Chapter Sixty: A Gift for You

To be able to utter such words so easily—Qiu Wan’er truly was still young. In the past, such naiveté would have made Zhuola Weiyang burst into laughter, but now, he found himself unable to laugh, his heart instead brimming with emotion. This is the way of people: as the years pass, it becomes easier for others to stir one’s feelings, even the smallest details are not exempt. Innocence, that word, is not considered a virtue in the world of rivers and lakes; deception and scheming are the norm, and such a disposition is often suppressed ruthlessly. But what does it matter?

Zhuola Weiyang did not reply. His expression grew deep and unreadable, leaving Qiu Wan’er entirely uncertain of his thoughts, and thus unsure how to interject. She could only calm herself and gaze at the distant scenery. After the Three Jump Gorge, the Wei River—being merely a tributary—lacked the breadth and force of the main stream. Yet this brought its own benefit: as the boat drifted along, its pace slowed, allowing the sights along both banks to come into clearer view.

As for now, the weather was less than favorable. The darkness of night blurred the surroundings, and early summer in Xingyang remained oppressively hot. The river breeze carried moisture, brushing Qiu Wan’er’s face and mingling with the steam rising from her teacup, creating a faint sense of vaporous haze. Yet she paid it no mind; after all, she had endured seventeen or eighteen summers, and a bit more heat was hardly worth fussing over.

Now that they had entered the realm of Xingyang, reaching Xingyang City would take no more than half a day. Night had just fallen, so there was no need to hurry; traveling at this leisurely pace, they would arrive by midday tomorrow. The boatmen had gradually taken turns sleeping, leaving only two or three to keep watch, ensuring the vessel did not drift backward.

“Old man, what are you doing?” The tranquil atmosphere was abruptly broken by a sharp, urgent voice. There was no need to guess—the boat was filled with wanderers, but only Qiu Wan’er was a young girl, and only she could produce such a piercing tone. People of the martial world tended toward warm-heartedness, eager to right wrongs and play the hero, but now, none dared intervene. The scene at Three Jump Gorge, where the old man had pushed the boat with remarkable skill, was still vivid in everyone’s memory. Who would provoke someone so capable? Should he truly be angered, disaster would follow in the blink of an eye. So, though many heard the commotion, not one dared approach; some feigned sleep, others raised their voices to cover the sound, pretending not to notice, seeking comfort in their own denial.

Of course, a few bold souls were tempted to investigate, but their movements were cautious and slow, fearful of being discovered. Still, the events within the cabin could be clearly seen through the door and curtains. Zhuola Weiyang’s arm was extended, as if holding something aloft. A sidelong glance revealed that it was not an object, but Qiu Wan’er herself. The young girl was being held upside down, her long hair cascading toward the floor, nearly brushing it. Though her face was not directly facing the door, her profile was faintly visible.

A maiden's face should glow with a rosy radiance, regardless of the angle, embodying beauty and grace. Yet at this moment, such descriptions seemed ill-suited to her. Her face was flooded with red, as if suffocated, but her breathing was heavy and audible—not the result of breathlessness. The old man’s face, meanwhile, was full of smiles, seemingly unaffected by the scene. Most astonishing was that he held only her hand, yet that alone was enough to suspend her in midair, a feat that left onlookers amazed.

Perhaps the disparity in strength was too great, for Qiu Wan’er made no attempt to struggle—or perhaps struggling was futile in such a situation. None of the observers could fathom what was happening, so they remained outside, watching in silence, scarcely daring to breathe for fear of being discovered. This was not mere caution; fear was the more fitting word.

This strange tableau lasted for nearly a quarter of an hour before Zhuola Weiyang gently set Qiu Wan’er back on the floor. He said nothing, and as he returned to his seat, the same smile lingered on his face. The tea in his cup was now perfectly cool, no longer steaming, but still retaining a hint of warmth when sipped. Freed from her ordeal, Qiu Wan’er’s complexion quickly recovered, the redness fading to its normal hue. She coughed lightly a few times, as if trying to dispel her discomfort, her gaze fixed intently on the old man, searching for something. “What did you do to me?”

“Nothing much. Didn’t you say you wanted to be my kin? According to your Central Plains customs, when an elder meets a junior for the first time, it is customary to present a gift. I’m just an old man with nothing of value to offer, except perhaps my skills. I really don’t know what else to give. Before you speak, try circulating your spiritual energy within your body, make a full circuit, and see if this gift suits you.” The old man knew she would ask, so his words were prepared. Qiu Wan’er, still a little confused, did not press further, but followed Zhuola Weiyang’s instructions, letting her spiritual energy flow. Instantly, surprise appeared on her face.

She understood her own abilities well, and knew her spiritual cultivation intimately. Yet now, the situation was entirely different. If her spiritual energy had once flowed like the present Wei River, now it felt as though she had leapt past the Three Jump Gorge and entered the Xiang River—both the strength and speed of the flow were incomparable, and with each passage through her meridians, the sensation grew more powerful. Her gaze, fixed on the old man, grew wide with astonishment.

Generally, cultivating spiritual energy relies on gradual accumulation, slowly strengthening the body's meridians. Yet the structure of human meridians has its own peculiarities; for the sake of self-preservation, it strives to maintain its original form, leaving certain points—what physicians call acupoints—closed. Breaking through these is no easy task. If the acupoints remain unopened, the channels for spiritual energy are severely restricted, and some major points may block the main pathways, such as the Ren and Du meridians. Thus, martial artists often reach a bottleneck in their cultivation, unable to advance further, and for this reason, many seek to break through these acupoints to clear the channels. But this is not easily done. The acupoints are tightly sealed, and unless one's spiritual power is sufficiently strong, it is impossible to force them open. Even if successful, improper timing or method can damage the meridians, leaving leaks in the channels, causing spiritual energy to escape and potentially resulting in irreversible harm. Hence, breaking through acupoints must be undertaken with utmost caution.

Qiu Wan’er was no fool. After circulating her spiritual energy and feeling it converge in her chest, she realized what an extraordinary gift this was. To those in the martial world, it was far more precious than any mountain of gold. With the major acupoints opened, her energy flowed smoothly, and her whole body felt light, as if its weight had vanished.

At this point, Qiu Wan’er felt compelled to say something, at the very least to offer her thanks. She could not yet formally acknowledge him as her master, but such a favor could not go unacknowledged. The words were on her lips when the old man interrupted her. He drained the last of his tea in one swift motion, then handed the cup toward her. “I don’t want to hear the word ‘thanks.’ If you truly wish to express your gratitude, pour me another cup of tea. Little girl, though you are somewhat frail, you have the makings of a martial artist. I merely opened your acupoints and led you to the threshold. Cultivation is something you must pursue yourself. Don’t let this make you complacent, understand?”