao shook his head. "If the situation becomes untenable, burn the ancestral hall and leave through the secret passage."

He turned around and swept his gaze across the people in the courtyard. The morning light grew brighter, illuminating the pores on everyone's faces with startling clarity.

More than twenty men stood there; some gripped their sword hilts tightly, some breathed heavily, and some had shifting eyes, but not a single one retreated.

"Did you all hear clearly?" Lu Zhao's voice was not loud, yet it suppressed all other noise. "We only have half an hour to prepare. In half an hour, the hooves of the Liu Family's horses will step into Yangjiao Ravine."

He paused. "But before that—" "I am going to teach you one last lesson."

The doors of the ancestral hall were thrown open. The morning breeze rushed in, blowing the ashes of the incense on the offering table into swirling spirals. The twenty-plus men filed in, sat cross-legged in their designated positions, and formed a circle around the open space in the center of the ancestral hall.

Lu Zhao stood in the center of the circle. Today, he had changed into a coarse cloth short-sleeved outfit, with his cuffs tied tight and his trouser legs tucked into his straw sandals, looking clean and agile.

The morning light slanted in from outside the door, shining on his profile and casting a shadow beneath his brow bone.

"Sit steady," he said, his voice echoing in the ancestral hall. "Close your eyes, regulate your breathing, and let your heart sink into your Dantian."

Everyone followed his instructions. The sound of breathing inside the ancestral hall gradually calmed, yet it remained uneven—some had short breaths, some had heavy breaths, and some had breaths as thin as gossamer.

Lu Zhao inhaled slowly. With this inhalation, time seemed to stretch. The airflow inside the ancestral hall actually twisted slightly, and fine dust, visible to the naked eye, slowly swirled and gathered in front of him, as if stirred by an invisible hand.

The [Sea-Gathering Stance] was running at full power. It was not the shallow version taught just moments ago, but the complete [First Realm] after deduction and optimization.

That wisp of Northern Dark True Qi in Lu Zhao's Dantian awakened like a dormant Dragon, traveling along his Meridians; every time it passed through an acupuncture point, it tugged at the free-floating Origin Qi in the outside world.

He lifted his hands vaguely, palms facing the sky. "In the practice of the Martial Dao, the most important thing is sensing. Heaven and Earth possess Qi, and all things are prepared with it. In the wind, there is Wind Spirit; in fire, there is Fire Essence; in the earth, there is Earth Breath; in water, there is Water Origin. These types of Qi are called 'Spiritual Qi' by immortal cultivators; they use their Spiritual Root as a bridge to draw it into their bodies and refine it into true essence."

He paused. "We have no Spiritual Root; the bridge is broken. But—" He slowly pressed his hands down.

An invisible force field spread out with him at the center. He Shan, who was sitting closest, felt every pore on his body tighten, as if he had been immersed in warm water; wisps of coolness seeped in through his skin, slightly itchy, yet comfortable.

"A body of flesh and blood is born from Heaven and Earth," Lu Zhao continued. "Since we share the same source, we can resonate with it. A Spiritual Root is a gift from Heaven, but the Martial Dao... is a choice made by man."

As his voice fell, he moved. His movements were extremely slow, as if pushing a weight of a thousand catties. His arms drew a circle, his left palm reached forward, his right palm pulled back, and his breathing became long and steady. An ancient boxing stance slowly unfolded—it was the opening Move of the "Wudang Long Fist."

But the Fist Intent had changed. Every Move he performed secretly harmonized with the breathing rhythm of the [Sea-Gathering Stance]. Wherever his fist wind passed, the thin Spiritual Qi in the air, the remnant Evil Qi from yesterday's slaughter, and even the musty wood-Qi radiating from the wooden pillars of the ancestral hall were all drawn in, threading into the momentum of his fist.

Lu Zhao's fist speed gradually increased. At first, the Moves could still be seen clearly, but after ten Moves, only a blur of fist shadows remained.

The fist wind whistled, actually whipping up a small whirlwind inside the ancestral hall; the candle flames on the offering table flickered violently, and the rain capes hanging on the wall rustled loudly.

Everyone was stunned. They had seen Lu Zhao strike before—clean, agile, and fatal in a single blow. But they had never seen a fist technique like this... one that was nearly the "Dao."

There was no Killing Intent in those fists, no malice, only a vast, ocean-like inclusiveness, and a sense of open-mindedness that said, "I draw from Heaven and Earth, and Heaven and Earth are my body."

Lu Zhao withdrew his fists. The wind in the ancestral hall stopped, and the sounds ceased, leaving only the heavy breathing of the others.

"Did you see clearly?" A slight sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead, but his breathing remained steady. "This is not a technique for killing; it is a 'Method of Borrowing Strength.' You borrow the power of Heaven and Earth to make up for your own deficiencies, and you borrow the Qi of all things to strengthen your Foundation of Qi and blood."

