Chapter Forty-Three: Learning the Art

In the previous chapter, it was told how Li Xiong, by a stroke of fate, became the disciple of the immortal old man. From that moment on, he devoted himself to mastering his skills, training relentlessly through the sweltering heat of summer and the bitter cold of winter. Day by day, his talents grew; each dawn revealed a new level of progress. Though his mental power could not break into the third tier, he had honed the first and second levels to perfection. Every inch of his body could withstand heavy blows, and any weapon in his hands became a blur of motion—wherever he aimed, his strikes landed true, never missing the mark.

On this particular day, as Li Xiong was immersed in his training, the old immortal called out to him. “My student, that’s enough for now. Come over here!” Li Xiong, hearing this, trotted over eagerly and fell to his knees, bowing deeply, stammering, “M-master, your humble servant bows to you!” Three loud knocks of his head resounded on the ground as he awaited his teacher’s words in earnest silence.

“My child, you’ve trained under me for three years now and made great strides. It’s time for you to move on.” Hearing this, Li Xiong panicked, “M-master, please don’t send me away! I can’t bear to leave you!” Tears streamed down his face as he spoke.

The old immortal gently consoled him, “Every feast must come to an end. Our time as master and student has run its course—don’t be sad.” Yet even as he spoke, two tears slid down his own cheeks.

“Besides, you have important work to do. Years ago, you saved Ye Feng when he wandered into these mountains, and that act forged our three-year bond. Now, Ye Feng is beset by demon soldiers and trapped in dire straits. He needs you to rescue him.” With that, the old man pulled Li Xiong closer, wiped away his tears, and said, “My child, since you’re leaving, I have nothing much to give you. Go inside and choose a weapon—let it be a keepsake from me.” Li Xiong was still in a daze, but the old man urged him, “Go on! Go on!” Helpless, Li Xiong knocked his head on the ground thrice more and said, “M-master, forgive your humble servant for failing you!” Then he scrambled to his feet and strode into the cave.

It was the very same cave Li Xiong had stumbled into all those years ago, but on this return, it seemed a different world altogether. Inside, lanterns and torches cast a daylight glow. Stone tables, chairs, stools, and tea sets were all neatly arranged. Alongside stood racks bearing every kind of weapon—swords, spears, staves, axes, halberds, hooks, forks, the full array of the eighteen martial arms.

Li Xiong approached, examining them one by one. Each was excellent, but he couldn’t decide which to choose. Then his gaze fell upon a pair of chain hammers on the ground—enormous, like cartwheels. He picked them up, swung them a few times, and found them a perfect fit for his hands. Slinging the chains around his neck, he found them no hindrance at all—remarkably convenient! He nodded decisively; this was the one.

He stepped outside, intending to bid his master farewell. But when he emerged, the giant tree was gone, the wildflowers vanished, and there was no sign of his master. Only brambles and thorns grew everywhere, the weeds taller than a man. The events of the past three years seemed no more than a dream. Only the chain hammers hanging from his neck remained tangible, proving it had all been real.

Li Xiong called out several times, “Master! Master! Master!” but his voice echoed unanswered through the forest. Left with no choice, he pressed onward. Fortunately, his tough skin and sturdy flesh made him impervious to the thorns, and he soon made his way out.

A sudden brightness greeted him—it was the edge of the forest, and he stood atop a hill. Down below, the shouts and clash of battle filled the air. Li Xiong rose on tiptoe, shading his eyes, and looked down. He saw countless demon soldiers besieging a young general in white, fighting fiercely. Though the youth was valiant, he was hopelessly outnumbered and barely holding his own.

Suddenly, Li Xiong recalled his master’s command to rescue the imperiled, so he wasted no time. Swinging his chain hammers, he charged into the fray.

The hammers flew like twin meteors, whistling with a chilling wind as they crashed into the enemy ranks. Anyone struck fell dead; none could withstand their force. In a short while, Li Xiong had broken through to the young general’s side. It was none other than Ye Feng, the very son of the Ye family he had rescued years before.

He called out, “Y-Ye Young Master!” Just as he was about to lift Ye Feng onto his back and carry him to safety, a thunderous shout rang out behind him: “Who is this wild brat daring to cause trouble in my camp? Do you have a death wish?” The next instant, a gust of fierce wind and a sharp weapon lunged at him.

There was no time to dodge. With a bellow, Li Xiong swung his chain hammers to block the attack, knocking aside Xiao Ling’s silver spear. Turning, he saw a general clad all in white, helmet, armor, and horse. Anger flared in Li Xiong’s heart. “Don’t run! Leave your head behind for your grandpa Li to kick around like a ball!” he yelled, giving chase and momentarily forgetting all about Ye Feng.

