Chapter 117: Chapter 117
Heavenly Eagle Black Tortoise Stance!
The brushstrokes were bold as iron, heavy with gravitas.
But the problem was…
‘It’s not the same method the system Deduced…’
Surprise stirred in Shen Xiuhan’s mind, though his hands never paused. His eyes swept line by line, silently appraising.
Having already cultivated both the Dark Eagle Stance and the Golden Vulture Soaring Wind Art to Perfection, he could gauge this Heavenly Eagle Black Tortoise Stance at a glance.
Mei Hall’s Dark Eagle Stance and Heavenly Dark Eagle Force had both been stripped and simplified from this very method.
In other words, the Heavenly Eagle Black Tortoise Stance was Mei Hall’s martial grand-canon — the root from which all else grew.
That Mei Shuangfeng was entrusting it to him spoke volumes about how highly she regarded Shen Xiuhan.
Any other disciple would have been wild with joy, treating it like a priceless treasure.
But Shen Xiuhan carried the Golden Vulture Soaring Wind Art, and the comparison was immediate and stark.
The Heavenly Eagle Black Tortoise Stance was heavy in its approach — solid, methodical, step by careful step. Its vision was sound enough, but at its core, it could carry a practitioner no further than Transforming Strength.
The Golden Vulture Soaring Wind Art, by contrast, aspired to seize the ninth heaven, to soar beyond the clouds. Its ambition was vast, its foundations profound — a supreme method that could reach all the way to Astral Strength.
The difference was night and day.
“You’ve likely heard this before, Xiuhan.”
Mei Shuangfeng sighed softly.
“Your master is not a native of Changyun County. I was born into the Mei Mountain lineage of the Biwu Sect in Guangwu Commandery’s prefectural city. A falling-out with the sect in my early years drove me to this far-flung place.”
She tapped the stance manual, her voice low.
“This Heavenly Eagle Black Tortoise Stance is the Mei Mountain mental cultivation method, but it isn’t the complete version. It only reaches Hidden Strength Perfection — not enough to enter Transforming Strength. If you want to go further… you’ll need to find another path.”
Biwu Sect…
Shen Xiuhan’s gaze flickered.
Back on Yunyi Island, he had heard his patrol guards mention the martial landscape of Guangwu Commandery.
Unlike the Nanxiang Commandery’s four-power standoff, Guangwu was dominated by just two colossi.
The Biwu Sect.
And the Yin-Fiend School.
One righteous. One demonic.
Locked in perpetual war.
Within the Biwu Sect, four lineages existed. Among them, the Mei Mountain lineage boasted a certain “Mei Shuangning” — a Grand Alchemist whose pill-refining art was famous across all of Cangzhou.
And his master’s surname was also Mei. She, too, was a master of alchemy…
‘Master is almost certainly no ordinary Mei Mountain disciple. Nine times out of ten, she’s direct bloodline. Only something must have gone wrong badly enough to sever the relationship…’
Shen Xiuhan turned these thoughts over as he flipped to the back of the booklet.
The final pages were ragged where they’d been sealed — two sheets of critical oral formulas had been torn out.
Seeing his expression, Mei Shuangfeng shook her head with quiet resignation.
“You’ve reached Sinew Tempering, and Hidden Strength isn’t far. Here in Changyun County, what Mei Hall can give you has reached its limit. If you want to climb higher… you’ll have to rely on yourself.”
“Your senior brothers and sisters all left for this very reason. Zuo Guangshu went to Bixia Mountain Estate and joined the Qi Path. Ding Ning and Wang Lin enlisted in the Longxiang Army…”
“Xiuhan… you should start making plans of your own.”
Mei Shuangfeng’s gaze drifted past the half-open window lattice to the old locust tree in the courtyard. A wistful shadow crossed her features.
“And then there’s Qinghong… I intend to send her back to Mei Mountain.”
Shen Xiuhan gave a slight shake of his head.
He didn’t know what had happened, but if the break with the sect was bitter, Jiang Qinghong — who had followed their master for years — would surely face cold shoulders and whispered barbs upon her return.
Mei Shuangfeng seemed to read his thought. Her voice carried steel.
“The martial path is a boat against the current. Endure the hardship, and what awaits is a great fortune. Fail to endure, and you end up like me — huddled in some backwater county, wasting half a lifetime.”
