Chapter 138: Chapter 138
Another five days slipped by, and before anyone noticed, summer had arrived.
The plum rains finally broke. A rare, blazing sun emerged, baking the days of accumulated damp clean away.
The Shen family courtyard.
Cicadas droned from the old locust tree beyond the wall — one shrill note after another, noisy yet alive.
Shen Xiuhan stood in the yard, drilling the Golden Vulture Stance.
This stance art was derived from the Golden Vulture Soaring Wind Art. Its core shared roots with the Dark Eagle Stance, yet its methods were a full tier above.
Shen Xiuhan stood in a staggered frame, both arms held like a raptor’s wings — outwardly loose, yet coiled with hidden lethality.
SWISH!
Fingers curled into talons, palms cupped hollow. Between sinew and bone lurked a spring-loaded tension, as though the claws could hook into the crevices of a prey’s skeleton.
The opening movements were slow, almost languid — a hawk wheeling high, deceptively idle.
But the instant the talons reached full extension, poised to close — the force hidden beneath that languid softness erupted.
HISS!
A piercing tear of compressed air, as though eagle-claws had ripped through cloth.
SWISH! SWISH! SWISH!
Burst after burst, announcing the terrifying penetrating and rending power coiled between his hands.
One full set of the Golden Vulture Stance complete, Shen Xiuhan let his hands fall, fingers flexing, and settled back into stillness.
“Hoo…”
Eyes closed, he felt the flow of force inside him.
Within the three apertures, force coiled like three submerged flood-dragons — rising and sinking, poised to strike.
The third aperture — Tinggong — was especially charged. Force swelled nearly to the brim, straining against the walls like a butterfly about to burst its cocoon.
“A few more days of training, and I can attempt the Mingmen aperture.”
Shen Xiuhan opened his eyes, a faint smile of satisfaction pulling at his lips.
The Mingmen aperture.
Fourth of the nine.
Once opened, he would step into mid-Hidden Strength.
From entering the Pool to now — mere days — and already this kind of progress. If anyone else found out, jaws would hit the floor.
In the yard, the cicadas droned on.
Shen Xiuhan exhaled a mouthful of stale breath and walked to the well.
He hauled up half a bucket, upended it over his head, and let the cool water sluice down through his hair, along his face and neck, washing away sweat and heat.
Then he went inside, changed into clean clothes — a blue long-robe with snug cuffs — hung Cold Granary at his waist, and set out for Mei Hall.
Two days ago, Xu Chuan and Xiang Yunting had left with Zhao Zheng, heading for the frontier to serve in the Longxiang Army.
Before departing, the two had come to say their farewells. They’d sat in the courtyard all afternoon, drinking tea and talking for hours.
Fourth Senior Brother Shen Huai’s injuries hadn’t fully healed, but his foundation was solid. With pills aiding recovery, his sinews and bones were already knitting.
Zhao Zheng had given him leave to heal first, then report to the Longxiang Army. No rush.
On Mei Hall’s side, since Shen Xiuhan fought his way into the feast’s top three, the hall’s reputation had spread across the inner and outer city — even rivaling Zhendong Martial Hall.
Over the past few days, a steady stream of people had come to pay tuition and enroll.
Even sons of wealthy houses from Changshui County and several neighboring counties had brought silver and thick gifts, traveling dozens of li to study under Mei Hall’s banner.
But Mei Shuangfeng had been in seclusion the entire time, studying the Golden Vulture Soaring Wind Art, shut away in the rear hall day and night. Even her meals were left outside the door by Madam Shi.
The entire hall, top to bottom, was being run by Jiang Qinghong alone.
Supervising the disciples’ training, handling the flood of new enrollees, managing the hall’s daily chores, meals, and accounts — she was run off her feet.
In between his own cultivation sessions, Shen Xiuhan decided to go lend a hand.
Before leaving, he ducked into the family’s street-front eatery.
It was noon.
Three tables of customers were bent over their bowls, steam rising from the broth, the scent of scallion filling the shop.
Madam Zheng was busy in the kitchen.
Out front, a plain-faced, slightly shy woman was wiping down an empty table.
Liang Xiuhe — Geng Weizhi’s wife.