He walked over to He Shan. "He Shan, you have hunted for many years and deal with the wind the most. When I was performing the fist techniques just now, what did you sense?"

He Shan closed his eyes to recall, and after a while, he opened them, his voice trembling with disbelief. "Wind... there is something in the wind. It's very thin, very cool, like... like needle tips pricking into my pores, but it doesn't hurt; instead, it's refreshing."

"Those are fragments of Wind Spirit," Lu Zhao nodded. "Since you have sensed them, try to draw them into your body. Remember, do not 'grab'; 'invite.' Your heart must be still, your intent must be sincere, and your breathing must be slow."

He guided He Shan on adjusting his breathing rhythm, where to focus his intent on his acupuncture points, and how to use his willpower to guide that cool stream of Qi.

Half an incense stick later, He Shan's whole body shuddered. A faint green light actually appeared on the fingertips of his right hand; although it dissipated in an instant, he had indeed successfully drawn a wisp of Wind Spirit!

"I did it!" He Shan's eyes widened, his face full of wild joy.

Lu Zhao shook his head. "This is just the beginning. Keep practicing, let that wisp of Wind Spirit travel through your body and disperse into your limbs and bones. If you can persist every day, in three months, the arrows you shoot... will be thirty percent faster."

He Shan nodded heavily and closed his eyes to practice again. Lu Zhao then walked toward Yan Meng.

Yan Meng was covered in sweat, his face flushed red; he had clearly been trying for a long time but had achieved nothing.

"Can't calm down?" Lu Zhao asked.

"Yes," Yan Meng gritted his teeth. "As soon as I close my eyes, my head is filled with images from the battlefield... dead people, broken blades, blood..."

"Then don't close your eyes," Lu Zhao pressed his shoulder. "Look at me."

Yan Meng looked up. Deep within Lu Zhao's pupils, a pale golden light seemed to flash and vanish. Yan Meng felt a shiver in his heart, and his distracting thoughts miraculously dissipated by more than half.

"For those in the military, Killing Intent is heavy and blood Qi is vigorous; this is inherently an advantage," Lu Zhao said in a low voice. "But you have treated Killing Intent as a burden. Try changing your mindset—not 'I want to be still,' but 'I want to make this Killing Intent... work for me.'"

He taught Yan Meng a breathing technique, using his Killing Intent as a guide and his blood Qi as a bridge to absorb the cold, murderous Qi of metal and iron from the outside world.

Yan Meng tried as instructed. At first, it was still sluggish, but after seven or eight breaths, a faint red blood-light faintly emanated from his body—that was the sign of absorbing the remnant Evil Qi of blood in the air.

Although he hadn't truly drawn Qi into his body, he could already rely on this to briefly stimulate his blood Qi, causing his strength to skyrocket by thirty percent.

"This method cannot be used for long," Lu Zhao cautioned. "Ten breaths at most each time, otherwise you will damage your Foundation."

Yan Meng nodded solemnly.

When it was Han Meng's turn, the situation was dire. Han Meng was plagued by Evil Qi; the moment he tried to draw in Qi, all the old injuries he had accumulated over the years flared up simultaneously! He let out a muffled groan, felt a fishy sweetness in his throat, and sprayed a mouthful of black blood onto the ground, with ice shards faintly visible within the blood.

Granny Xue stepped forward quickly, took his pulse for a moment, and her face changed drastically. "He has cold Evil poison inside him, which clashes with your pure-Yang Qi-drawing technique, sir!"

Lu Zhao frowned and suddenly joined his fingers like a sword, pressing them onto Han Meng's Tanzhong acupoint. A wisp of pure Northern Dark True Qi was transferred in.

This True Qi had been refined by the [Transformation Stance], making it upright, balanced, and as gentle as water. After entering his body, it did not clash with the Evil poison; instead, it seeped into his Meridians like spring rain, slowly dissolving the congested coldness.

Han Meng's complexion gradually eased, and he coughed up a few more mouthfuls of black blood, though the color of the blood had turned red.

"Your injuries are special; you must not force the practice," Lu Zhao withdrew his fingers. "Wait until the Evil poison is dissolved, and then I will teach you a suitable technique."

Han Meng nodded with a wry smile.

Afterward, Lu Zhao pointed out things to everyone one by one. Granny Xue was old and frail, making it difficult for her to draw in Qi, but under the operation of the breathing technique, her old, overworked waist and legs felt warm and much more comfortable. She closed her eyes and sighed softly, "So... this is what 'the Martial Dao ferries those with affinity' means."

Master Wen was erudite; although he did not draw Qi into his body, he realized some of the principles of "Heaven and Man as One" from the breathing rhythm and muttered, "This method secretly aligns with the principles of the I Ching, with Yin and Yang complementing each other. Wonderful."

Farmers like Tian Dali were the most sensitive to "Earth Breath"; although they only drew in a barely perceptible wisp, they felt as if their feet had taken root, and their lower stances became much more stable.