Xiao Ling, terrified out of his wits, had never met such a formidable foe—besides Ye Feng—since his debut. To think this wild fellow could disarm him in one blow! Whipping his horse, he fled for his life, wishing he had wings to escape.

Li Xiong chased hard. The two ran, one fleeing, one pursuing, for who knows how far or how long, until Xiao Ling finally shook him off. Only then did Li Xiong remember his mission to save Ye Feng, but by then he had lost his way.

What to do? He decided to ask for directions. Spotting an old farmer working in the fields, Li Xiong leaped down with a thud. The farmer looked up and gasped in terror at the sight of a wild, hairy man charging toward him. “Mother!” he shrieked, trying to run but his legs gave out and he was rooted to the spot, trembling.

Before he could react further, Li Xiong grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him up. “Tell me, where is Ye Young Master?!” The farmer was so frightened he wet his pants. “Grandpa Li is asking you! Why aren’t you answering?” Li Xiong pressed.

The poor man, utterly bewildered, thought: Who is this Ye Young Master? How would I know? What is this creature—a wild man? And how can a wild man talk? Gazing into Li Xiong’s fierce eyes and foul-breathed maw, he dared not refuse and pointed randomly, “That way…”

Li Xiong immediately released him, dropping him into the mud, and dashed off in the indicated direction. Thus began his wandering—being pointed this way and that, braving the elements for over a month—yet he still could not find Ye Feng.

Today, by chance, he crossed paths with Xiao Ling again and was overjoyed. Xiao Ling, upon seeing Li Xiong, shuddered from head to toe. Fate is cruel, he thought. Why must I meet this nemesis here? But then he remembered: Today, I am neither man nor demon. Neither world will accept me. Perhaps death is better. Why not fight him to the death and win some renown, even if I die?

So, brandishing his spear, Xiao Ling shouted, “Well, you wild brat! I’ve searched everywhere for you—here you are at last! Prepare to die!” He spurred his horse forward. But before he could gallop more than a few paces, a burning pain rose in his chest, then a crushing ache. His vision swam, his mouth opened, and with a cry, he spewed a mouthful of black blood and tumbled off his horse, unconscious.

Li Xiong, seeing Xiao Ling charge at him, was delighted: Good! Once I capture him, I’ll force him to take me to Ye Feng—then I’ll surely find him! He raised his hammers to fight, but just then, Xiao Ling collapsed. Li Xiong was thrown into confusion.

Despite his fierce appearance, Li Xiong had a kind heart. Seeing Xiao Ling fall, he could not bear to harm him further. He rushed to prop him up, but had no idea how to save him. He wiped the blood from Xiao Ling’s lips and scratched his head, thinking, Is he dead or alive? He can’t die! If he dies, who will help me find Ye Feng?

But Xiao Ling remained unconscious, and Li Xiong grew frantic, pacing and wringing his hands like an ant on a hot griddle. Suddenly, he remembered: When I was little and felt unwell, my father always made me drink water. That’s it! I’ll fetch him some water.

He hurried to a nearby stream. But he had nothing to carry water with—how could he bring it back? He had no choice but to return and carry Xiao Ling to the stream. Still, with Xiao Ling unconscious, he couldn’t drink by himself. Li Xiong, simple-minded as he was, didn’t think to use a leaf as a cup. He simply scooped up water with his hands and tried to drip it into Xiao Ling’s mouth, but most of it leaked through his fingers.

In his faint stupor, Xiao Ling felt a coolness on his lips and licked them, but did not regain consciousness. Li Xiong saw he was still out and, desperate, bent down and filled his own mouth with water. With a mighty “Puh!” he sprayed it into Xiao Ling’s face.

Immediately, Xiao Ling felt a wave of cold seep from his head into his heart. With a startled cry, he awoke. But as soon as he did, he recoiled in horror—what was that foul stench? What was stuck to his face? He had no way of knowing that the sticky bits were grains of rice, bits of meat, and vegetable leaves—Li Xiong, never having brushed his teeth or washed his face in years, had expelled a mouthful of water full of decaying food fragments caught between his teeth.

Li Xiong, overjoyed to see Xiao Ling awake, blurted out, “Hey! L-l-little pale-face, where’s Ye Young Master?!”

Xiao Ling, baffled, took a while to realize he meant Ye Feng. Weakly, he answered, “You—you mean Ye Feng? He’s long gone—escaped back to Blacksoil City.”

Li Xiong grinned wide, “Ha! Little pale-face, your grandpa Li knew you lot were no match for him!” With that, he strode off, heading for Blacksoil City to aid Ye Feng in battle.

Xiao Ling was left alone, helpless and weak, calling out to heaven and earth in vain, unsure whether he would survive.

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