Madam Zheng had been managing front and back on her own, and she genuinely needed the help.
Liang Xiuhe was diligent, quiet, and quick with her hands. After just a few days, she’d found her rhythm.
Seeing Shen Xiuhan come in, she straightened at once, wiped her hands on her apron, and said with a touch of awkwardness:
“Young master, would you like lunch?”
“Mm…”
Shen Xiuhan thought a moment.
“Not here. Ask my mother to pull three bowls of noodles. I’ll send a couple of junior brothers to pick them up — lunch for my master and senior sister at the hall.”
“I’ll pass that along right away.”
Liang Xiuhe nodded quickly and trotted into the kitchen.
Shen Xiuhan stepped out and walked to Mei Hall.
From a distance, he could hear the shouts, the crack of fists splitting air, and Jiang Qinghong’s drill-sergeant bark.
“Straighten that back! If you can’t handle this much, what business do you have learning martial arts?”
“Your frame’s floating, your waist and hips are loose — nail that base down! Nail it! Have you got ears?”
“And you — eyes on your stance, not on the scenery! Tonight you’re staying an extra four hours!”
The scolded disciple mumbled something under his breath.
Jiang Qinghong didn’t catch it. Her voice snapped like a whip. “What did you say?”
The disciple shrank into his collar, his voice shrinking with him. “Senior Sister… Senior Brother Shen is here…”
“Hm?”
Jiang Qinghong whipped around.
Sure enough, Shen Xiuhan was crossing the threshold, walking into the yard.
The taut expression cracked open at once. She came forward with a smile.
“Junior Brother, what brings you today?”
Shen Xiuhan clasped his fists and grinned.
“I couldn’t bear to watch Senior Sister run herself ragged alone. I’m here to help — lighten the load.”
“Silver tongue.”
Jiang Qinghong gave him zero face, rolling her eyes extravagantly — though the corners of her mouth curled upward in spite of herself.
Shen Xiuhan laughed, unbothered.
“Senior Sister, I had my mother pull three bowls of noodles. Send a couple of juniors to fetch them.”
“Blanket noodles!”
Jiang Qinghong’s eyes lit up. Her phoenix-gaze practically sparkled.
Ever since she’d learned — by accident — that Shen Xiuhan’s family ran a noodle shop, curiosity had drawn her in for a single visit.
That one bowl of wide, springy noodles in rich, savory broth had stolen her heart.
Since then, she found an excuse to drop in every few days — and to play with a certain adorable little girl while she was at it.
As the two bantered, a cluster of newly enrolled disciples craned their necks, eyes wide, whispering in an excited buzz.
“Is that the Senior Brother Shen who defeated the Luo clan’s prodigy with his sword?” an out-of-county girl asked breathlessly.
“That’s him!”
The boy beside her — who harbored a not-so-secret crush — nodded vigorously, pride radiating from every pore.
“I was right there below the platform that day. I saw Senior Brother Shen use his peerless swordplay to cut through opponent after opponent and join the Six Prodigies of Changyun! The sword-light was so fast your eyes couldn’t follow — Luo Qiance went down in just a few strokes…”
He was practically frothing at the mouth, arms waving, desperate to paint every detail.
But the girl’s attention had drifted entirely from the second half of his speech. She was staring, entranced, at the tall, straight-backed figure, cheeks flushing pink.
“Senior Brother Shen is so handsome…”
The boy’s torrent of words died mid-syllable. His face turned to stone.
Then that same stiffness spread to Shen Xiuhan’s face.
His smile froze. The corner of one eye twitched. He looked at Jiang Qinghong, who was fighting and losing a battle with laughter.
“The Six Prodigies of Changyun…”
Jiang Qinghong pressed a hand over her mouth, eyes curved into crescents, and whispered:
“You didn’t know?”
“After the feast, the storytellers in the teahouses and theaters started spinning the best bouts into tall tales — embellished to the heavens — to pack in the crowds. Got the listeners’ blood pumping so hard they were ready to sign up themselves.”
“So some busybody coined a title for the top three from both brackets: the Six Prodigies of Changyun.”
Shen Xiuhan listened with an expression caught between laughter and exasperation.
Well, fine.
At least they’d rounded up six people. If there’d only been four, that would’ve been awkward.