Women and children like Qin Wan did not practice drawing in Qi and only learned the breathing rhythm, yet they also felt their minds and spirits calm, and the weaving and mending work in their hands became somewhat smoother.

Most amazing of all were the youths like A-Fei. Their minds were pure with very few distractions, and in less than half an incense stick, three or four of them successfully drew a wisp of faint Spiritual Qi into their bodies.

Although it was just a drop in the bucket, they had truly taken the first step.

A-Fei was so excited he was dancing around. "Sir! I felt it! A warm current surged up from the soles of my feet, circled around my belly, and then dispersed throughout my entire body!"

Lu Zhao stroked his head. "Remember this feeling. Every day upon waking and before sleeping, breathe for one incense stick's time according to this method. Persist for three months, and I will teach you the next step."

The youths agreed in unison, their eyes shining brilliantly.

The atmosphere in the ancestral hall quietly shifted. The initial panic and despair were now replaced by a novel and exciting emotion. Everyone was trying, and everyone was feeling—feeling that subtle pleasure of "I can control power."

This was the most primitive attraction of the Martial Dao. It was not some high-and-mighty immortal fate, nor was it an ethereal Spiritual Root. It was breathing, it was the heartbeat, it was the rushing of Bloodline, it was the potential that everyone was born with.

Lu Zhao stepped aside and watched quietly. The Martial Seal stone in his heart warmed slightly, as if resonating. [Civilization Points: 7] Although it was exhausted, it was worth it.

Just at this moment, a sharp whistle suddenly came from the direction of the village entrance! It was the warning device set up by He Shan—made of bamboo tubes, it wouldn't sound from the wind; it only made a sound when the mechanism was triggered. Now, it had sounded.

Lu Zhao's eyes sharpened. Everyone in the ancestral hall stood up in unison; the previous realizations and joy were instantly suppressed, replaced by gravity and determination.

"They're here," He Shan gripped his hunting bow. Yan Meng picked up his spear. Han Meng grabbed a machete from the wall; although his gait was slightly lame, his eyes were as fierce as an injured wolf.

Lu Zhao took a deep breath and stepped out of the hall. The morning light completely flooded the village.

On the mountain road in the distance, dust billowed. More than thirty black-armored cavalrymen rushed like a stream of iron, breaking through the morning mist and heading straight for Yangjiao Ravine. The black iron flag snapped in the wind, and the "Liu" character embroidered in gold thread on the flag was dazzling and eye-catching.

The blue-canopied carriage traveled in the middle of the troop, its curtains lowered. Beside the carriage, one rider took the lead. The man on the horse was about forty years old, with a pale face and a slight beard, wearing brocade martial attire and a long blade at his waist. It was none other than the Liu Family's outer courtyard steward, Liu Three-Knives.

He reined in his horse fifty paces from the village entrance and raised his hand. The thirty black-armored soldiers stopped in unison; their movements were uniform, clearly indicating they were well-trained.

Liu Three-Knives narrowed his eyes and inspected the village. The wooden wall had been raised by half a zhang, and figures could be faintly seen moving on the wall. The ground at the village entrance seemed to have signs of being turned over, but it was well-hidden. The alleyways were silent, with no people in sight, yet they exuded a sense of... murderousness.

A cold sneer curled the corners of his mouth. "That trash Boss Wu really did fail," he said softly, his voice only audible to the trusted aide beside him.

The trusted aide asked in a low voice, "Third Master, shall we charge directly?"

"No rush," Liu Three-Knives raised his hand. "Courtesy first, force later."

He took a hard bow from beside his saddle and nocked an arrow. A scroll of silk was tied to the arrow shaft. The bow opened like a full moon.

"Whoosh—" The arrow pierced the air with a sharp whistle, shooting straight at the wooden wall at the village entrance! With a "thud," the arrow sank deep into the crossbeam of the wooden wall, its tail feathers trembling violently.

On the wall, He Shan tore down the arrow, untied the silk scroll, unfolded it, and glanced at it; his face changed drastically.

He turned and ran down the wooden wall, handing the silk scroll to Lu Zhao, who had just arrived. There were only eight characters on the silk scroll, the ink still wet, with Killing Intent rushing forth: "Before noon, hand over Lu Zhao. Otherwise, leave no chicken or dog alive."

Lu Zhao finished reading the silk scroll, his expression unchanged; he simply folded the silk scroll slowly.

He looked up at Liu Three-Knives outside the village and suddenly raised his voice, his words spreading across the fields: "Steward Liu, the Lu you want is here. But if you want to take me—" He paused, enunciating every word, "You must come in and get me yourself." As his voice fell, the ground at the village entrance suddenly collapsed! Three well-disguised pits were simultaneously revealed, the bottoms of the pits bristling with bamboo spikes, cold and dazzling.

Liu Three-Knives' face darkened.