“Qinghong is tougher than I gave her credit for. Perhaps… she’ll carve out a path.”
She turned to Shen Xiuhan, her gaze earnest.
“You and Qinghong are different.”
“You’re a man. The world puts fewer chains on you. Once you achieve Hidden Strength, you could join Bixia Mountain Estate through your Senior Brother Zuo, or seek out any number of renowned sects.”
“The Great Qi’s twelve provinces are vast — boundless land, countless opportunities.”
“With your talent, if you let yourself wither in Changyun, it would be a pearl cast into the dark, a treasure squandered. Your master… will never let you follow in my footsteps.”
The heartfelt words stirred a warm current through Shen Xiuhan’s chest.
After a moment’s thought, he took the vial of Sinew-Transforming Pills and tucked it into his shirt.
Then he gently pushed the Heavenly Eagle Black Tortoise Stance back to the center of the desk.
“Xiuhan, you…”
Surprise crossed Mei Shuangfeng’s face. Before she could ask further —
Shen Xiuhan produced a brand-new, hand-copied booklet and laid it atop the old one.
The ink on its cover was still fresh. Five characters in the same bold hand.
Golden Vulture Soaring Wind Art!
Mei Shuangfeng frowned, leaning in. Her eyes fell on the booklet.
“What is this…?”
“A method I obtained through a stroke of fortune. Its vision shares some kinship with our Mei Hall’s techniques. Master may wish to study it.”
The less said, the better.
Shen Xiuhan offered no further explanation. He clasped his fists, bowed, and turned to leave.
The room fell silent.
Mei Shuangfeng picked up the Golden Vulture Soaring Wind Art, her mind full of questions.
She opened it to a random page.
After just a few lines, her gaze locked. Her pupils contracted sharply.
She flipped forward, page after page, faster and faster. The deeper she read, the more rapid her breathing became, her chest rising and falling as though a boulder had been hurled into a still lake.
“The vision is completely of the same origin!”
Mei Shuangfeng’s eyes were wide with shock, her red lips trembling, her voice pitched off-key.
“But the internal force-circulation pathways are at least ten times more profound than the Heavenly Eagle Black Tortoise Stance!”
“This… this is a method that leads directly to Astral Strength!”
“Good!”
“What a Golden Vulture Soaring Wind Art!”
SWISH!
In the next instant —
Mei Shuangfeng snapped the booklet shut, shot to her feet, and swept toward her private seclusion chamber without a backward glance.
…
Meanwhile.
Shen Xiuhan left the hall and merged into the flow of the streets.
Before long, he was passing through the West Market.
The wharf wind was strong, carrying spray that hit his face. The air was a pungent mix of fish, sweat, and the sour reek of cheap wine.
Along the muddy riverbank, a dozen ragged oil-cloth lean-tos had been thrown up.
These were unlicensed drinking shacks run by local gangs — squeezing a few coppers out of dock laborers and sailors.
Beneath the awnings, coarse ceramic bowls clinked.
Rough men’s curses mingled with the clatter of dice.
Shen Xiuhan was walking along the street when his steps abruptly halted.
His gaze cut through the crowd and landed on a spot beside one of the wine-stalls.
Among a cluster of bare-chested, mud-caked laborers, one figure stood out like a sore thumb.
The man wore a dark martial outfit. Though spattered with grime, the tailoring and fabric were visibly fine.
He was clutching a mud-sealed wine jug, swaying to his feet, lurching toward a sandship moored at the dock.
The river wind blew his long hair across most of his face, exposing only a sliver of a pale, ashen jaw.
Shen Xiuhan’s interest wouldn’t have been caught —
Except for the man’s right shoulder.
The right sleeve hung empty, flapping weakly in the wind.
This man was missing his right arm.
Shen Xiuhan’s gaze sharpened. He slipped half a step backward, melting into the shadows, his eyes tracking the one-armed man like a falcon’s.
The man stumbled up the gangplank, nearly pitching into the water twice before a sailor hauled him aboard.
He fished a few pieces of broken silver from his shirt and pressed them into the sailor’s hand. The man asked no questions and let him duck into the hold.
Before long, the boatman cast off the mooring line, pushed off with a bamboo pole, and the sandship eased away from shore into the open water.
Shen Xiuhan emerged from the shadows, expression taut with suspicion. He considered for a moment — but did not act rashly. Instead, he turned and walked away.